I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Real life is a real bitch – how dare she keep interfering with my writing! Support my writing fix by sending me donations so I can buy my little cabin in the woods to do nothing but write. – Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 59
Lowell Cummings leaned against the building across the street from the Factory, smoking his cigarette and keeping a jaundiced eye on the street traffic. He'd been waiting outside for hours and there wasn't a single hint that his vigil would be ending any time soon.
"Fancy a crisp?" asked Mike Farnsborogh, fellow photographer and rival.
"Nah – waiting for a sandwich delivery," Lowell grunted, waving off the marmite-flavored treat.
They watched as another truck with the Wonka markings rolled by, the dark face inside not even glancing at them.
"Look, Nigel's having a go," said Mike, watching as one of the other reporters broke off from the waiting group and darted between the gates as the truck passed through.
Even from this distance, they heard the faint whistle and thud as something hit Nigel square in the chest, knocking him to his bottom in the middle of the gateway.
"That's going to smart," Lowell commented, as an ominous whistle blew again and Nigel scrambled out from between the closing gates to the relative safety of the sidewalk.
Trespassing was not taken lightly by Wonka.
Nigel trotted up to the group with an embarrassed smile on his face. He had ears that could qualify him for a free pass to Disneyland if he was in the States.
"What flavor did you get this time?" asked Mike. It was tradition among those who hunted Wonka to share the spoils.
Pulling a large wad of candy off his jumper with a wince, he sniffed and pinched off a small wad of the bright red mass. Popping it in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully, his expression brightened, "Cherry!"
There was a cheer and the wad was pulled apart and shared by the waiting paparazzi. Nigel winced and rubbed his chest – a bruise was starting to form, but it was considered a war wound.
"Remember when Harry made a go of it? Blighter thought he was all that since he'd been covering the Yanks in Afghanistan. Bragged that he knew what to do when facing enemy fire," Nigel mused, leaning against the building.
"Grape wasn't it?" Mike asked, trying to remember. The man in question had zigged and zagged pretty impressively, but had gotten nailed by the candy blaster in the end - right in the head knocking him cold.
"Yeah – although it hit him in the ear and he complained about ringing for months after. Got to file Worker's Comp for it though – gets a pretty penny for his troubles." Lowell said, dropping is cigarette butt and crushing it under his heel.
"Tried filing for some sort of claim against Wonka too, I hear," said a voice standing next to Lowell with a high tenor American accent.
Bloody tourist, thought Lowell nastily.
"Never went anywhere – Wonka is quite clear on what his boundaries are. Got it figured to the centimeter," he said, not bothering to look.
The man standing next to him shrugged, "Hey, got to know your limits, you play, you pay, gotta pay the piper – you know, all that jazz?"
"Yeah – still, the bastard's gotta come out sometime. I'd like to make that nice commission for a decent picture," Mike mused.
"Really? Is that all you want?" said the man standing next to him, leaning against the building casually, amusement plain in his voice.
"Of course, why else are we out here lurking?" asked Mike in irritation. He turned to glance at the man and his eyes widened in shock.
Lowell glanced in the same direction and felt his jaw drop.
Wonka was standing next to him, relaxed as could be, absently twirling his cane, large goggle sunglasses covering his eyes, trademark top hat and Edwardian frock in place.
"I figured you had nothing else to do," he giggled, looking at the stunned faces of the photographers. Grinning his trademark unearthly white smile, he waved and turned to sprint off around the corner.
A cry rose from the crowd and they set off after him.
The mob chased the merry figure for three blocks, until he darted around the corner and vanished. They pulled to a stop – the slower members panting heavily as they glanced around in astonishment.
"Where'd he go?" asked Lowell.
Behind the secret entrance, Johnny had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep his laughter from being heard. The slim figure of a teenage boy grinned at him with glee as he heard the aggravated cursing on the other side as the mob broke up.
He slipped the goggles off his nose and glanced at Wonka's heir with bright brown eyes, "Oh that was fun – I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed messing with the press."
Charlie chuckled, "I'm sure we've got security footage of their faces. Want a copy?"
"Oh yeah!"
Charlie was taken aback at how much this American actor resembled his mentor. When L.A. had called to explain the plan as relayed by Spencer, he'd had his doubts, but the following performance had convinced him.
"Care to make a couple more appearances around town before breaking for the day?" Johnny asked.
"Sure – how about a supermarket across town?" Charlie asked, giggling at the image of Willy pushing a cart around the store, nonchalantly reading labels and comparing nutritional information with bystanders.
"Come with me this time. It'll add legitimacy," Johnny said eagerly.
Charlie grinned at the man, "Only if you promise to sign my Pirate poster for Mum – she's a huge fan"
Johnny rolled his eyes, looking more like Wonka at that moment than Charlie would care to admit, "Okay fine – one signature for the raving fangirl."
"Let's go."
--
"She's gone," said his father's deep voice flatly, looking down at the small dark-haired boy by his side.
Willy looked at the intimidating figure of his father in disbelief, "But what happened? Where did she go?"
A man's laughter floated through his mind, careless and cold.
"Veronica?" he called, now a man, looking up and down a dark street.
"She's dead," said his father.
He could see a crumpled figure laying just outside one of the pools of light on the dark street, one hand outstretched, a glowing ivory sculpture with a delicate curl of fingers in an ever growing pool of dark ruby blood.
"Veronica?" he whispered, afraid of the response.
A quite breeze ruffled the short hair at his brow, blowing gently across his face.
He approached the collapsed figure, seeing worn scarred tissue across the palm and finger pads of the outstretched hand. The female hand wore a silver and rose ring, swirled around like peppermint and flickering dully in the cold light like the dying embers of a fire. The pool of blood crept closer to extinguish its glow.
"Too late, Candy man," sneered Victor's voice.
The hand twitched and Willy fell to his knees to collect her body and drag it into the light. As he did, the circle of light began to close in, drawing in the deep shadows surrounding them.
Veronica's wide eyes were glazed with pain and blood trickled out of her nose and split lip. Her blackened eyes were puffed nearly shut and he could hear her wheezing breath growing weaker.
Moaning in helpless despair, he cradled her close, trying to will his own strength into her cold body.
Another breeze ruffled his hair and for a moment, it felt like warm fingers running soothingly across his scalp.
"Willy?" Veronica croaked in a broken voice. He could see livid bruises across her throat where Victor had tried to choke the life out of her. The circle of light slowly shrank around them and he could feel the life ebb from her body as it did.
"Hang on – We'll get out of here and get you help," he said frantically stroking her sticky blood-matted hair away from her face.
"Too late…run," she whispered, her eyes widened in horror and he felt an evil presence closing in on them as the darkness approached.
"She's gone Willy, let her go," the emotionless voice of his father commanded.
"Veronia, wait…stay with me. Please!" Willy sobbed, hugging her closer and hearing her whimper in pain as he did. He could feel the hot trail of tears from his eyes to dot her broken features. The dull pulse of the ring was eaten by the shadows.
The soothing breeze was warm and he could feel actual fingers stroking across his face, trying to draw him away from his broken love.
The light was just around their faces now, closing in rapidly and she said soundlessly, "Willy…run!"
Cold laughter echoed around them as the light dwindled to a pinpoint and extinguished. Veronica found the breath to scream and she was snatched from his arms by the darkness.
"VERONICA!" he screamed.
"Willy…shhh! You're alright. I'm here," he heard her voice whisper around him. The warm fingers across his brow drew him from the shadows and back into the living world.
Willy opened his eyes to see her concerned hazel ones studying his face with frightened concern. Seeing that he was awake, she hugged him closer and stroked the top of his head, cradling him against her.
"Thank God. You wouldn't wake up," she said softly.
Realizing it was just a dream, he collapsed, feeling overwhelmed by the relief and cried. Veronica patiently held him and let a few tears of her own trickle down her cheek. He shook with the tension as he fought the tears, but eventually he calmed and was able to look up at her.
"You were gone. He killed you." Willy breathed at last, sniffling noisily.
"I know. It was a nightmare," she said stroking the sticky hair from his forehead and smiling at him fondly.
Willy sighed deeply, "I hate nightmares."
"Me too," she said in an odd voice.
Willy glanced at her and clutched her closer. He could see the bloodshot eyes and haunted expression – probably the same that graced his own features. "You too," he said, not making it a question.
She sighed and pulled the blankets a bit higher, "Yes. I've got a bit more experience than you dealing with them I believe. I woke up first and had just gotten back into bed when you started whimpering. You made the strangest noise – like a long drawn out whine or something similar. Didn't take much deduction to figure out what was going on."
Willy rolled over onto his back and laid one hand across his brow, mentally banishing the remains of the nightmare back to his subconscious, "Gotta tell Sherman to lay off the tea – that was waaay to intense."
The sumptuous suite of the hotel was dim and quiet. Thick blinds blocked out the early afternoon sunlight and only the faintest murmur of voices could be heard from the rest of the cottage.
Veronica ran one hand through her hair with an expression of disgust, "Yech! I need a shower." She threw back from the covers and rose, reaching over to pull at his hand, "Come on – you too. Nothing banishes bad thoughts like hot water and company."
Willy let himself be dragged into the large bathroom. The ornate bathroom wasn't as nice as his back home, but it was still better than a Holiday Inn. There was a large multi-head shower stall lined with white and blue marble. Veronica reached in and played with the nobs for a moment trying to get the water going.
He cheered watching her growing annoyance – too many levers and knobs made it difficult to figure out. She finally threw up her hands in frustration and indicated that he should give it a whirl.
Leaning over he gave the main lever a hard twist followed by pulling two knobs to start warm water from spraying from three nozzles. Willy gave her a smug look as she rolled her eyes and muttered, "Smartass."
"Mumbler," he returned nudging her into the shower.
They scrubbed under the hot spray, glancing at each other occasionally as if to assure themselves that the other was actually there. Veronica grabbed his shoulders and turned him so he was facing the spray, picking up the loofa and giving his back a good scrub as he shook the dark strands out of his face with the spray. He smiled at the gesture. The last time anyone had scrubbed his back, he was three.
He felt her arms creep under his to snuggle up to his back and he clasped her hands in his and just enjoyed the warm water and her comforting embrace from behind.
"Luis was stalking me…I was running through a maze and couldn't find my way out," Veronica said suddenly. "I could hear you yelling for me – and I was yelling back, trying to find you and tell you to watch out for Luis. I head a wet thud and I turned a corner to have you fall on me, your throat cut. Your blood was so hot against my skin. It was your eyes that got me though – you were looking at me like it was all my fault."
"You had been stabbed and beaten to a pulp like Reggie. I was trying to save you but the light went out and the darkness ripped you out of my arms," Willy said simply. "My father…there were memories of my Dad telling me that my Mom was dead mixed in there too…"
They paused, taking comfort from each other, Willy turned to take her into his embrace, the shower beating a comforting tattoo against them. He glanced down at her hands and saw that they were still bandaged, "Aren't you supposed to keep those dry?"
She snorted against his chest and he felt her smile, "Sue me. I needed this more ….we needed this more at the moment."
Willy reached around and shut off the water with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around her thin shoulders," I think we're both done with sleeping for now. If it hadn't been for Sherman's tea, I never would have crashed at all." He gave a delicate shudder, "Hotel sheets….ew!"
Veronica laughed weakly – Willy's germaphobia was well known. It spoke depths of his exhaustion to even sleep or shower in a strange place.
"Thank you for being here," she whispered as she opened the door and handed him a towel before selecting one for herself. "I'm sorry that you had to come under these circumstances, but I am glad you are here."
"I should have come in the first place," he said guiltily. "You really did need me, but I was so reluctant to leave the factory, I didn't listen to what you were actually saying."
She leaned up to kiss him tenderly, "I love you Willy."
"Love you too, Starshine."
They dried off and he watched in amusement at her movements to wrap her hair in a turban style on top of her head, "How do you females do that?"
She grabbed a hand towel and pulled his head down so he was facing the floor. A few swift movements later and he wore a similar turban on the top of his head.
He blinked at her smug expression, "Oh."
Veronica left him to his grooming and returned to the bedroom to pull on the discarded robe. Seeing that there was nothing else for her to wear, there was little choice in the matter.
There was a knock on the door and L.A. peeped her head in, "Decent?"
"Depends on who's asking," Veronica responded with a grin. L.A. gave a relieved sigh and collected a hug from the older woman.
"You scared me – don't do it again," she scolded.
Veronica looked abashed, "Yeah, well. Wasn't my idea, I assure you."
L.A. held up paper bags from top name stores, "I grabbed some clothes seeing that we have no idea where your luggage ended up. Enough for a few days anyway until we can get home. The police want you to come down to give a statement. Tupik-Ra passed along the information you gave Sherman and they managed to pick up one man already."
Veronica froze. One man in custody? Which one?
Shaking her head she slapped herself, never mind – I'll find out at the station.
She collected the bags from the Oompa Loompa woman, "Alright. What time is it anyway?"
"Almost noon. You two didn't sleep that long considering. Are you hungry?"
Veronica nodded vigorously. Her stomach had given up and was gnawing on her spine at this point.
The door to the bathroom opened and Willy strolled out. He'd shaved and was rubbing his hair dry, humming under his breath. The towel hung low around his hips showing off his muscled physique. Normally modest to a fault, this was a hormone-chargin display. Veronica had to admit, he'd rarely looked more toothsome and judging from L.A's expression, she thought so too.
She and L.A. exchanged a mischievous glance before L.A. deliberately coughed softly to draw attention to the fact that the Choclatier was not alone in the room.
Willy yelped and held the towel he'd been drying his hair with protectively in front of his chest while clutching at the other around his waist. Wide violet eyes stared in shock at the bemused women while his mahogany hair stuck up at odd angles from his scalp.
"Do you mind?" he shrieked darting back into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.
She couldn't remember a time when laughter had felt so good.