DISCLAIMER: ! That’s RIGHT, I came back for you and thanks to some persuasive encouraging by a reviewer named Cybernetic Mango (who is awesome and you should so go check out her profile) I’ve decided that like my heart, this story will go on. Nevertheless, really, I am sorry that I have not updated, I mean, I have been so preoccupied what with school and all and The Mighty Boosh. That’s right, I am officially under their spell (I just saw their live show in Brixton and believe me, it was AWESOME, you must look into their fan fiction achieve because believe you will laugh, that and watch the show, too!) , theirs and my newly-found love for now only known as K. L. who I’m pretty sure likes me back. Yeah, I know, you wish you were me right, don’t you? So do I. Anywoo, away we go!

BTW: Sonny Salt, Tory Smeath and other character you don’t recall ever hearing or reading about are mine ©. Everything else in the works of Roald Dahl.

Chapter Thirteen

Within Buckinghamshire, is Heatherfield, those who have already traveled there known that, as its name suggests, this certain borough of what is affectionately called Bucks, this place was once famous for its fields of heather. But here, heather is no longer found. In its place are only weeds…and silence.

It was daylight, the wind roared and the clouds looked surprisingly unearthly. The cold sky above the ground was a hollow silvered over the rare pinkish blue. Three figures, shaped precisely in the shape of three young women, one with silvery blond hair was trudging towards an extravagant palatial mansion with the two others, one with light ringlets and the other with dopey-looking eyes that were searching round with her companion.

“No one there?” The dopey-eyed one had to shout out to be heard by the blond, though her back remained turned, with her face glazed by the sight of the mansion.

The second tallest one, her light ringlets started to flap wildly about her orange cardigan, her eyebrows furrowed in a pungently obvious way. Her eyes arched as a bored expression crossed over her face, “Let’s face it…” She removed one of her fine leather gloves to run a hand through her hair, not in an anxious manner, but as in a way to say that she was sick of this scene. She was. “…Sonny’s gone.”

The dopey-eyed girl began to absent-mindedly fiddle with the ringlets of her companion and began to pick debris out of the young woman’s fine hair though she only succeeded in making her mutter and squirm from the now-apparent aggravation, trying to smile. “She didn’t just vanish into thin air; people don’t just disappear like that.”

Another wind blew by and she dropped the tresses immediately, to hug herself for some warmth, only to have the blonde, who was still facing the house, clench her fists and squinted when some of her hair got into her eyes. “I think we’ll see her again…”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I can feel it, Lupe. It’s sort of a hunch…” No matter that the companions began to hurry away. They could all wait. They would all meet again.

. . .

A Moment Backward

. . .

Sonny Salt wanted to cry.

She wanted to race home as fast as her feet could take her, in fact, that was all she was thinking about when she realised that as she came out of the bathroom that she might never see her family again and that was all she could really think about.

She remembered something Tory had said one day when they were young, they were sitting in Tory’s room and she had her hand brushing away Sonny’s fringes from her tear-rimmed eyes, shushing her and saying, “You cry an awful lot. I guess that’s why you are such a Poor Little Rich Girl, then, huh, wondertwin?” She couldn’t recall what the reason for the unnecessary moisture was but she remembered that that was the first time Tory had begun to consider her her wondertwin. And that alone was enough to bring her to tears.

But that is what they did, because, now for some reason, Sonny felt as though she hadn’t a good cry in a long while. This gave her a reason to have one.

You know how some adults will always be kids at heart, that at the end of the day, they will always be small enough to still be cradled into their parents’ arms where the heart will always be and the safety is where it always sets in? Sonny was starting to realise that this was maybe the first time she has ever really yearned for her parents’ arms, even as she stood there, shaking. She wanted them to save her from that scary man.

In case any of you do not know where we have left off, then you must be stupid because you haven’t been reading the summary of this story, have you? And if you thought Sonny has lost some of her flare, if ever she had any to begin with, put yourself into her shoes if you were kidnapped and perhaps all means of plausible escape were unavailable. I’m sure the first thing you’d probably do is cry, as well.

She almost had no time to realise she was not alone anymore and look up properly as she was busy lifting her hands to wipe away the tears, new replacing old ones.

“Oh,” she swallowed, forcing back a hiccup to say something, but then, she was too surprised to think of anything else to say. She would have liked a moment alone, but then, she’d be lying. “Er, hello again.”

The Oompa-Loompa simply crossed its arms over its chest and gave a small bow. Sonny couldn’t help but think that that mean ‘Many Happy Returns’ in a way.

It offered a smile and tilted its head in response that Sonny couldn’t offer one back, simply holding in a tiny hand another folded up note and with a quirking brow she reached over to take it.

Dear Sonny, it began again.

This is Randall, and he’s an Oompa-Loompa. If you were listening the first time of the tour, then you’ll know of his origins. And if you weren’t, you really ought to perhaps get a hearing aid or put something into the space between your ears.

Randall will be your chaperone and chronic aide on your globetrotting within my factory, as it is to only be accepted that one would have a certain wanderlust when they see my factory, I mean, who wouldn’t?

She shook her head at his giddiness to just want to talk endlessly about his factory, the long-winded berk.

All you have to do is ask him for anything or to take you anywhere, and he will. Of course, betwixt reasons, certain areas shall be a no-go to you during your sojourn, understandably. If you need anything, be it food or…erm…things; simply pull the aurous cord right next to the bed. That means ‘golden’, by the way, and also that bed is yours now. Pull the cord and Randall will be there.

I also wait to see you often around the factory and when I do, you don’t need to say or do anything else. All I’ll need to see is that darling smile of yours.

Your Host,

Willy Wonka.

Her fist crushed the pape. Sonny tried to keep control when she saw the worried look crossing over onto Randall the Oompa-Loompa’s face at the eldest Salt child’s expression. She frowned slightly but her anger was not waned.

She sighed, throwing the paper ball over her shoulder carelessly. “Randall,” she said with a deadpan expression, “you are so lucky this isn’t new to you. It’d be much too irritable for you,” she did the childish thing and bent down, sitting there with her elbows on her knees so she tried to see eye-to-eye with an annoyed look. “Then again, I doubt you understand all of these feelings. Maybe you might never.”

This time Randall crossed his arms again, except it was more against his chest than over it, as if he was taking Sonny’s words to heart. His face was still deadpanned but he clearly could see where she was going with this. And Sonny saw that herself, too.

“Ugh,” she had to remember to stop making unladylike sounds, “yes, yes, I know. ‘What is that girl talking about?’ and all the rest. I forgot I was really speaking to someone, it’s hard not to, what with the first few minutes alone is this factory is, I don’t know, alone by any chance. I’ve forgotten my manners, Randall,” Sonny tilted her head to the side slightly, hoping to maybe get another bow, at least to have some proof the little creature had accepted her apology.

He remained still, but the look in his lightless eyes was clear to her and she smiled, the first in what felt like hours now.

Standing up, she walked towards the tray on the bed - her bed, now - and forked a piece of cold piece of egg into her mouth. Keeping an eye off the tray, she was glad the little man had remained where he was, simply watching her. She sighed, “You don’t suppose I can’t see the glorious chocolatier now, would you?” There was an expected silence and expected looks and finally a sigh of exasperation. “I’m not surprised. Well then, would you like some eggs?”

And through the rest of her meal did Randall stay, faithfully and always on the move around the spacious room, around every corner to hand her a napkin or pass the knife or give her her glass of juice. Sonny had to spaz about, her head spinning as she watched him dart about, trying to insist that really she could feed herself. But by all means did she want the little creature away; she found his semi-presence comforting, although she felt she couldn’t trust it, like he was here but he wasn’t really.

Finally she hopped off the bed and motioned Randall over, his eyes looking up at her seriously as she swept a chunk of her frizzled hair over one shoulder. “I’d like you to take me around the factory, alright?” She tried to lose the condescending tone, “but first, could you possibly lend me some clothes? It’s entirely rather broad to walk around all in nightgown like a tart.”

Tugging gently, but firmly, at the rim of her nightgown Randall motioned her towards the door and followed him to a hallway she did not remember. The hall was long and rather nice looking, the floor and ceiling white and the walls a rich red. She saw that while other doors came into diverse colours, hers was bland and boring. It was off-white and for some reason she felt just like the door did, leaving her to sigh and hurry to keep up with the little Oompa-Loompa’s speedy stride.

Must be the quarter’s wing, she noted all the plaques over various doors: Eatable Marshmallow Pillow Bedroom, Luminous Lollies Bedroom, Lickable Wallpaper Bedroom and so forth. She looked in awe, wondering how on earth you were supposed sleep in a room you could practically eat. You’d be up all night chewing and swallowing and by sunrise you’d be busy licking your fingers and any other non-edible part of the room for some remains.

Leading her silently, Sonny looked around to be found in a florescent room with large, heavy-looking curtains lined with golden cords and shelves upon shelves stacked up neatly, on each were boxes that, upon closer inspection, had French names that only belonged to certain shoes companies. Sonny knew so because she remembered seeing almost the exact same thing in her Mother’s closet.

Her shoulders buckled from the mere thought of her Mother, trying in vain to loosen up, only to nearly have a heart attack when what appeared to look a female Oompa Loompa gloomed onto her from behind with the assistance of two other Oompa Loompas with measuring tape in hopes of distracting her from her dejection.

In anything her dejection just went up; being measured reminded her of the awful times eh had when shopping with her Mother and how the help would joke about her figure, in a hushed way that really wasn’t hushed at all. Either way, it still meant people looked. And stared. And did things with their clucking tongues and glances that made Sonny squirm and suddenly that dejected sinking feeling was there and she wanted to throw up.

Thankfully, she didn’t because by the time she looked she realised where she was. She was in whatever kind of dressing room this was, and that meant, that freedom was near. It was near - she could almost taste it, Sonny knew. It was sweeter than the apple from the Garden of Eden, but just the thought also, strangely left her with almost…bitter feeling.

She sighed, letting one of the female Oompa-Loompas (who, by the way, just looked like Randall in a dress) turn away write her measurements down, and left Sonny to plop down on the floor. She dropped her hair from her hand, having been motioned to pick up for some certain measurements, and stared at her toes.

Sonny wanted to wear something nice and looking around, she could already tell that her Mother would still think it wasn’t enough. Mrs. Salt had a tendency to think like that, just like Mr. Salt probably thought his eldest daughter would hostilely go into frenzy if he told there was only one donut left in the world. At least Mother knew where to draw the lines. “You’re not a pretty girl, Alison,” she remembered that her Father had been nice enough to inform her on a few occasions (as if she didn’t remember the first time he told her to ‘keep it tight’), “But you don’t have to walk about stoop-shouldered and hunched.” At least once a day he used to fill her in one more aspect of her public image - “like hair would be better cut short because it’s too kinky,” and “you’re putting on too much weight,” and “you wear clothes funny.” If Sonny made a list of every comment Father made about her, you’d think she was a monstrosity. She may not be Miss America, but she was nit the abominable snowwoman.

Looking again, she definitely knew. It still won’t be enough, biting the inside of her cheek she looked towards the nearest rack of clothing that all were a colour of perky yellow. Right that moment she envied a turtle, thinking it’d be nice to have a nice shell - to wear the same outfit every day, for your entire life. She sighed again, loudly this time and got a few side glances from the busy Oompa-Loompas. She didn’t want to be stuck wearing her nightgown for the rest of her life, though, either. She hoped they wouldn’t let her choose what she was going to wear, but from the looks of their own clothing, they might not choose anything appropriate by her standards, anyway.

She glanced up at the bright lights and just thought for a moment, thinking how she’d like a nice, dark blue dress. It’d really match her mood.

Her nose twitched, it sort of felt like she was trying to hold some pepper up there without sneezing, except she didn’t sneeze and instead the twitching led her nose back to the rack of clothes and then they were blue. She blinked. The twitching went away and she took this opportunity to gulp and consider running away in her head.

It all was a dark blue, all coordinated differently with certain light blues and standing up to take a closer look she saw something she liked. Polka-doted blue with its end right above her ankles its blue was like a big bow, and the rest was off her shoulders and sleeveless. She felt the fabric and realised it was on.

. . .

Willy Wonka was thinking about Sonny Salt. This girl hadn’t turned everything (if not anything) upside-down, though it was certainly changing direction - why, he thought even the Buckets noticed, even if they weren’t aware of another presence in the factory. Her family happened to be recognized throughout Europe, and even most of that (what with the Golden Ticket Contest and all) was mostly his fact, it didn’t really help to the situation. But it wasn’t as though she were anyone important…like she had a right to even be in the factory or anything.

He murmured to himself; he did that when those familiar feelings of uncertainty uneasy and anything along those lines as a sort of compulsive reflex, like the way his gloves squeaked. He either did that, or if he was in the inspection of other, fidget and fiddle with his cane or gloves or at least fake a few facial gestures like a smile.

He knew it took more muscles to frown but he couldn’t help it. He was starting to rethink the idea of being her here; in fact, the entire situation wasn’t the only thing that was making him uncomfortable. She was, as well, even if she wasn’t here, it was like could feel her dark eyes staring holes through him - it was like she saw through more easily than very few people (the few he’d been in contact with) did. That bothered him. And she was…weird. She seemed fully aware. And that made her…kind of…enthralling.

Willy was pretty sure it was a good thing. Is it a good thing? And then the gears and knobs in head that were an illustrative messes would just hit the brake and it was as though he was just standing there in his mind, having staggered and now he was just shuffling in what he felt was an attempt to find the answer to this question, and quickly because just from the way he was feeling he squeaked his gloves. I think it’s important.

His speedy stride was bimbling, and to be honest he was in one of the outer rooms, not quite out there but so secretive that it has to be inside-inside - that did not sound right, he was Willy Wonka, after all, so everything’s a secret. The point was, the place he was in was very accessible and he didn’t really seem to be paying attention to his surroundings. He managed to stop himself before he bumped into anything and surprisingly the area didn’t have as many Oompa-Loompas as the rest of the factory did. He was by his lonesome, you could say.

Now he didn’t really want it any other; his protégé was helping Mrs. Bucket with some family matters, ones that involved the Grandparents, and Willy Wonka both didn’t want to help and didn’t want to interrupt anything…you know, icky. He was still shuffling about in his head, with his head down and the tips of auburn hair tracing lightly against his cheekbones, as he was literally walking in circles around the area. He was exasperated, why couldn’t figure this out? Charlie thought he had the answers to everything and then this…Ugh!

About to lift his feet to definitely head to the Invention Room to cheer up and about to start murmuring to himself when something plunked against him with all the rage that was both audible and obvious in the harsh action. The action was meant to be acrid and believe me, when he started to fall backwards, it was starting to hurt but the way the person did it - it was plain to see that the person wasn’t used to such aggressive nature, if that were the right word.

But that’s what Sonny Salt did, she slammed against the chocolatier and she felt his neat and crisp scent try to enter her nostrils, except when he fell down she managed to end…on top of Wonka’s upper back on all fours, the nice dress Wonka felt she was wearing was making it hard to sit still and he was pretty sure she couldn’t move in that dress but that wasn’t the point.

Trying to forget about the blowzy tint going across his pale cheekbones made Wonka remember how to speak. And in truth, Sonny might have been in a trance herself, she didn’t have a cherry-like hue to her face as she was much too busying trying to move the loose dark curls from her eyes without moving so nothing could distract her from her mission.

“Shortie! Heh, heh! Nice of you to…drop on by…”

She could have rolled her eyes all the way up to the spacious ceiling; I don’t care how much a clever chocolatier he is, that was one of the most stupid calls I’ve heard and I know something about stupid calls.

Propping herself up straighter, at first wobbling in her expressive heels that she borrowed from the chocolatier so that one of her knees were putting upward and managed to lift her leg slightly and begin to dig the sharp heel into Willy’s back and ignored the loud and aching “Owie!” and only kept repeating in her head that he deserved it to keep from feeling any remorse.

She dug deeper with her elbow this time. “I dropped on by,” she began threateningly, “because you kidnapped me.” she hissed and added menacingly, “and I want you to take me back - now.”

She tumbled her way off when Willy started to lean upward, letting out an “Oof!” as she rolled onto the red-carpeted floor and Willy pulled up first before she could make any sudden movements - and also to get a good look at her. The dress clearly looked too painfully tight to move in but she had enough fire in her to get back on her feet and glare up at the chocolatier.

“You stole from my family!” She barked.

“I did not!”

“When you kidnap a daughter from someone’s family, that’s stealing,” her seething on the words was icy and she harrumphed at his indignant sniffing at her words. She looked she was ready to crouch and make an attempt to hit, though Willy didn’t know where o when she started to look like she might any weird moves he said:

“Uh - don’t do that, Shortie…No - don’t!” His words seemed to make her consider her next moves as she narrowed her eyes with a quirked brow, arms crossed. He didn’t think he’d get her to stop so quickly so he started to fidget with his gloves and Sonny just groaned.

“Will you listen to my demands?” She reiterated. “No, you will listen to my demands, regardless. You berk, you are well creepy, I hope you are aware. I would have popped round the back during the tour if I knew this but did you know - there is NO back? There is not EVEN a place to pop round back to? So let me out.” He gritted his teeth. “You suppose good food and a nice bathroom are not enough to condone your actions?”

“You wanted a vacation! You told me yourself,” at this point, he started to twirl his hair in a mock-girlish fashion, “’I want to getaway, a vacation, ‘cause I’m Shortie and I’m a girl!’”

Is that how he thinks I sound? She did not curl her hair like some priss. “’Oh yeah, I’m Shortie and I lie and say I didn’t say things when in truth I said them from the start and I use perfect grammar!’” He continued to mock, almost mercilessly. “’Nuh! Buckinghamshire!’” He just said randomly as if it served a purpose in the imitation, which in a way, it sort of did.

“You drugged me, you twit. You only heard what you wanted to hear, you sick perverted mallow!” She retorted. “And that’s another thing, how did people fail to see a berk with a funny haircut kidnap a girl right out of a house bigger than your puny ‘factory,’” She held up air-quotes with a placating tone.

Wonka’s violet eyes narrowed, his pink lips making an ‘O’ as he shook his head slowly, “Ooh, you better that back, missy. If any that so-called ‘mansion,’” he used his own air-quotes, “is the size of a toothpick. Not that you’d know…” He wished he had stopped himself but from the look on Sonny’s face he knew the damage was already done.

“Take me home,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Isn’t there something else you should say,” he putted to the left side of his funny haircut as in the place where his ear might be, to Sonny just growled, and it sounded like an angry kitten. Wonka said so:

“Aw, what’s the matter? Does the angry and frustrated kitten not know her manners?”

She stomped and finally just yelled in exasperation, “Fine,” she said calmly, trying to unclench her fists, “I don’t see why I should justify myself in front of a mysophobic berk who probably knows his factory is microscopic. although I suppose to you it’s a kindred spirit considering it, like your brain, is smallish.”

The chocolatier and her looked eyes, narrowed and steely, and then just barked a nonsensical word in aggravation before out turning one another and walk off at different directions. Wonka squeezing and clenching his hands, about to rip the fine fabric of his gloves and Sonny stopping only after five steps to yell “Randall! Take me back to my room!” and this meant only one thing.

This was war.