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Pectus Pectoris Infractus	By : SKC Category: A through F > Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Views: 3478 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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- 1-�Pectus Pectoris Infractus�
- 1
“Pectus Pectoris Infractus”
By SKC

He should have known that it would be him. He should have expected it. It was an inevitability and yet Charlie had been taken by complete surprise. Perhaps it was Charlie’s desperate insistence that everything go perfect on this all important day that had hindered what he *should* have known. Or perhaps it was because that for the last ten years he had refused to allow himself to even *think* of this unwelcome visitor. What ever the reason was, Charlie Bucket had been taken by complete and utter surprise by the sudden appearance of the very last person in the *universe*that he had wanted to see at his doorstep on his wedding day, none other than Mr. Willy Wonka.
Once he was past the initial shock, Charlie’s first reaction was to slam the door (or maybe his fist) in Wonka’s face. Instead, he settled for a glare that would have frozen over the nine levels of hell and growled between tightly clenched teeth, “What the *hell* are you doing here?”
Willy Wonka’s usual pallor paled even more before adopting a blossoming pink in a shameful blush. Wonka averted his eyes towards the doorframe of Charlie’s apartment , working his jaw in an attempt to speak. After several failed attempts, he finally managed to produce a small, yet incredibly fake smile.
With his eyes still averted to everywhere but Charlie’s face, Willy tried to stammer out something akin to a cohesive sentence. “W- well . . . I . . . I simply wanted to . . . to offer my er . . . ah congrat- congratulations to the. . . um . . . ‘groom-to-be.’ N-no harm in that . . . is there?”
Charlie wasn’t sure what to hate more at that moment, Wonka’s plastic smile or his pathetic attempt at a lie. Charlie ground his teeth even tighter, his anger getting the better of him.
“Cut the shit, old man. I don’t have time for either you *or* your stupid games. So if you could just get lost so that I can *forget* that I even saw you today, it would be *greatly* appreciated . . .”
Charlie then made to shut the door but was blocked by both Wonka’s cane and hurried protests.
“W-wait! Charlie! Please! Please . . . it’s . . . it’s important. Please Charlie . . . it’s so *very* important . . . please . . .please, just let me explain . . .?”
Charlie stopped trying to shut the door and found himself, much to his annoyance, considering Wonka’s request. The sound of a nosey neighbour opening a door to investigate the cause of the ruckus hurried Charlie’s decision and he roughly grabbed Wonka by the arm to drag him inside before anyone could see who his visitor was.
Wonka stumbled slightly but managed to catch himself (with great difficulty) before he fell. He finally righted himself and leaning heavily on his cane, he turned to face Charlie for the first time since his arrival.
Willy Wonka had changed since the last time Charlie had seen him, nearly ten years earlier. His cane that had once been for show now seemed to serve a genuine purpose as his former mentor, once so graceful in his movements, now moved with a noticeable limp. His once immaculate appearance seemed to be in disarray as well, as his one time flamboyant attire seemed dull and shabby, hanging loosely over a frame that had once filled each article to perfection. His hair was still long, brushing against his cheeks, but it had lost it’s luster and it’s once dark auburn shade was now streaked with the gray that had terrified Willy so much. But all of this combined was not as startling as the change in Willy’s face. It was not because of the faint wrinkles that had appeared around his mouth, no, Willy’s skin and structure was as beautiful as it ever was. It was his *eyes.* Willy Wonka’s incredible violet eyes, like shards of the purest amethyst, had once sparkled with playful mirth, and an otherworldly intensity had once burned within them, causing them to seemingly glow of their own accord as if with some inner, phantasmal light. But that was before Charlie had left the factory. Before Charlie had left *him.* Now the eye’s that gazed back at Charlie were mere shells of their former brilliance. They were dead. Their sparkle had dulled and they radiated nothing now but an unfathomable sadness and desolation that Charlie knew he was the cause of.
Charlie hardened his heart against the guilt that tried to float to the surface. He would *not* feel pity for this man. Not after what he had done. Not after he . . .
Charlie folded his arms in a tight embrace across his chest and leveled a glare once again at Willy Wonka, “Well? What is it that’s so important?”
Willy paused as if running through different courses of action before he finally responded with a sad smile. “Charlie, please . . . it’s been so long since I saw you last. Would . . . would it be alright to ask you how you’ve been fairing first?”
Charlie felt his resolve melt somewhat but a high level of apprehension remained. Surprisingly, Charlie felt himself nod an affirmative. “I’ve been doing just fine.”
Willy seemed to brighten slightly, “That’s great, Charlie . . . just great.” Willy of course knew that Charlie was lying. Charlie was as poor now as he had been at twelve years old, before he had found the golden ticket, before he had lived with Willy Wonka in his fantastic chocolate factory . . .
Wonka looked away from Charlie and limped towards the kitchen table for additional support, using it as an excuse to see more of the dilapidated apartment. Charlie, however, was wise to Wonka’s bad habit of nosiness and promptly blocked his view.
Wonka looked put out but continued on with his false cheer nonetheless. “So you’re getting married Charlie. That’s . . .” His eyes turned downcast once more, “That’s wonderful.”
“Yes it is.”
Willy merely nodded at Charlie’s abrupt answer before continuing. “No . . . no doubt you’ll be having lots of children?”
Wonka realized his mistake too late and recoiled as Charlie’s face clouded with an anger he had seen only once before . . .
“How . . . how *dare* you! Don’t you *DARE* talk to me about . . . my *children*. . .you . . . you . . .”Charlie was so angry that he could barely form the words to express it. How dare that *bastard* speak of his children! He had *no* right!
Willy’s eyes had widened in horror but he moved swiftly to deflate Charlie’s anger as it most certainly wouldn’t do for his former protégé to murder him before he had chance to say his piece. “C-Charlie, please! I’m . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. . . really . . . I never . . .”

Charlie felt his anger subside once again to be replaced with weariness. “WHAT is *it* that you *want* then? Just tell me and get out so I can get on with what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.”
Willy’s jaw clenched even as he relaxed from the now passed threat of an attack on his person. This was turning out to be every bit as difficult as he had imagined it would be. “Alright . . . Alright.”
Willy moved towards a rickety chair at the kitchen table and sat down with a wince. Charlie moved as well so that he was closer to his former mentor but refused to sit down, enjoying how the differences in height made Wonka seem so much smaller. Yes, this was *much* better . . . at least he had thought it was, for the next words that Wonka spoke made his knees scream for support.
Willy stared somewhere past Charlie, somewhere past this *world* before and as he spoke, and Charlie knew it was something desperate . . .
“Charlie . . .,” then Wonka’s eyes, infused with an emotion that Charlie had never seen before, that chilled him to his very being, met and locked with his, “I’m dying.”
If Charlie had been hit by the force of all the seven seas at that moment, he would have felt no difference. He reeled with the shock, Willy Wonka, *dying?* It . . . It just wasn’t *possible!* His mind swam with a torrent of emotions before one, a familiar one, found it’s way to the surface. Anger.
“And . . . And just what is the point of telling me this?! Do you expect me to pity you now?! No. That’s not it, is it. You want forgiveness, don’t you? You come here with some sob story about your impending death, thinking that you can *shame* me into forgiving you-”
Wonka raised a gloved hand for peace, his eyes shaded with something dark. “Charlie, please. I did *not* come here for your forgiveness.” The violet orbs darkened further, “You’ve already made it perfectly clear a long time ago that you don’t ever intend on forgiving me.”
Charlie continued to take deep breaths but did not make any move to comment, so Willy pressed on. “Charlie, the reason I’ve come here today is to ask you to take over the factory.”
Charlie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Had he heard correctly? Even after all that had happened, Wonka still wanted him to take the factory?
“Why . . . Why me?” And then the venom returned, “Surely you’ve found another heir to molest by now?”
Charlie watched with grim satisfaction as the colour drained completely from Willy Wonka’s face and his hands began to tremble. Charlie had just revealed the rotten core of the animosity between them; there would be no false ignorance of it any longer.
Charlie waited with cool patience as Willy finally recovered enough to speak. “C-Charlie . . . I . . .I deserved that. . . I did. But I . . .” Wonka’s voice cracked as his eyes began to shine with unshed tears, his carefully held rein on his emotions slipping, “I never . . . I *never* intended to hurt you, Charlie. I loved-”
The sudden force of Charlie’s fist striking the table nearly expired Wonka then and there with the shock.
“Don’t you *dare* start crying! You have no right at all! If *anyone* has the right to cry it’s *me!* Damn it, Willy, I was only a child! I had no *idea*. . .”It was a lie but Charlie felt no shame in lying to this man at that point. . .
Willy had finally had enough. He knew that he was never going to get anywhere with Charlie like this. It had already crossed his mind several times to just get up and leave but he knew he couldn’t. It was imperative that Charlie agree to take over the factory. He was already in the thick of it now anyway, he would have to press onwards with his plea to Charlie.
Wonka got unsteadily to his feet with the support of his cane to challenge Charlie’s glare, and it was only then that Willy realized that Charlie had grown to be taller than him. A wave of sorrow washed over him then as he realized how much he had missed in Charlie’s life. How much he had missed *Charlie* . . . But then the matter at hand flashed through his mind and he managed (if only just) to corral his desperate emotions once more.
“Charlie . . . I know- . . . I know that you’re angry and gosh darn it you have every right to be.”

Charlie made to interrupt then but Wonka pressed on in earnest.
“If you want to yell at me Charlie by all means do so, but *please* Charlie, please, tell me that you’ll take over the factory first?”
Charlie wasn’t sure what to make of this, he had a pounding headache and his heart felt like it was trying to break free of his rib cage. What did he say? What did he *do?*
“I don’t see why I should. Why should I do you any favours?”
Wonka was growing desperate now. “But it would be doing a favour for yourself, Charlie! You’re about to start a family aren’t you? Where will you live? Here?! You deserve *better* than this Charlie! And how will you get the money to feed your family? You hardly have enough money to feed yourself-”
“I don’t need charity from the likes of you! You never learn do you?! Money isn’t everything Wonka! Believe it or not, my family was perfectly happy before *you* ever came along, and I’m perfectly happy living now the way I did then! But you just *can’t* understand that can you? You never could . . .”
“Charlie, please, be reasonable! I didn’t mean to diminish your family or the life you had, but don’t you want what’s best for your family, Charlie? You can’t deny that you want to give your family a better life than this. . .”
Charlie growled knowing that Wonka was right. He *did* want his family to have a better life than this. What decent husband would he be if he had wanted otherwise?
He glared at Wonka, loathing to admit that Willy was right. “*Why* me though?!”
Wonka was quick to answer this time. “Because you’re the only one who *can*, Charlie! I taught you everything I know! Everything! There’s no one else in this entire world who is *capable* of running the place! There’s no else who I can *trust!*”
“Yes, but-”
“-And the Oompa Loompas, Charlie! Please, if no one else, think of them! Someone *must* keep the factory open if only for them! They have nowhere else to go! And you know that I can’t sell the factory to just *anybody,* they’d have the Oompa Loompa’s shipped off to goodness knows where to have goodness knows what done to them!”
Charlie could feel his resolve slipping, but there was still one very big problem with the whole deal . . .
“But *you* will be everywhere I go. You are in *everything* in that factory, I’ll never be rid of you-“
Wonka was completely exasperated. “Then change it! *Tear* the place to *pieces* if that’s what you need to do! Just *please* . . . *please* say you’ll do this!”
Wonka had certainly prepared for this, Charlie had to give him that much. The candy man had countered all of Charlie’s arguments and although Charlie could scarcely believe it, he found himself seriously considering Wonka’s proposal.
“I . . . I need time to think about this. I need to talk it over with Sarah.”
Wonka was nodding with enthusiasm, his gray streaked locks bouncing in time. “Yes, yes of course. Take the time you need. But please . . . keep in mind that my time is limited, Charlie, and I’ll have to know as soon as possible. Do you still remember my number?”
Charlie refused to answer that question.“I’ll let you know within the week. If you don’t hear from me in that time, than my answer is no.”
Willy gave a trembling nod, “T-Thank you, Charlie.” And for a long moment they simply gazed at each other, a million unsaid words dancing between them, before Wonka finally tore his eyes away.
“I . . . I guess I’d better leave you to get ready for your wedding. I’m sure you have nothing to do and all the time in the world to do it . . . ah . . . I mean, strike that-”
“-Reverse it.”
Willy nodded again, the slightest hint of genuine smile flickering across his face as he made his way, with the aid of his cane, towards the door to leave. “Yes, well . . . good luck, Charlie.” He opened the door and made to exit when-
“Willy?”
Wonka turned towards Charlie once more, his dark brows raised in question, “Yes?”
“I still hate you.”
Wonka’s eyes clouded with an unnameable emotion before he gave one last nod and closed the door behind him, leaving his former lover to sink to the floor in complete and utter mental exhaustion.
“I hate you . . .”

>pectuspectorisinfractuspectuspectorisinfractuspectuspectorisinfractuspectuspectorisinfractus<

Charlie stared past a set of large iron gates, to gaze upon the twisting metal behemoth that was the world renowned chocolate factory of the illustrious Willy Wonka. The factory that would now belong to him . . .
It was an incredible, yet indescribable feeling for Charlie to be standing before this great factory once again, much as he had done nearly fifteen years prior as a poor twelve year old boy, clutching to a piece of gold that would allow him to finally meet the man behind all of his childhood dreams . . .
Charlie shook the now painful memories from his mind, setting his jaw in determination. This was no time to be taking a trip down memory lane, especially when said memories were trying to betray him by insisting that they were joyful, attempting to elicit a response similar to *yearning* from him.
But Charlie knew his emotions to be treacherous before that day, and as the iron gates creaked open to allow him passage, he had already hardened his heart for the task at hand: To assume control of the factory from a dying Willy Wonka with no remorse what so ever.
Charlie roughly shoved his hands into his battered tan raglan and stepped into the looming shadow of the factory, slowly making his way towards it.
As he approached the entrance he noticed that a hunched figure of a man leaning on a cane was waiting for him. Wonka had once again forgone the goggle-like shades that he had once insisted on wearing whenever he ventured outside. Perhaps Wonka no longer saw the point in protecting his vision, as it, along with everything else, would be abandoning him soon enough anyway. Unlike his previous visit, Wonka’s apparel was freshly tailored and fitted, and from the top hat on his head, to his velvet frock coat and the shoes he wore, Wonka was clothed entirely in black. The only colour that Charlie could see, now, as he stopped in front of the living legend, was a dark royal purple within the pattern of his paisley shirt, and in the stitched “W’s” that adorned his otherwise black gloves. Wonka’s ever present silver “W” broach and watch seemed to glow phantasmally against his dark attire. The whole of Wonka’s being at that moment seemed ethereal, yet was omniscient of the end that was very near for this man . . .
One side of Wonka’s bold lips rose in a shy smile. “Hullo, Charlie. I’m glad you’ve come.”
Charlie was the one to avert his eyes this time. “Yeah . . . Well . . . let’s just get this over with.”
Wonka nodded and turned towards the entrance, gesturing for Charlie to follow.
The long walk from the entrance of the factory to the Great Glass Elevator at the end of the entrance hall was an awkward one for both Willy Wonka and Charlie Bucket as they walked side by side in silence.
Wonka was the first to break the quiet. “You . . . you didn’t bring Sarah. I was . . . I was hoping to meet her.”
“I’m sure you were, and I’ll thank you not to be so informal when addressing her.” Charlie refused to make small talk with Wonka. It would be too friendly. Too relaxed. Too much like old times . . .
Wonka’s elegant cheekbones coloured with a faint blush and his eyes turned downcast. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. I-”
“Just drop it alright?”
Wonka didn’t try to make conversation after that, and soon enough they had reached the Great Glass Elevator. The doors slid open and after following Charlie inside, Willy pressed the translucent button for his office.
The elevator jolted to life, sending Charlie (who had forgotten just *how* powerful the stupid hunk of glass actually was) crashing into Wonka, who in turn ended up pinned between Charlie and the transparent wall of the elevator.
Memories assaulted Charlie’s mind with a tremendous force now that he was in such a intimate proximity of Wonka. The *feel* of the man underneath him, the *smell* of his clothes, the *sound* of his stifling gasps . . . he felt . . . he felt-”
Charlie’s brain had finally caught up with his fluttering heart and he recoiled away from the reacquainted form of Wonka. He huddled in the corner of the elevator absolutely refusing to look at Wonka for the remainder of the ride. He needed to get this done and over with *now*. . .
Willy was trembling and taking shuddering breaths, trying desperately to regain his composure. He had just been in a wonderful dream, a dream where Charlie had actually hesitated to remove himself from his being. Had maybe *wanted* to remain tangled with his former mentor, the way they had before. Before . . . they had been torn apart . . . But one glance at the man in question glaring determinedly away from him, and Willy knew that there was no chance of them ever being on friendly terms again, leave alone being anything more . . .

The elevator finally came to a halt and both parties exited, entering Wonka’s office in silence. Waiting for them there, sitting beside Wonka’s cherry wood desk were two *very* opposing men. One was a bespectacled elderly looking man who, despite his hunched posture, was still very tall. The other man had a youthful appearance yet had an air of wisdom of one that had lived a very long time, and unlike the other man, this man was quite short. In fact, he was so short, that he would have reached no more than a grown man’s knee. This man was an Oompa Loompa.
Wonka gestured Charlie towards them as both men stood to greet the two who had just stepped out of the elevator.
Nodding towards the elderly gentleman, Willy began with the introductions. “Charlie this is my lawyer, Mr. Burton. He’s the one whose gonna take care of all the paperwork regarding change in ownership and accounts and all that boring, complicated stuff.”
Charlie and Mr. Burton exchanged the proper greetings, shaking hands.
“And this is Wishniak, the Oompa Loompa Chief. Surely you remember him? Yes, of course you do. He’s here on behalf of the Oompa Loompa’s to act as a witness and overseer of the whole thing.”
Wishniak gave Charlie a critical looking over, and Charlie couldn’t help but feel that the chief was judging him, looking for what, Charlie wasn’t sure.
The elder must have found what he was looking for, for his face suddenly brightened and he bowed at the waist, arms folded, in the traditional Oompa Loompa greeting.
Charlie quickly followed suit with a greeting of his own, and he just managed to catch Wonka’s wistful expression as he righted himself. It was quickly gone however, and Wonka’s expression turned serious as he moved behind his desk, sitting down and inviting the others to do the same.
Once they were all seated, Wonka opened an envelope that had been sitting on his desk, removing three bundles of paper, handing one to Charlie and resting the other two in front of him.
“That’s your copy, Charlie. You can take all the time you need to read through-”
“That won’t be necessary. I want this done with as soon as possible. I have nothing to loose anyways.”
Wonka’s look of surprise faded and he nodded, “Alright, you can always read through it later for the details. I’m sure you know the gist of it anyways. Basically you sign this and I sign this and they sign this and you get to own the factory. So, shall we get started?”
They all signed the papers in turn, and once the last person had signed, Mr. Burton collected a bundle of the papers and excusing himself, left the office. Wishniak stayed behind.
“Only one last thing to do now . . .”Wonka then reached inside of his coat to slowly pull out his silver ring of keys. He hesitated, turning them over carefully in his gloved hands, an unreadable expression on his face. After a long while something changed in his eyes and he quickly handed the keys over to Charlie as if he would change his mind if he waited any longer.
“It’s all yours Charlie.”
It was an indescribable feeling to be holding the keys of the factory of his dreams, Charlie could hardly believe that it was real. But something was off here . . .

“Wait a minute . . . if you’re giving me the keys now, then that means you’re leaving now?”
Willy gave Charlie a sad smile. “Yeah . . . I ah . . . I’ve already made arrangements to spend what’s left of my life someplace . . . someplace else. I’ll be buried there as well, so you won’t have to worry about me hauntn’ the factory afterwards or anything . . .”
Charlie didn’t respond. How could he? What did he say to this man who spoke of his impending death with such nonchalance?
Willy then turned to Wishniak.“Well, I guess I’d better get goin’ then. You’ll take care of anything else that Charlie needs?”
The chief bowed and then gestured for Wonka to kneel so that he could speak in Wonka’s ear.
“Yes, yes of course you can . . . no I haven’t . . . yes I do . . . you too.”
Wonka stood up smiling sadly at Wishniak before turning to Charlie. “Charlie, Wishniak wants to see me off in the Chocolate Room with the other Oompa Loompa’s, you’re . . . you’re welcome to come as well but it’s understandable if you’d rather not-”
“I’m coming too.”
Willy looked surprised at first but then flashed a gentle smile. “Ok . . .” He then limped his way towards the elevator, with Charlie and Wishniak following closely behind.

>pectuspectorisinfractuspectuspectorisinfractuspectuspectorisinfractuspectuspectorisinfractus<

Perhaps it was the fault of time, for Charlie knew that the Chocolate Room was beautiful, after all, he had *lived* in the place and yet he was still stunned as he entered into the glowing green meadow and the scent of the most incredible chocolate in the world filled his senses.
Equally as incredible was the sight of *thousands* of Oompa Loompas of all ages that filled the Chocolate Room to see off their saviour for the last time. They were everywhere. They filled the swudge ledges, and the candy pink Viking style boat, they hung from the twisting sugar trees and some had even sat on the roof of the old Bucket shack . . .
His house . . . Charlie had not seen it since the day he left. The day that it had all fallen apart . . .
~~ “It’s *disgusting* Charlie! What that man did to you was horrible!”
“But Mum I don’t . . . I don’t understand!”
“Mr. and Mrs. Bucket *please* let me explain-”

“How the *hell* can you explain to us why you . . . you *stained* our son?!”
“But . . . I’m not . . . I’m not dirty . . .”
“Oh my poor Charlie. Someday you’ll understand. Someday you’ll know . . . just what has happened to you . . .”~~

“Charlie?”
Charlie snapped out of his flashback to see Wonka looking at him with concern.
“Yeah . . . I . . . didn’t catch what you said.” Charlie felt numb. He could still hear the voices of his angry parents, of a desperate Wonka, of himself crying . . . No, his parents had been right . . . and he knew the difference now. No matter how happy he had been . . .
“Sorry, I was just saying that I should be getting down to the riverside as I’ll be leaving on that boat over there.”
Charlie followed Wonka’s finger towards the river that pointed past the seahorse boat to another boat that Charlie had missed completely. And it was to no great wonder that he had missed it as the boat was made entirely of what seemed to be transparent glass, it’s shape barely discernable save for the bulbous molding of the glass that glowed like liquid water frozen in time. As they approached the vessel, Charlie could see that it was crafted in a similar fashion to the pink seahorse, yet the oars were translucent and some sort of bird acted as the bowhead instead. It was, in short, eerily beautiful.
“Not bad huh? A one of a kind she is.” Willy had come up beside Charlie and was now appraising the boat as well.
“Everything is one of a kind here, Wonka.”
Willy gave a small smile. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“But . . . but how will it take you out of the factory when it’s on the Chocolate River?”
Wonka then turned to Charlie with an expression that Charlie would never forget. “There are rivers in this factory that are not made of chocolate, Charlie . . . I’ll get to where I need to go.”
The Oompa Loompas had moved closer to the two, crowding around the scene in an arc, Wishniak standing in the lead.
Willy motioned towards the chief, “Well, I guess it’s time to go. No need to waste everybody’s time standing around here.”
Wishniak came forward then and bowed, the entire Oompa Loompa population following suit. Wonka returned the bow, his eyes shining as he stood.
Charlie felt something tug painfully within him but refused to show any emotion. He could not allow himself to care . . .
And then Wonka turned towards him, unsure of what to do or what to say. He finally decided to take his chances and offered a shaky hand to Charlie with a nervous smile.
Charlie took the hand in his with a lack of hesitation that surprised even himself and then, holding the hand of this amazing dying man, Charlie was taken with the sudden urge to draw him in for a furious embrace, to feel him living and breathing against him one last time . . .
But he didn’t. Instead he simply allowed the hand to slide from his, and watched dumbly as Willy Wonka gave him a sorrowful, yet loving smile. “Good luck, Charlie.” He then moved towards the boat, but as he reached the end of the plank he glanced back to whisper, “Be happy.” And then he was sitting in the back of the boat, his gloved hands resting on his cane in front of him, his face expressionless.
The Oompa Loompa’s had come up to the river’s edge now, with Wishniak standing beside Charlie and for a long moment nothing happened. But then the crystalline oars suddenly, miraculously, rose into the air as if each were welded by some invisible rower, and then descended once more into the sweet river to begin rowing, propelling the vessel forward.
Charlie stared at Wonka, his words echoing through his mind, “*Be Happy*” He was happy . . . wasn’t he? No, . . . he wasn’t. He had not married Sarah. His family, the same family that he had left, had *hated* Willy Wonka for, were all dead. And yet his prejudice against the man he used to love more than anything remained. Why? Why did it still matter? *Did* it still matter?
Charlie went to call to Wonka then but it was too late. The boat slipped into the darkness of the tunnel and the splashing of the oars immediately ceased. Willy Wonka, was gone.
Charlie’s voice died in his throat, much as Wonka would soon die . . . A thought then occured to Charlie . . . What was it that Wonka was dying from? It seemed ridiculous now to think that he hadn’t thought to ask before and so he turned to Wishniak.
“Great Chief?”
“Yes?”
“What . . . what is it that Mr. Wonka’s dying from?”
Wishniak looked sadly up at Charlie. “A terrible disease, I’m afraid. One that has ravaged him to his very soul, killing him slowly, day by day. It has been very hard on us all, and now it will claim his life but at least . . . now he will know some sort of peace . . .”
Wishniak looked away even as the other Oompa Loompa’s began to chant a slow and mournful tune. But Charlie needed to know more.
“There was no cure?”
“Just one. But it proved impossible to retrieve. And every time Willy Wonka would fail to get it, he would die a little more. . .”
Impossible to retrieve? What sort of disease was this?
“What . . . what was the disease called?”
“Pectus Pectoris Infractus.”
Charlie’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t have heard right . . . The Chief couldn’t mean . . . Willy *couldn’t* be going to . . . going to . . .
“That’s . . . that’s Latin isn’t it? Willy taught it to me . . . but Great Chief . . . it *can’t* be-”
The chief turned to him then with a look of sorrow that Charlie would never, never, forget: “He has crossed into the River of Death on his own accord. His disease was a *broken heart*, . . . and you and your forgiveness, Charlie Bucket, was the only cure.”
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Pectus Pectoris Infractus