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Chapter 2

Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy watched Oz bob his head up and down. She pulled up the heavy jacket that she was using as a blanket and listened to the jumbled noises that came from his headphones.

“This is fucking awesome,” Oz whispered, his fingers drumming a beat on the car door as they drove from the airport.

“No, it’s fucking cold.”

“What?” Oz said in a voice that was louder than usual. He leaned over and pulled one speaker from his ear. “Did you say something?”

“No,” Buffy yelled back. “It’s just much colder here than I had expected!”

Oz nodded casually and pointed to the sparse patches of snow that lined the freeway. “It’s looking like a white Christmas.”

“Oh, it’s been practically guaranteed,” the plump woman who was driving their taxi said with a laugh. “Where are you from? Didn’t you watch the weather reports before coming here?”

Buffy shifted in her seat, feeling uncomfortable with the woman staring at her through the rearview mirror. “We’re from California and about the weather…it can’t get too bad, right? We’re only here for a week and we’ll be long gone before Christmas.”

“You on vacation with your boyfriend?”

“No, no we’re on a business trip. And he, uh,” Buffy gestured to Oz and wrinkled her nose, “he’s not my boyfriend.”

“After I take you kids to the Wonka place, should I drive you to your hotel? I can wait after your sightseeing is done. Heck, since it’s the holidays I’ll even stop the clock for five minutes, how does that sound?” The driver looked from Buffy to Oz and smiled before bringing her eyes back to the road. “So many tourists come to see that closed-up dirty factory—I don’t get it.”

“We’re staying there. At the factory,” Oz said. “William’s expecting us.”

“Really? How so?”

Oz didn’t answer, leaving the conversation as quickly as he had entered it. Buffy tried not to grimace, knowing that the woman’s questions were now directed to her.

“I’m a reporter and he’s my cameraman. I’m going to interview Mr. Bucket.”

“Oh, really?” she said, a hint of surprise to her voice. “Good luck with that William. I’ve read that he’s quite the character. Very mysterious and eccentric...”

“He’s known to be a little on the stubborn side, but don’t worry, I know that I can take him,” Buffy said, causing the taxi driver to chuckle. “Um, how much longer do we have until we reach the factory?”

“About ten minutes or so depending on traffic.”

Determined to remain silent for the rest of the cab ride, Buffy kept her eyes glued on the scenery that passed them by. As she and Oz made their way closer to the city, she couldn’t help but feel anxious and a tad excited to see the infamous chocolate factory that she’d heard so much about.

“Hey, Buff,” Oz said, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Look.”

Tilting her gaze towards where he pointed his black-painted fingernail, Buffy couldn’t help but smile, seeing a narrow vertical sign that towered feet above the city. In bright red letters the word, ‘Wonka’ flickered and flashed in the early evening’s sky.

“Okay, I’ll agree with you now.”

“Awesome, huh?” Oz asked with a barely noticeable smirk.

“Oh, yeah,” she agreed as the taxi slowed in front of the factory’s cobble stone driveway.

Buffy unhooked her seatbelt and headed to the weathered fence that guarded the property. Wrapping her hands around the iron bars, she stared at the front of the buildings. “Just like a movie set, but at the same time…different.”

“Do you see a call a button?” Oz asked, standing behind her, weighed down with his luggage and surrounded by her bags.

“I don’t think so. There aren’t any security cameras that we can wave at either.” She patted her jacket, pulling a slim cell phone out of her pocket. “Lucky for us, I have our buddy William on speed dial. It’s ringing,” she announced, resting her hand on her hip. “And no one is picking up and…apparently he does not have an answering machine. Damn it.”

“It’s no big. We can wait and call him in a few minutes.”

“You’re right,” Buffy agreed. “Maybe he just stepped out. Or maybe he’s on his way to open the gate as we speak…”
***

“Nobody ever goes in, nobody ever comes out.”

“Nobody answers the phone, nobody looks out the freaking window,” Buffy sighed from her spot next to Oz. They were sitting and shivering on a suitcase under a single bare bulb that acted as the factory’s only porch light.

“Maybe you should call him again.”

“I’ve been calling that bastard non-stop.”

“We could walk somewhere…”

“Where? This place is mostly industrial and the stores that are around closed before we even stepped off the plane. When I get my hands on that William Bucket…he is not going to come face to face with a very nice Buffy, I can promise you that much.”

“I plan on staring angrily at him myself. I might even shake a disapproving finger once or twice.”

“If I can’t kill him, I’ll find a way to sue that jerk. He shouldn’t be able to treat us like this. I was promised that someone would meet us at the airport and--.”

“Ms. Summers?! It’s Buffy, right? Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe that William didn’t let you in!”

Buffy and Oz exchanged curious glances as babbling red-haired woman came running from the factory. She was dressed in a formal gown and Buffy could tell that she was struggling to walk in her high heels.

“I had this-this thing to go to and I completely forgot about it. I never imagined that he’d leave you to freeze in the snow. Just give me a sec,” she grunted, trying to untangle the gate’s heavy chains. “Have you had anything to eat? I can fix you something.”

“Ms. Rosenberg?” Buffy asked, hoping that she remembered her name correctly. “We spoke on the phone, didn’t we?”

“Oh, yeah! I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Willow Rosenberg. I’d shake your hands, but I’m kinda busy.”

“That’s alright,” Buffy said with an amused laugh. “You were right, I’m Buffy and this is Oz, my cameraman.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Oz.”

“Likewise.”

“Okay, I’ve almost got it…there! Now you can come inside,” Willow beamed. “Once again, I’m so sorry. Did you have to wait long?”

“Just a few hours,” Buffy answered. “So, William is here and he was ignoring us. Hmm, looks like we’ll be the best of friends. When can I talk him?”

Willow grimaced, sensing Buffy’s unhappiness. “How ‘bout tomorrow after a good night’s rest?”

“He is expecting us…right?”

“Of course he is,” Willow said, laughing nervously. “So, do you guys need help taking in your bags?”
***





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