"I have some grave news for you," stated Dr. Harrison who sat before the Deetz family. "It would seem that Lydia has come down with a very rare and- frankly terrible disease." The trio stared at the doctor in silence before Charles rolled his eyes.
"Are you going to tell us what it is or do we have to pay for another visit to find out?" Both his daughter and wife shot him a look but lord knew the man did not have patience for any of this. Not for the city traffic it took to get here, not for the hospital bills, and he sure as hell did not have the patience for the dramatic delivery given.
"Tell us what she has and we'll do whatever it is to make Lydia better," Delia chimed in, placing a reassuring hand on Lydia's shoulder.
The girl had looked like she had before the Maitland's' showed up in their life. Pale, fragile, lifeless at times even. For the first few months, the parents assumed it was depression. When Barbara and Adam passed on earlier than expected Lydia just broke. Their 125 year sentence of haunting their home was cut to three years, and it was all because they found the closure they didn't have in life.
A family.
It was beyond fucked up in Lydia's mind. They were forced to move from the very thing they sought after. She couldn't tell which was crueler; life or the afterlife.
Dr. Harrison sighed as he removed his glasses and stared directly at Lydia. Trying to find the right words was pointless in this situation. The girl was only 18, a girl her age should have spent the summer with friends, preparing to go off to University or traveling. Instead Lydia Deetz spent the last two years in and out of these halls, getting blood drawn and medical evaluations of all kinds.
"I'm afraid that Lydia has Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease," started Dr. Harrison. "It's a degenerative disease that is fatal and uncurbable, given what we know, we expect Lydia to be dead within six months."
Dr. Harrison expected the anger from Charles, he expected the sobbing fits from Delia, but he did know what would come from the daughter. Tears, perhaps. Shock would be more likely in his professional experience, but that wasn't what Lydia did.
Lydia gave him the most radiant smile he had ever seen, thanked him and left the room. Getting up from his chair the doctor followed the teenager out, catching her wrist.
"Lydia, do you understand what I just told you? You're terminally ill," he whispered as they were now in the hall. Lydia didn't miss a beat.
"I understand perfectly Dr. Harrison, I'm going home."
Lydia watched the rain streak across the window on the drive back to Connecticut, trying to block out the conversation her father and Delia were having.
"Charles, how could have this happened? It's a one in a million chance. ONE IN A MILLION!"
"I read the report too, Delia. It's likely that her mother's side of the family held it. It is hereditary, but hell, the doctors don't even know for a fact how its caused. For all we know, Lydia could have been misdiagnosed," Charles muttered, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white. "We'll get a second opinion." Delia nodded in response before looking back to Lydia.
"I'll sell all of my art if I have too. We aren't going to let you die, you aren't getting away from us that easily!" Delia teased only to keep herself from breaking out into tears.
"Do you think I'll become a ghost, or will I get to see Adam and Barbara?" Lydia asked from the rear of the car, making both of the parents whip their heads in her direction.
"You have to be kidding me Lydia," growled her father. "Out of everything that is going on you're thinking about them?! I know you miss them, I for one miss how you were with them around, but Christ! You could end up like Beetlejuice for all we know!"
Charles regretted the words as soon as they came out. They hadn't so much as uttered the man's existence since they patched up the hole from the sandworm that devoured the perverted ghost, and now he said his name.
"Charles!" Delia shouted smacking his arm, "Are you mad?! You said his name! You said his name!"
"I KNOW I SAID HIS NAME DELIA, I J-" Charles took in a deep breath trying to calm his nerves before he caused an accident on the road. "Listen, let's just drop this subject for the rest of the drive. I don't want to hear anything about him, or the Maitland's, understood?"
His question was met with silence, to which he didn't respond to.
Lydia rested her head against the car window once more, watching the streaks race by, but now her thoughts were no longer the pleasant 'what if' of being reunited with Barbara and Adam, but of having to spend eternity around Beetlejuice.
In the Neitherworld, Beetlejuice hovered over a newspaper scoping out the obituaries. They say that print is dying, but so were all these poor saps. Nothing but losers for the most part.
"Too fat, too smart, ugh, way too ugly," snorted the ghoul in disgust. He was still on probation with Juno, and how he didn't end up with a one way ticket to Saturn was beyond him but he wasn't going to argue.
Not seeing any targets of interest, Beetlejuice crumpled up the paper and tossed it over his shoulder. He was in a five year dry spell, both with work and the ladies. Every lead he got either ended up in a complete bust or Juno would beat him to the clients. She never had time for the new clients back in the good old days, but now the bitch seemed to show up to each of her clients the minute they were pronounced dead!
"How's a guy supposed to make a living in these conditions?!" Shouted the ghost in the empty room. He had begun working harder than ever, stalking the dying like he was grim reaper. So far all his potential clients died of natural causes, but he kept his fingers crossed for something unexpected.
A serial killing nurse in a hospice,
An old broad falling down a staircase,
Someone saying his name,
An old geezer taking Viagra,
A classic case of murder for inheritance money or-
Beetlejuice pause feeling the familiar pull. Someone said his name.
Someone said his name! A living client, and Charles Deetz of all people.
"Oh this is just too good!"
