A/N: Veronica Mars/Jennifer's Body cross. Post movie, and pre/early season one Vmars. A dark and twisty sequel/tag to Just A Soul. But you don't need to read it, all you need to know is that Needy finds V and wants her. The assumption for this one is that her bite changed Veronica to be like her, the two became lovers, and have spent the intervening time figuring out who killed Lilly. Contains femmeslash torture, and character death.
It is fucked up people and I really really want to know what you think of it.
Ghost Girl
Girlish laughter ghosts through the house and Logan shivers in his sleep, but doesn't wake. Aaron does, dark eyes widening in momentary horror and fear as he recognizes the laugh, merry sounds from a dead girl, a dead girl who never knew how to shut up, not until he did it for her. He shakes it off as the result of the alcohol he consumed before bed and turns on his side, mildly irritated that he hadn't taken advantage of Lynn being out of town to invite one of his not-so-dead lovers over to play.
Before he can close his eyes and settle back into sleep, his bedroom door swings open and there's a flash of flirty blonde hair down the hallway, giddy giggles wafting into the room and curling icy fingers around his spine. The sour taste of panic and anger burns against his tongue as he leaps to his feet, hands curled into fists. The little bitch was dead, he'd watched the life flow out of her, red and thick and utterly satisfying, but maybe someone had found out and was trying to mess with him.
Well, if that's the case, he thinks with a slightly manic smile, then they'll learn the same lesson Lilly did.
Padding into the hallway, he follows the feminine sounds of mirth out of the house, across the walk, and into the pool house where he'd fucked her and filmed her, videos that still give him pleasure to this day. His lingering fear is almost completely drowned by the rage pulsing in his blood, and he shoves open the door to the pool house so hard it nearly rebounds off the wall and back into his face.
If it had, he wouldn't have noticed, eyes locked on an impossibility – a dead girl and a missing one, curled together sinuously on the bed, blonde heads tilted against each other as they stare at him with large, liquid eyes and pouting red mouths. "What took you so long, lover?" the dead one asks sultrily, twisting hair around her finger, and the other one giggles, an innocent sound that makes his stomach curdle with dread.
He shakes his head to dispel the nightmarish, and disturbingly arousing, vision, terror and fury throttling his voice before it can escape his throat, and the girls giggle again, shattering the last of his hope that this is just some twisted prank. "You're not real," he says flatly, determined to wake up to the world where dead girls stay dead and nightmares don't take nubile flesh.
He blinks and Lilly is suddenly standing in front of him, eyes so dark they're almost black as she smirks in his face, smelling faintly of her favorite perfume as she trails her hand down his chest, the touch making him harden slightly despite his panic. "Don't worry, lover, this is very real."
The other girl, her missing best friend, daughter of the only man to ever make him nervous, appears behind him and whispers in his ear, a soft malicious sound. "You see, sometimes dreams come true, Aaron, and my dream? Is to make you beg for death, to make you curse the life you stole from her."
Before he can snap out a response, Lilly, girl or ghost, whatever the hell she is, has shattered both his kneecaps with well placed kicks and he is trying to scream and failing as Veronica's tiny, fragile looking hands wrap around his throat and squeeze until all he sees is sucking black, his body spasming from lack of oxygen.
Just before unconsciousness would have set in, the delicate fingers loosen and he is permitted to breathe, each gulp of oxygen burning down his bruised throat. Tears of pain leak from the corners of his eyes as pieces of bone poke out from his knees and the carpet abrades his open wounds. "Enjoying yourself, Aaron?" a silky, feminine voice asks, toying gently with his hair before ripping a large chunk out of his scalp.
"Veronica," he gasps out, throat seizing with the pain of speaking, but desperate to try and save his life, "Would your father want you to do this?"
She laughs, cold and sweet. "Would my dad want me to bring justice to a man who beats his son, seduces underage girls, and murdered someone to protect his disgusting reputation? Yes." There is a soft sound, as if she's shrugged. "We might disagree on the form that justice takes, but he would never judge me for killing a sack of shit like you."
Her hands are suddenly wrapped around his and she's standing in front of him, pixie face and blue eyes terrifying in their doll like innocence. "You killed her with these, you bashed her skull in, Aaron, and you liked it, didn't you? You liked it just as much as you liked fucking her, maybe more."
He's too afraid to nod and Lilly laughs from behind in, the girls having switched places without his panicked brain noticing. "You really are a sick fuck, aren't you?"
Before he can answer, before he can remember his pride and his movie star charm and his rage that has gotten him through everything, Veronica is pulverizing his hands, crushing every single bone in his fingers while Lilly wraps her hands around his jaw and squeezes until his scream is nothing but a strangled gasp.
They let go and he falls to the floor, broken and moaning, eyes so blurred with tears he almost can't see them standing over him and kissing, the sight no longer arousing, just one more horrifying aspect of this nightmare that just will not end.
He's left alone long enough that his vision clears and his breathing slows enough to keep conscious, every sobbing gasp sending shards of pain shooting through his body from his knees and his hands and his head and – crunch – oh god, oh god, the world is red and he's burning and that was a stiletto heel she drove between his legs and what's that sound?
It's him, he's whimpering, curled into a ball, more pathetic than his father was when he was old enough to beat him back, more pathetic than his son when he was eight and he begged him to stop after five measly strokes from the belt, more pathetic than Lilly when the bitch actually thought she could win and crumpled to the ground because no one beats him, no one makes Aaron Echolls lose.
It is hours, and moments, later, when the pain recedes enough that he can see Veronica's face bare inches from his, her pink bow lips curled into a gloating smirk as she raises a glass ash tray and brings it smashing down and the world goes dark as Aaron Echolls loses.
In the morning, his son finds him, and then throws up in the pool while inside the scared little boy laughs like a madman at the knowledge that someone finally made that bastard pay. The police come and they find the evidence of what he'd done, to Lilly, and to other girls and he throws up again while his mom pales and sways before summoning her famous smile and bringing all the officers coffee.
Logan stumbles back to his bedroom and into the bathroom and stares at the mirror. It takes him a moment to register the words written in cherry red lipstick, one Lilly had left there that he's never been able to throw away, and when he does, that slightly manic laugh finally burbles forth.
I forgive you. I missed her too, but my dad was worth defending. Don't let Duncan be an idiot and throw away the only person he has left. I'm sorry. I love you. Ronnie.