Disclaimer states that I own nothing at all, nothing but the cardboard box I live in and my tomahawk. I certainly don't own Beetlejuice, and if I did, I wouldn't be posting stories here, now would I?
Compos Mentis
Chapter One
The light filtered through her large window, reflecting off her vanity mirror and stabbed her painfully in the eyes. Groaning about the invasion, Lydia shifted on her bed, trying to find a more comfortable place to sleep, one where the sunlight didn't bother her. In another few minutes however, the loud blaring of her alarm clock shook her out of her remaining sleep and she forfeit her slumber to the morning.
Lydia had found a new job. Unlike her previous bad exploits with the job market, this one paid exceedingly better and didn't interfere with her classes. The only drawback was the cost of her weekends and most of her evenings. Grumbling she threw the covers off her, shivering when the coldness of the morning whisked by and captured her. She never enjoyed mornings, and enjoyed them less since her coffee machine had malfunctioned. It had stopped working not two days before, conveniently during the day of her big exam.
Brushing her teeth, getting dressed in the uniform she grudgingly had to wear, Lydia left her small apartment and locked it with a click of her key. Breakfast didn't sound humanly appetizing at the moment, so she decided to skip it again. She could always catch something to eat during her break.
Lydia continued on with her morbid day, falling in and out of a pattern she had sworn in her youth she would never subject herself to. Her routine was standard. Get up, go to school, come home, study, work, sleep, get up, work, come home, sleep, school… It was all mundane to her and so terribly boring. It was normal. A word she despised more than anything. The people around her went about life in a similar fashion, not caring that their lives were being dictated by a horrid pattern of monotony brought about by the social public's design of human existence.
There was laughter, smiles, and cheery conversation wherever she turned. People were happy with their utterly predictable, unbiased, lackluster life. She couldn't stand it, and she couldn't stand that people could stand it. She hated her school. Her fellow classmates otherwise ignored her existence, which, granted, she didn't mind one bit, and the teachers were bland and tasteless in her opinion. School lessons were predictable and dry and otherwise unpleasant to even look at. Work was no better, having to deal with whining co-workers and a nagging boss. She hated the man with a passion. From his old suit to his lecherous grin, she despised him with every bone in her body.
Lydia snapped out of what became her ritual rant of her dreary life by the sound of the bus, announcing her stop. Sighing, she stepped out and faced the day, already hating it. The steps up to the Mendota Mental Health Institute were long and tiring. Lydia was certain she needed no prior workout having to go up and down the steps to and from work so often. She stopped at the front doors, staring through the glass at her reflection. Scrubs were the most hideous design she could have ever thought of, always so bright and vibrant, baggy and unforgiving to a woman's figure. Hers happened to be the atrocious cacophony of color, somewhere in the mix of lime and puke green. Grumbling she opened the door, letting the cold air conditioning from inside waft at her uncomfortably. They always had the air on, even in winter.
No one who shared her shifts ever said more than two words to her, and always got extremely silent whenever she entered a room that was seconds before buzzing with conversation. She ignored them, pretended that she didn't notice, but if they stared at her for too long, made sure to fix them with the iciest glare she could ever manage. Years being a social outcast let her perfect the art of the glower.
There was always that one person however, who despite clear warnings, never understood how to take hints and signs. This person of course, had scored one too many points in Lydia's shit list. Kea Walker, age twenty seven, dark sandy hair, brown eyes, fairly dark skinned and a five o'clock shadow that was ever present. He followed her around, watched her in between shifts and always stared when they shared the same units to clean. Lydia had caught him many times in the act, but the older man never understood the basic meaning behind "fuck off."
Lydia would be lying if she said the man did not creep her out on more than one occasion. At one point she had almost caught him following her into the women's bathroom. Her manager didn't say a thing when she complained, since he had never antagonized her or came right out and threatened her in anyway. So Lydia went to continually ignoring him, hoping he would go away. With just her luck, today she shared her shift with him; she realized looking over the week calendar posted in the lounge. Looking across the lounge she met with his unblinking brown eyes, smiling at her in a way that let her know he was more than aware of their situation. Growling in her throat, she left the area, knowing without looking that her unwanted partner would soon be behind her.
'Room 309'
Oh, so she had the "Vacationers" rooms today. The Vacationers are what they referred to as the people who check in for a few weeks to help clear their "problems". These were mainly saved for the rich and even the celebrities who came under fake names, wanting to save face. What big time superstar would want it to be leaked that they spent three weeks in a crazy hospital chugging down pills like Pez candies? It sickened her to think that these were the people the general public idolized. She lost count of how many stars she had seen walk in paler than she, shaking, drunk, pumped with drugs, whining and sobbing there pretty little plastic faces off. What did the public find so fascinating about these people? They were demoralizing, sickening, wastes of flesh. If Lydia had it her way, she would have ended their pitiful existences. They didn't deserve people looking up to them. They were nothing but shallow, greedy, materialistic little ants, and she for one wanted nothing to do with them.
Lydia had taken the steps to the third floor, avoiding the elevator. This she did on two accounts. One; to avoid having to share the small space with Kea, and two; avoiding the nurses. To Lydia, the nurses were almost as bad as the patients. There have been a few painful instances, one where she had to share an elevator ride with two nurses caring for a shaking patient. The man was thin, looked almost brittle even, and kept muttering things under his breath, eyes shaking, looking about the small closed in space with a gaze in his eyes that made Lydia shiver. The nurses ignored his strange behavior, and continued to casually exchange words, giggling like school girls. They were used to the patients' strange behaviors, and that is what made Lydia unnerved.
As the door opened to the third floor, she was immediately assaulted with the stench of disinfectant and plastic gloves and the faint smell of baby lotion, or power; wipes used commonly in hospitals. Taking a deep breath Lydia walked farther into the hallway, counting down the doors by the brass numbers above them.
'301…303…305…307…'
'309'
She stopped in front of the door and tensed her body. The door was already open, and standing there, motionlessly still and staring at her, was Kea. His unnaturally big eyes stared at her, that frightening grin on his face leered at her. Uncertainly, Lydia walked into the room, noticing the heavy amount of supplies resting by the far west wall; Kea had brought them up no doubt.
Refusing to speak, or even make eye contact with Kea, Lydia went to gather a rag and a bottle, walking off into a section of the room to start her job. She tried to concentrate, her movements stiff and eyes jumping back and forth between her work and the tall figure standing behind her. It seemed like forever before he finally moved from his first position, and turned to gather his own supplies, thankfully leaving to start cleaning another room.
By the end of the night Lydia was more than ready to get home. She finished her work just as the giant clock on the wall struck five thirty, and thanks to daylight savings time, it was already pitch black outside. The December air was cold on her back. The relentless wind smacked into her shoulders in a shove that threatened to knock her over. Instead, Lydia pulled her trench coat tighter around her, shivering. She walked down the stairs but couldn't help but shake the nagging feeling of being watched. Turning, Lydia looked to her sides, having a hard time seeing in the dark. The uneasy feeling didn't leave her, so in a bout of self consciousness, she pulled her coat tighter, and finished descending the stairs.
"Lydia…?"
The sound of her name made her stiffen. The voice was whispery and faint, uncertain yet solid. She knew the voice, and dreaded turning her head to see its owner.
There he stood, tall and lankly before her. Kea's silhouette stood stark against the darkness. His face was hidden with shadows and his hair was covered with a dusky cabby hat. All she could make out was the glowing white of his eyes, staring at her. Unconsciously she pulled her trench tighter.
"Lydia…" He repeated, just as breathy. He started descending the cold stairs until he reached the bottom step. He towered over her, making her feel small and insignificant. Turning her head nervously, she noted no cars in sight; the street was barren and dead.
"I…wanted to talk with you." Kea bit out nervously. She could now make out the white of his teeth. The bleak street light reflected off them. They were too white, perfect even, and she hated that. Kea was in all actually not that bad to look at. He still had the youthfulness of a twenty-year old and his smile was warm and innocent. To Lydia however, she found it unnerving. He seemed too innocent, too docile, and too nice. He looked easy going and submissive, like he would turn the world upside down if only she asked for it. It was flattering really, but Lydia didn't find it at all endearing or attractive. At most, she found it irksome and annoying.
"I have to get home," Lydia stiffened and turned around, hoping to get to the main street and bus stop without him following her.
"I could give you a lift."
"No."
She started walking, ignoring him, half hoping that if she did he would simply disappear.
"Wait."
No such luck.
She heard Kea's big heavy feet behind her, and suddenly noticed her heart drumming fast and her breath picking up. It was accented by a puff of white against the cold night every time she expelled air.
"Lydia… I have a car; I can take you to your apartment. It's not so far from my house. Look its freezing cold out here, why sit at a bus stop and freeze?"
His logic was almost sickeningly true. The truth was Lydia never minded the cold and would be completely content to wait at the bus corner. The look in his eyes was that of warmth and compassion. She had never noticed how soft his eyes were; maybe it was how the street lights reflected off of them, she wasn't sure. His kind words began to alter her ideas of sitting at the cold bus stop. She continued staring at him and almost tilted her head in gratitude. It didn't make sense to sit there and shiver when he was happy to give her a lift to her apartment. The thought suddenly split through her, zapping her hard in the gut and sending off pulses of panic racing through her blood.
"How…how do you know where I live?" Lydia stated cautiously. Slowly she began taking steps back, not leaving her eyes from his face.
His expression faltered and he bit his pink lip, like he had just blurted out a secret he didn't want to expel. "Well, I--"
"Don't touch me." Lydia growled, pulling her arm away from where he tried touching her. Breathing harder Lydia began to back up farther, in a split second she was about ready to turn tail and run.
"Please Lydia wait…I only want to help you…you have to understand this," He reached out for her again.
Growing more worried Lydia shouted, "I said don't touch me!"
Kea jumped back, started by her yell, lifting his hands up in a defensive gesture. It was enough to send Lydia into a mad run. She wasn't even fully aware that the direction she was going was the opposite direction of her bus stop.
Completely aware that she might be slightly over reacting, Lydia jumped over some hedges and landed right behind a parked truck. She held her breath as she heard Kea's frantic calling of her name, like a desperate man. She heard him coming closer and had to clamp her hand over her mouth, hoping he would just turn around and give up. Luck was not on her side as she heard his feet hit the gravel around the parking lot she was hiding in.
"Lydia! Please stop this, I didn't mean to frighten you." His voice was genuine, or at least sounded that way; Lydia wasn't quite sure what to believe at this moment. She was being juvenile and foolish. Kea didn't have a hurtful bone in his body, why was she overreacting like this?
She heard the gravel under his feet approaching her and figuring she was already in pretty deep, Lydia decided the best thing she could do was move. Quietly, as to not disturb the gravel under her own feet, Lydia slowly moved away from her cover and over to the next, ducking and sliding along their sleek shining finishing until she made it to the end of the parking lot.
Lydia could have sworn she heard a chuckle, deep, baritone and gut wrenching. Startled, Lydia skidded to a stop and slid on the gravel. She screamed out as she collided to the ground. In horror, Lydia crawled behind the large dumpster. Lydia knew Kea heard her, because the frequent calling of her name ceased, and the footfalls became faster and louder. Frantic and not sure what she should do, Lydia looked desperately around her for a possible escape route. She didn't see anything much less diving into the vat of smelly waste.
It was then the wind picked up. It was a random burst of wind that almost felt unnatural in its suddenness. Within the chilling breeze a paper fluttered and soon landed not a foot in front of her feet. It was dingy and crinkled, barely noticeable in the dark, but she marveled for a second at it. The wind blew slightly and played with its crinkled edges. With a shaking hand Lydia reached over and picked it up, curious as to what such a thing was. It was an advertisement. The paper was yellowed and she could smell its muskiness even over the garbage. On it was a picture of what looked like a large beetle holding an even bigger mallet.
BETELGEUSE
THE BIO-EXORCIST
Troubled by the living?
Is that the problem and not the solution?
Unhappy with eternity?
Having difficulty adjusting?
Call
BETELGEUSE
BETELGEUSE
BETELGEUSE
Lydia's mouth fell open as she read, her eyes scanning over the paper like she didn't believe it was right in front of her. She was unaware until that moment that she had read it out loud, but noticed that the footsteps had ceased. Folding the flyer carefully, Lydia tucked it into her pocket and sat up, gingerly looking over the dump. Not a soul there.
She could have sworn she heard that same croaky laughter, but it was almost as faint as the wind. Nervously, Lydia stood up and crept from behind the garbage. It was unnaturally silent. She felt uneasy and suddenly nervous by it all. Where did Kea go? And did he actually show up? Lydia bit her lip, unwilling to say his name even in her own mind in fear of somehow summoning him. But she had, hadn't she? She had read the flyer in a whisper of her breath, uttered his name with unabated fascination, at least she thought she did. She wouldn't risk saying his name three more times in order to banish him back, for fear that she hadn't summoned him, and he would appear in front of her now, with grimy hair, dusty suit and moldy face, his greenish teeth leering at her pulled back in that slimy look of arrogance as he heartily chortled a, "How's is hangin' Sweet-cheeks?" or something similar.
No, but he wasn't there. It was silent, something he surely never was. He enjoyed making a scene, enjoyed creating a grand entrance with a boisterous display of ghostly power and bad puns. Maybe she was mistaken, and she hadn't called his name in the night, too endorsed with fear to realize it. Maybe Kea just got fed up and left. Realizing that this had to be the only explanation, Lydia Deetz began to walk back to her bus stop, unconsciously giving her trench coat another tight squeeze.
The trip back was a silent, yet quick one. The bus was on time for once, and Lydia was more than grateful. She quickly found her keys and jammed them in her door. It took a few good hard twists and turns and a good hard shove before the door finally gave way and let her in. Her apartment was silent and smelled damp, like it always did. Heaving a sigh Lydia dropped her keys and jacket onto the coffee table and made it into the kitchen for instant tea. She needed to calm her nerves.
Lydia's mind wandered over the night's activities as she watched the kettle on the stove heat up. Kea gave her the chills, and his stunt tonight was the final straw on her quiet dismissal of him. He needed to learn to leave her alone, and stalking her was definitely out of the question. He gave her a fright, but nothing near the thrill she experienced years ago.
With him.
It wasn't as bad as she recalled it, having replayed the events in her mind over and over through the years. She had been generally frightened when the stair railing turned into a giant snake and attacked them, in all honestly who wouldn't? However she quickly got over the fear once she realized who he was and talked with him. He, with his less than impressive features, merely creeped her out. He was an overweight, vulgar man with bad hygiene, not something very intimidating in Lydia's mind. She had needed his help and the slime actually blackmailed her into marriage. She could still remember that night unfolding; from his wonky carousel entrance to Otho's fashion statement. In all honesty under different circumstances, she would have laughed at such a comical display. But no, he had wanted her to be his bride. Somehow fixing her in a gaudy (albeit beautiful in her opinion) red wedding dress. He then proceeded to make an even bigger fool out of her, as well as himself. How many damn snakes and rodents can he pull out of his coat anyway? No, He was nothing more than a joke to her. A rather, creepy, perverted one at that.
This was not what Lydia thought the dead would be like. She had somehow expected the dead to look more…well threatening. Instead she got two average looking Joes in designer sheets and a man representing half the American male population. Lydia snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of a whistle. Turning off the stove burner, Lydia moved the kettle onto the table, pouring herself the boiling water into a mug in which rested a tea bag.
God, she was exhausted. The night had drained her, and she was slowly finding it difficult to stay awake and not pass out into her cup of tea. What time was it anyway? It couldn't be all that late. Lydia heard the tick-tock of a clock and glanced over at the wall. She was right, it was only eight thirty. It seemed much later, however that's what time her small black and white cat clock said, its eyes and tail swinging with each monotonous tick-tock. Lydia took a sip of her tea and almost spit it out.
Cat clock?
Putting her mug down, Lydia carefully walked over to the wall, staring at the clock with confusion and astonishment, and was that a twinge of panic? Lydia Deetz may be many things, but crazy she was not., and she knew she didn't own a cat clock. Standing right in front of it, Lydia glared at it like it would jump off the wall and shred her to death. My, what a pathetic death that would be; death by killer cat clock. She could see the papers now.
But it innocently stayed put, obediently swaying back and forth with each passing second, entranced by the rhythmic and almost mesmerizing effect, when suddenly,
"Babes!"
Lydia screeched out as it spoke, the cat face mouthing the word and forcing her to jump back. Immediately she felt a pair of arms wrap around her from behind and a cold breath by her ear. She screamed out in dead fright, turning to see the face she all but missed. Before she even had time to react, he had her in a dip, and his mouth on hers. Lydia struggled through it, feeling his grimy lips on her and his tongue forcefully plowing through her mouth. Just as quickly it was over and she sputtered, wiping her mouth and trying to get out of his grasp.
"Aww….I knew you would call me, I just knew you would. I had faith in you all along. You would never let me down, would ya, babes?"
She could smell his breath and it caused her insides to shiver, she fought to get out of his hold, not believing that he was here. This couldn't be real, it couldn't.
He squeezed her in the tightest hug she had ever been given, nearly suffocating. Lydia made a mewling noise to try to get out of his grasp, but he seemed to take it the wrong way.
"Hey, I know what this is about," He started, that ever humorous ring of his voice all the while. For the first time in four years, Lydia looked up into his face. Her mouth fumbled open but she couldn't find her voice. He was still as moldy as before, teeth still yellowed, and skin still deathly white.
"You are still upset about the wedding." Here he made a movement with his free hand, as though to interrupt her, even though she didn't make any indication that she was going to. "I know, I know. Now, listen here doll, I know it wasn't your fault that it was cut short, those damn Maitlands interfering in all my plans…But I promise… I will make it up to you. I will! Whatever it takes you make my dame happy." His eccentric expression and display made her stiff and unsure of what to do, utterly shell shocked. What the hell was going on?
"You know what," He chuckled a little bit here, giving her a good hearty (though obviously staged) smile. "I'll even let you pick when and where babes, how about that?"
Finally after a few seconds of blank staring on her part, Lydia came to life and pried herself out of his grasp, knowing it was only because he loosened his grip. She distanced herself from him and glared.
"You…What are you doing here?" She voiced, even after she said it she knew how unbelievably stupid it was to ask.
"Well, uh," he raised his eyebrow, pointing to her. "You called me here, babes."
He gave a dramatic sigh; a little too dramatic to be taken seriously, then he collapsed onto his knees before her, making sobbing noises as he grasped her pant leg. "And I wanted so bad to protect you…make sure my bride-to-be was safe an' sound all these lonely years without me. So when I heard you were in trouble, I had to take action, protect what's mine an' all. That's how you found my ad."
"The advertisement." Realization dawned in her eyes as she stared at him. So she had read it out loud. She could have cursed herself at the moment if she could spare a few thoughts. Things were spiraling out of control and fast. She needed to stay focused and contemplate the situation and….was that a hand on her thigh?
Squealing, Lydia kicked him as hard as she could, nailing him painfully where all men were vulnerable…and apparently ghosts too. He fell back onto the floor and grasped himself cursing under her breath.
"Aww…what was that for babes? Here I am, protectin' your little breathin' bum from crazed possible sex offenders and what do I get in return?"
"Stop acting like a fool. I know your games," Lydia grit out, growing quickly annoyed by his shenanigans. "And the sympathy card doesn't work on me; I've seen it enough on everyone's faces."
She heard Beetlejui—him sigh and slowly sit up, then stand. He dusted off his clearly dirty jacket. She immediately recognized the pinstripe design from their previous meeting. He was looking at her, no, leering at her. His bright, almost glowing green eyes devoured her with his crude gaze. She felt sick and violated even though she had on those terrible scrubs.
"Kea," the thought suddenly entered her mind. "What did you do to him?"
He looked at her straight in the eyes, and Lydia felt a strange shiver run through her. What was with that look? It looked like he was penetrating her, peeling through the layers of her soul to get right into the hot center. Then he smiled.
"Now see, I don't scare and tell, not my style." He stated calmly.
"Is he at least alive?"
The ghost before her only shrugged. "Yes, no, maybe, possibly, outlook not so good, ask again later; would ya like to shake a fuckin' eight ball, babe? What's with all the questions?" His voice was razor sharp and cut into her like a jagged knife, causing her to shiver.
"This can't be happening," Lydia grumbled miserably, shaking her head in an attempt to come to some normalcy. How she hated that word but…this had to be a dream.
"Oh but it is."
She jumped when it sounded right besides her ear. He was inches away from her, his body almost overtop of hers. She hadn't realized he had gotten so close, and she damned herself for not noticing.
"You've grown." He stated simply, breathing against her ear. Lydia tried to push him away, but he only grabbed her arms and pinned them against his chest, trapping her against the wall. He looked her up and down, one of his eyebrows lifting as he met her face.
"But what the fuck are you wearing?"
"Let go of me you pig!' Lydia struggled. He eventually freed her, and she stumbled through the kitchen doorway into the living room, never once taking her eyes off him.
"Answer my question." His words were forceful, harsh and biting into her ears, yet, oddly….playful? What the hell?
"I work in them. If you had been "checking up on me" like you said, you would have known that." She bit out, not entirely sure why she even bothered telling him.
She thought he would have gotten mad at her biting remarks, threaten or hit her or something, yet he smiled. The ghost looked amused, then that earthy chuckle left his lips. Soon that laughter grew louder and more prominent, until it echoed in her small apartment.
Shocked and admittedly frightened by his erratic mood changes, Lydia sputtered out words, thinking of something to say to make him stop. Having him talk was less threatening that this behavior of his.
"W-what's so funny?"
The ghost looked at her, holding his stomach as if it would fall off and roll away. He looked like he was trying to stop laughing, though failing miserably. Finally, he was able to get words out, in between chortles of hilarity.
"You." He laughed, "You…are really one of a kind, babes!"
Lydia wrinkled her brow and looked at him, not understanding him at all. Hell, she didn't understand herself at the moment.
He collapsed onto her couch slowly ebbing off his laugh drunken high, shaking his head. "And they call me insane," A snort, "Breathers…"
"What do you mean?" She found herself asking before she could help herself. It was her own fault really, she was too damn curious for her own good. Wasn't it her morbid fascination with him that got her involved with the ghost from the get-go all those years ago?
"Well hell," he began shifting on her couch, well, practically claiming it by the way he was laying on it. "You've got to be the first flesh bucket to not take one look at me and run screaming. You got fight in ya, and I like that!"
Lydia didn't think she liked that answer, yet she asked for it really. She rustled the idea in her mind, and the realization chilled her. Most people would have been scared shitless of Beetle—of him, yet it was true that she was more scared of little innocent Kea more than he. How did that work? The man was dead, that alone should have been enough.
"Hey… Lydia, right?"
His voice startled her into looking at him. She was surprised; bewildered actually that he used her name, that he remembered it to begin with.
They were silent for a moment as he stared at her, and Lydia had to gulp down a burning feeling she got by his unnatural gaze. It was inhuman, and scorched her to the bone, a warming sensation she had never felt before. She suddenly realized that he wasn't as threatening as she first thought. There was something in him, not so much human, more humane. His heart might be dead, but his eyes were so very alive. She was instantly captivated, curious mostly, wondering what possible secrets, what otherworldly things could Beetlejuice possibly know?
"…You got anything ta drink around here?"
Lydia had to take a minute to comprehend he was talking again, and what he was saying. She shook her head and tried to think.
"In the cabinet." She pointed across the room and watched as he skipped off the couch like a kid given permission to play with dynamite in the house.
She heard the familiar clatter of bottles hitting each other as Beetlejuice sorted through her wine cabinet. His head popped up sometime later, brandishing a bottle in his hands.
"Macallan? Chivas? Glenfiddich? You sure have expensive taste, babes." Beeltejuice's eyebrow rose as he stared at one of the bottles, whistling. "Not that I mind."
"They are from my father's private collection," Lydia didn't know why she was telling him this. "He gave me them as a graduation gift."
She watched as the ghost sat back on the couch, popping the cork of the unopened bottle of prized Macallan and pouring it into shot glasses. Lydia only then noticed he had placed two on the table, and the arch of his brow was his sign to her asking if she would drink. Lydia hesitated, would drinking with Beetlejuice really be a good idea? She shrugged. What the hell, why not?
"Graduation, eh?" Beetlejuice hinted, pouring her shot and setting it down on the coffee table. Lydia bit her lip nervously, unsure if she should sit by him, but ultimately chose to do so, sitting as far off as she could from the ghost.
"How old are ya anyway?" Beetlejuice asked, chugging his shot like it was water.
Lydia gaped amazed for a second. She had never tasted her father's prized Macallan before, but she knew it was strong. Maybe it had to do with being dead, Lydia didn't know, and stared down at her drink.
"Twenty this June," Lydia murmured, swigging her drink. She watched as Beetlejuice's eyebrow rose and lip quirked, impressed. She inwardly smirked; he wasn't the only one who could drink shots like water.
Beetlejuice chuckled, having already poured them both another shot. "Isn't that kind of young in this generation for drinkin?"
"Yes," Lydia answered, "But I am a responsible adult and my father trusts me."
"Sure you are, kid." Beetlejuice murmured, watching her carefully.
Lydia gave him a look, and he only chuckled again. She opened her mouth to bite at him, only to hold her tongue as the very thought hit her. Here she was, sitting in her living room, drinking expensive whiskey with Beetlejuice. The very thought seemed surreal, out right ludicrous, bizarre, and downright impractical. She would never had expected doing so, and silently wondered why she hadn't sent him back already, why she was sitting next to him, talking to him, letting him drink her booze.
Without even realizing it, Lydia refilled her shot glass, not even remembering finishing the one before it. She remained quiet, stuck in her own thoughts and musings and didn't pay much attention to the ghost by her side, who was starting to fidget.
"So um, tell me babes," He began, licking his lips. "Not that I don't appreciate letting me in here an' all, drinkin' your booze and shit like that, but…why haven't you tried to send me back…or hit me, or somethin'?"
Lydia stared at him, blinking. He had a confused look on his face, something that made him look more like a person than a ghost. He had reason to be confused. He had in a sense, turned her life upside down. He tried to marry her, injured her father, and made a fool of her family and yet she let him stay much longer than he probably thought she would permit. What was her reason?
'He helped me.' A small voice said in the back of her head. Yes, Kea. He had helped her, and this small deed justified some sort of thankfulness on her part she guessed.
Lydia shrugged, taking her shot, long past caring that they kept getting easier to take. She could feel the warmth of the whiskey down her throat and inwardly sighed at the wonderful feeling.
"Take it as a sign of gratitude if that's what you want." Lydia mumbled, staring into her clear liquid. She wondered briefly, what her father would think of her right now. How would he take to walking in on her apartment this very moment, seeing her chug down a twenty thousand dollar bottle of whiskey like a pack of Heineken with none other than the ghost who screwed up their lives?
"It's my job, babes," he gave a loud belch, and Lydia cringed, glaring at him in disgust. "I usually don't do jobs for the living, but I figured I would cut ya a deal, you know, with our past and all."
"Whatever," Lydia grumbled, getting lost in her drink. She lost count how many she had now taken, but like usual, didn't care. This was heaven, an escape, and she loved to indulge in its warmth and the trouble-free existence it gave her. The room was suddenly very warm, and the back of her throat burned, yet she felt content, all her problems were melting away. She loved it.
"You know, I ain't as bad as a guy you think I am," Beetlejuice took his swig and gave a long exhale, she could smell his alcoholic breath but refused to berate him for it, for she figured her breath smelled no better.
"Oh, really?" Lydia snorted.
"Yeah," He scratched at his crotch then sat up, looking at her in her half drunken mess. "If I really was that bad, I wouldn't have helped your little dead friends at all. And as far as right now is concerned, I would have left by now, probably messed you up for the hell of it too."
Lydia thought about it for a moment, not entirely sure if the alcohol was effecting her logic. "Maybe so, but you needed to hold up your bargain if you wanted to get your end out of it, marriage that is. And as far as right now, I don't know what the hell is going on. If you really wanted to kill me, you would have already, and plus I am providing you with booze. You don't look like the type to turn down whiskey."
"You're right," Beetlejuice grinned. "And the marriage thing is still up for discussion, as far as I see it, we still have a deal, toots." He brought his drink to his lips.
"And what makes you think I will marry you?!" Lydia violently grabbed at his shot glass and threw it against the table, crashing it and its contents all over the table.
He looked at her to the whiskey that was wasted on the table and frowned. "Damn Lyds, I had no idea you were a violent drunk."
"Shut the fuck up," Lydia growled, calming down and taking her seat again. She took deep breaths to try to calm herself, grabbing at her head. "I have to think about this, this whole night is just….a lot."
"Understandable babes," Beetlejuice muttered, looking at his broken glass, then shrugged and grabbed the bottle, taking a huge swig.
"I'm going to sleep," Lydia grumbled, rubbing her eyes in sudden sleepiness.
Beetlejuice looked over at her with a sleazy grin. "Want some company?"
"No." She grumbled forcefully and walked, or really stumbled, towards her room. Beetlejuice pouted on the couch but it quickly changed back into a grin.
"Don't know why I don't just say your name and send you back to hell…"
"Gratitude babes, gratitude."
Even though he knew it was more because she was more than a bit tipsy.
There was more grumbling, a solemn click of a door and then finally silence. Beetlejuice leaned back into the couch and got comfortable. With a half bottle of whiskey in his hands he gave a long pleasing sigh. Things were going to get fun, he could see it. He was glad Lydia hadn't changed much since he had last seen her. Still lonely and depressed with her life. Still the strange awkward girl that wanted help from anywhere she could grasp it. Still naïve and gullible. Oh this would be fun, very fun indeed.
This is my first story and I feel damn proud for finally publishing it, seriously it has only been taking up my disc space for several months. Now only if I could find time to actually finish it. If you have any comments or suggestions, complaints or declorations of independants let me know. Feedback is my number one fuel to writing. I'm serious. Push the button.
