So, I started another fanfic, not about the same thing, but I lost the story-line for my previous one. sob I may or may not finish this. shrug The characters--excluding Mick and Lydia's cousin (who I have named Cassie)--do not belong to me. They belong to, eh... Tim Burton, I would imagine. Correct me if I'm wrong.

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The rain outside was showing no signs of letting up, and a swirling mist hung low to the ground, upset only by passing cars. The last box had been packed, labeled, and shoved into the trailer Lydia had rented.

A vibrating in the pocket of her black denim jeans pulled her out of her head, and she glanced, irritated, at the screen of a small, beaten flip-phone.

"Delia," she muttered, her eyelids drooping. Annoyed as she was, she reluctantly flicked the buzzing device open, placing it next to her ear. She didn't say anything, she didn't need to.

"Lydia? Sweetie, are you sure you want to go today? The weather is terrible and--" Lydia cut her off, that was te only way to get to her.

"Yes, I'm sure. Its only rain."

"But your father and I--"

"Need to let go." Lydia snapped before hanging up.

It wasn't that she didn't like Delia, she had simply been dealing with her whining and begging for nearly a month. Lydia's mind was set, however, and no amount of Delia's nagging was going to change it.

/\//\\/\

"Mon chien est bete."

A blond head ducked lower into the book clasped between two sickly hands.

"Mon chien est bete." he repeated.

The secretary looked up from her paperwork for a split second, rolling her eyes at the man. Lifting a small slip to her eyes, she sighed in relief. She had been listening to his terrible French for months. You'd think after that long, one would be much better at speaking it, but apparently not.

"Beetlejuice, number 1560734, you're next."

/\//\\/\

Windshield wipers weren't of much use at this point. The rain was coming down in waves, crashing onto the road and over the tiny green car. Lydia squinted through the water that cascaded down the glass, muttering to herself.

The storm had seemingly followed her from her old house to Salt Lake City. Utah hadn't exactly been her choice place to live, but she would survive. Her cousin had made her a great deal on a place to rent. Her apartment was upstairs from a recently vacated local store, and she was planning on using it to set up her own. That, and there were always plenty of Bible thumpers to mess with.

"So glad you're here!" read the note, "Sorry I can't be here in person right now, a friend of mine was having car trouble so I had to go help her. If you need anything, ask Mick, the guy next door. I'll stop by as soon as I can. Can't wait to see you!"

Lydia pulled the sticky note off the door, chuckling softly to herself. She did need something; the key. She doubted Mick would have it, but she knocked on his door anyway.