Yeah, yeah, yeah, go ahead and skip the authors notes for now. Ya'll been waiting long enough.
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Beetlejuice nor do I make any money off of this labor of love.
New York City - May 6th, 2012
To some unfortunate souls who dwell on the physical plane, still sheathed in mortal flesh, death is the answer to end their incessant suffering and loneliness. Some believe in a paradise just out of reach where they might take refuge. Others believe in blissful non-existence where they will never have to worry again. Then, there are those who know what truly awaits them once they take their last agonizing breath. That misfortune that cannot be dealt with on the physical plane simply follows into the next state of existence, a plane where souls wander in perpetual wait for a release from their burdens. Should a lonely, earthly soul take their life in hopes of unburdening themself, a regrettable fate awaits.
Few are touched by the sight, though all have the means to possess it. A fully fledged medium is difficult to come by. Even among the select minority, there are a scant few still who are privy to the depth of knowledge that Lydia Deetz possesses. It is this insight alone that has kept her from prematurely ending her time on the physical plane, no matter how much torment she has been forced to live through… a harrowing amount indeed.
In the past seventeen years, not a single night has gone by that the seer of ghouls did not relive the moment her groom, lover and poltergeist turned to ash in her very arms. It ate away at her mind, body and soul. It would have driven her to madness were it not for one thing; her will to get him back.
Every waking- and sleeping- hour was spent researching a way to bring him back. Lydia had even turned to witchcraft to push her way through her male dominated career as a producer. Occasionally, her strategy demanded she conduct her life in a way that called her ethics into question. No matter how trivial a decision, it was always met by her mantra. "What would he do?" That question always made her choices crystal clear. Choices that at an earlier time, a different life, would have filled her with shame. Whatever regret festered within her, she knew it would be worth it as long as she could save him. Hold him. Show him how much she loved him. It would all be worth it.
His scorpion, that was what he called her. That is what she became. A dark, hard-shelled woman with a stinger always at the ready in order to succeed in her mission. Years of planning, invoking, taking, weaving, casting and believing that she, Lydia Deetz, would finally pull her soulmate out of whatever hell he was in and once again look at his beautifully-maddening face.
Now, standing by the large window in her New York City office, the haunted woman stared at the raindrops pelting the pane and was reminded of how everything started. How her world was turned upside down one summer break, ages ago. How her life was spared by the one she had come to idolize. The obvious connection, fortified by her willingness to take his hand, led to one of the greatest adventures she had ever experienced. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips at the ever fading memories. She hardly even blinked when her alarm sounded off the hour, chapped lips parting.
"Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse… Betelgeuse." She waited in silence but nothing happened. Nothing ever did. Not anymore. "That's okay," she whispered for the zillionth time, "I know you're trying. I'm doing my best to get you out. I'll get you out. I'll get you out. I'll get you out."
A knock came at the door making Lydia look over her shoulder to find her trusted friend and assistant. "Did you say it, Prudence?"
Heels clicking on the expansive bare floor, Prudence walked over to her friend and slid her arm through hers. "Always," the short owl-eyed woman reassured her. "We all say it. Every hour, on the hour. Just like you asked us to. Everyday."
"Our anniversary is coming up," Lydia replied flatly.
"Everything's in order. Rehearsals are going well. We'll be ready," she said confidently.
"What if it doesn't work?" There was no fear in her voice, just a dry neutrality in the monotonous tone she was so famous for.
"Then we keep trying."
Lydia nodded her assent.
"Lydia," Prudence uttered calmly. "Dave is here. He wants to know if you'll see him."
Eyes growing steely, the raven-haired producer turned to her assistant. "Send him in," she consented, pacing to the massive desk that sat in the center of the unreasonably large office. Every minuscule sound bounced off the bare walls and hard tile.
Outwardly composed, despite the warring guilt swimming within, Lydia thumbed at her blazer in search of strength. Hidden beneath the cloth and above her heart sat the spider brooch she found not long after her second disastrous wedding day. A weary inhalation later, she placed her hands on her lap and waited for the man who had dared threaten her. Dave Pearson was escorted into the room. His blonde, well kept hair was shorter today and his forest green eyes held an apologetic mist that was usually absent. His clean cut appearance along with his dated fashion sense angered her to no end.
"Thanks for seeing me," Dave began as he sat before her. "I know you probably hate me right now. So, thanks… again."
Tilting her head slightly, Lydia averted her gaze, uncomfortable with staring at Dave for any prolonged period of time. "What do you want?"
"Lydia," he implored, "I just want you to know that… I did what I did because I love you… and our daughter." His voice trembled with emotion, which only made Lydia grow colder.
Pathetic little man. You're nothing like him.
"So, you're threatening to take my daughter away because you… love me. I'm moved to no end, Dave. Thank you," she deadpanned.
"Please look at me," he pleaded.
With a hooded gaze, Lydia snapped her cold, dark eyes to his light, sorrowful ones and had to push down a gasp. There. That look is what scared her. Sometimes she swore those eyes were blue, the same pleading eyes that once asked her for a second chance.
"I know a court order was a dick move and I'm sorry. My lawyer said it was the only way to make sure… I'm so sorry, Lyds…" Her unfeeling mask faltered as Lydia flinched at the use of that nickname. "Bianca is my daughter, too. I know you wanted to keep me in the dark, but that wasn't your choice to make. I deserve to be a part of her life. I just want a truce."
A silent moment passed as Lydia contemplated his words.
"What kind of truce?"
"I want to work things out between us. I want us to be a family-" Before Dave could continue she started shaking her head in denial. "Please listen! I know you're not in love with me. I know you're still… waiting for the one that got away. But Lydia, he left you…"
"You don't know what you're talking about," she warned.
"I know he's a ghost."
Lydia was certain her heart had stopped dead in her chest.
"He's just a ghost of a memory… but I'm here." He leaned over her desk and took her hand in his. "I'm right here. All I want is a chance. One chance." Tears flowed down his cheeks.
Maybe the court order would go away if she accepted. Bianca deserved a father. Maybe- just maybe- the loneliness wouldn't be so excruciating. Closing her eyes to will her emotions away, a pair of accusatory blue orbs kept her in check.
"I'm sorry, Dave," she whispered. "I can't." Lydia pulled her hand out of his grasp and held onto the hard bump in her jacket for dear life. "I won't."
Head dropping in defeat, the usually poised man wiped away his tears and stood. "Okay," he whispered back. "I'm not giving up. I'll keep asking. That's how much I love you, Lydia." He walked to the door and paused to give her another apologetic look. "I guess… I'll see you in court." The door clicked behind him, leaving an emotionally exhausted Lydia behind.
Ever a true friend, Prudence emerged moments after his departure and took a seat. "What'd he say?"
"He's moving forward to get a paternity test. I need you take make a few calls and see if you can delay the process. Maybe even…"
"I understand. I'll see what I can do."
"In the meantime… I'll be starting therapy."
Prudence shot up in her chair. "Why?! You're not crazy, Lydia!"
"Oh, I'm definitely unhinged... but not in the way Dave thinks I am. If I show I'm willing to get treatment and all turns out well, which it will, then maybe he'll back off. I can't have him destroying everything I've built, and I definitely can't lose Bibi."
After a moment of hesitation, the petite woman nodded her head slowly.
"I'll play along for now." Lydia finally sighed and let the matter rest. There was a lot to plan and too much time to plan it, in her opinion. The wait would be grueling, that much she knew. Fighting hard to keep her hopes at bay, Lydia discussed the details of her new scheme with Prudence for the upteenth time.
Dante's Commedia was meant to be a work of fiction. It really was. Although Dante was a morose and contemplative man, he did not have the sensitivities required to understand what he was writing. The lower levels, or Hell as some call it, was a chaotic hole where darker souls tormented each other with their own evil vices. It was an unfortunate day indeed when a copy of the Commedia ended up traveling to the vile recesses. By virtue of the Catholics, things in ol' Scratch's pit were bad enough. Evil souls festered there, turning hideous and mad with malintent for their fellow inmates. Access to the detailed, unintentional handbook on how the lower levels should be operated only served to exacerbate the suffering. No one would have been able to make heads or tails of the crater without the infernal, Inferno verses.
So, it was due to miserable, old Dante that Hell's residents found a greater purpose. As the years passed and newer generations appeared in the twisting halls, bringing grander and more intricate methods of eliciting torture with them, a bureaucratic system emerged. As all modern, civilized beings know, there is little of more importance to bureaucrats than numbers. Numbers, numbers, numbers. The numbers were bad. Not enough evil going on in the world as education and coexistence- of all things- ran rampant. They thought it was a phase. Certainly with the ever-growing, staggering population, there should be more tainted spirits arriving every second! But, alas, a mere one percent of the earth's total populace were arriving at a time. With long intervals between them too, as lifespans of the true sinners elongated with the advancement of medicine and technology.
A plan was hatched to rectify the matter. Cracks in the aether afforded them new communication routes and instead of focusing on soley corrupting the living, they now turned their attentions to the dead. True, they had no jurisdiction on the higher planes. It was also true that souls who were assigned to a specific realm rarely shifted from plane to plane unless moving on permanently. Still, there were always loopholes. An ancient, more immediate mode of transportation existed. They just needed one fool with caseworker access to attain it.
The fool in question, Bartholomew, was easily found and manipulated. At first, Bart made quick work of sending fresh spirits into the clutches of demons, but as the astral plane became more alert, the zealot had to be cautious. It was lucky for him that only one seal remained, otherwise he would have been out of a job for poor performance. A lower-level caseworker by the name of Baal would crack down on him when supply would dwindle in order to move things along. It was just one more annoying thing the ancient demon had to deal with.
Baal's duties never ceased, especially when it came time to train new demon spawn. At this point, Baal was up to his ears in newbie questions and just wanted to slaughter the lot of them.
"Alright! Shut up! One at a time. You there! What's your name?"
"Um, Leonard, sir."
"What the fuck kinda name is that for a demon?" The crowd laughed and snickered. "Whatever, what's the problem?"
"Well, ah, mister… Baal. I've been assigned to the Second Circle and I, uh, have come across a certain soul that is giving me… some issues."
Baal sighed and rolled his eyes. "What kind of issues? Spit it out already."
"Well, I was trying a mixture of psychological techniques-"
"Let me stop you right there and use you as an example for the other assholes in this room. I'm an old fashioned kinda guy, okay? Call me a purist or just set in my ways. Physical manifestations of pain are the surest way to go if you want real results! Wanna know why? Because the human mind is already all sorts of fucked up!"
The crowd laughed in agreement.
"For example" Baal pointed to Leonard. "Leonard, what technique did you use?"
"I, uh, used his beloved to torture him physically."
Baal was already chuckling. "And what happened?"
"Well… he… uh… enjoyed it…" Leonard muttered, uneasily.
The trainees screamed with laughter. "You poor shithead. I'm sorry, Leonard. But have you ever fucked anyone in your dumb existence?!"
Leonard dropped his head in shame.
"For Satan's sake! Get this pathetic excuse of a demon a whore. Please!"
Leonard couldn't take it anymore, he flapped his membranous wings and sped out of the training area back to the Second Circle. Embarrassment was not something he handled well, and Leonard was ready to take out his anger on the one who had caused it.
The lanky looking demon landed clumsily and charged right for the culprit, grabbing him by his matted white-blonde hair, and dragged him away from the violent storm where the souls waited for further torment. Throwing the naked man on a bed of spikes, Leonard roared with fury.
"OW! Someone's in a mood," the man muttered.
"Silence! You vermin!" Leonard shouted.
The blue-eyed man couldn't help but chuckle. Seeing the sorry excuse of a demon angry was probably the funniest thing he had seen in… well, ever as far as he was concerned, since he still couldn't remember past a few weeks at most. Still, a few weeks of memory was better than none.
The spikes sliced right through him as they extended upwards, and he screamed in agony. It still felt like a victory. He had gotten under his skin. The torturer was being tortured. Using all of his energy, which wasn't too much, he cackled wildly.
"I SAID SILENCE!" Leonard pulled an axe off the rack and cut the ingrates head off.
The blonde head rolled to Leonard's feet. He smirked as he picked it up by the hair and raised it to his own face. Leonard was shocked to see that the inmate's face was grinning wickedly at him.
"Hey, bud," the head gruffed. "Didn't mean ta make ya lose yer head. BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The monster's jaw dropped. The prisoner should not have been able to speak. He should have been dead, to be regenerated for more torture. Instead, he was laughing! "I don't understand this! How are you able to do this?"
The laughing died off and the head became still before it could answer. Leonard did not know how to handle this situation. This prisoner was in his first group of charges. He could not fail. Somehow, the madman was gaining strength, which was impossible. The head disappeared along with the body and the hell caseworker went to his office to pull his file.
"What was his name again… B. B. B." He thumbed through his dusty filing cabinet and came across a worn file with only a single name. "BETELGEUSE!"
Soul known as Betelgeuse: Sentence TBD as he is a DS. Could not move past the Second Circle as DS's are stolen souls marked by the Damnatorum Sigillum.
That was as far as Leonard got. "So that's why those souls have the DS initials! How could I have missed that?! He's a stolen soul! Maybe that's the answer!" Leonard was elated, perhaps it was not his failure after all.
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