IN The Land of the Living…
Lydia Deetz was strange and unusual. That much usually went without saying. Unfortunately, the inhabitants of the sleepy little town of Peaceful Pines couldn't seem to remind her of it often enough. It wasn't bad enough that she'd just recently gotten over the worst trauma in her life, practically lost her two best friends, and had to suffer through another move, to an even more boring town than Winter River had been.
She missed the Maitlands. Sure, she could still make it over to the house on a good day for about an hour or so, but it wasn't the same. Her father still owned the house, but he'd been planning on selling it-the equity wasn't enough to account holding onto it much longer. He and Delia were both set on starting over and consciously forcing themselves into forgetting the whole Betelgeuse experience, and while they knew Lydia could see, hear, and speak with the resident haunting couple at their old house, they were trying to ignore it.
Lydia was utterly miserable. Delia had turned the new house into an identical monstrosity to what she'd done to Adam and Barbara's place, Lydia had been enrolled at a uniform-mandatory all girls junior high, and despite Barbara and a sandworm's best efforts, found herself engaged to a poltergeist.
Not married, mind you, but engaged. A wizened old matron of a ghost with a chain smoking habit and a slit in her throat named Juno had popped into the house shortly after the marriage fiasco to inform her that since he'd gotten that ring on her finger, but she hadn't said the words, the situation equated an engagement, to be held indefinitely…or at least until the paperwork could be set through to nullify the deal. Which could take about sixty years for the living, so as good as forever.
Fourteen years old and engaged to a pervy psychotic poltergeist. She should have just jumped off the bridge when she'd had the chance.
Neitherworld, The Waiting Room…
Betelgeuse sat, humming boredly and trying to mentally convince the flies buzzing around the fluorescent lights to aim for his mouth. In his hands was a wad of official looking papers, crumpled in anger but left unread. Juno had handed them to him personally days or month or so ago, her eyes flashing with anger as she refused to explain. The poltergeist, giving up on the flies (for now) grudgingly decided to finally read them. He did have to admit though, it was a far sight easier to do so with the eyes in his head (and whole head, actually) back to it's normal size. That had been a real pain in the ass correcting, and as soon as he met that damned witch doctor again he was going to show him the business in the most terrifying way he could cough out of his demented, decayed brain.
Leaving off thoughts of the harassing headshrinker, Betelgeuse smoothed out the papers and began to read. The majority of it was charges that would be brought against him once he got out of the damned Waiting Room…5 counts of terrorizing the living, 1 count attempted homicide, 3 counts kidnapping, 2 counts accessory to illegal exorcism, 1 count engaging in a forced mortal/dead marriage…the usual blah-de-blah legality shit. His eyes stopped at a paragraph entitled "Potential for Stoppage of Charges and Advancement of Agreements Giving for the Occasion of Extenuating (And Potentially Impossible) Circumstances."
After chewing on that title for a few minutes, Betelgeuse picked his way through the paragraphs carefully, looking for loopholes.
1.) In which, seeing as the accused (one Betelgeuse, +600 deceased) entered into a willing contract with the accuser (one Lydia Deetz, Living) pertaining to the marriage of the two aforementioned individuals, upon the rescue of two then imperiled entities ( Barbara and Adam Maitland, recently deceased) and in seeing that the contract was not fulfilled by reason of
A.) Bridal refusal, leading to B.
B.) Witness intervention, leading to C. and D.
C.) Ceremony interruption, leading to ring received by bride but vows unstated.
D.) Sandworm attack, leading to re-death of accused
Accused, having completed their part in the original bargain, is entitled to half of the privileges sought, namely "wanting out", due to partial ceremony equating to ENGAGEMENT in Neitherworld law, under CONDITONS OF/ TO BE FILLED:
1.) Summoning by fiancé/family member in duress.
2.) Prevention of harm to living fiancé/family.
3.) Yearly conjugal visits, once fiancé of appropriate mortal age and/or marriage completed.
4.) Formal apology rendered to and accepted by fiancé/family, Maitland party, with witnesses, mediated through accused party's case worker (Juno.)
5.) Untimely death of fiancé, dissolving engagement and nullifying her part of the contract.
6.) Timely death of fiancé.
7.) Waiting Room sentence of 382 years completed with good behavior.
Betelgeuse looked over each option carefully, weighing each one as he fished a pencil stub from out the back of his wild hair.
Well, he knew numbers One and Two weren't going to happen in a million years. Lydia (huh, so that was her name. And here he'd been cursing 'Linda.') was in no universe ever going to summon him again. Neither were her family, if they could even remember his name. And the Deetzes were not the type of family someone cased for a robbery or anything else mildly terrifying enough to quantify him showing up to save the day.
Number Three was interesting…but that little girl had been…well, a little girl. Betelgeuse was a world class perv, and proud of it, thank you very much, ladies and germs, but he DID NOT do that whole Lolita thing. He'd actually bumped off a few ghouls who did and had slipped past Hell's radar. Blame it on his dear, departed, passed on little sister.
Not to mention, that once she was of age…he doubted she'd be anymore sweet on him than she was when that Maitland bitch had fed him to the sandworm, which was somewhere between "Oh FUCK no!" and "not in this or any other universe, bub."
Five and Six were entirely out of the question. He'd been here six months, and was so mind obliteratingly bored he was almost ready to dive headfirst into Saturn…almost…if he wouldn't have ended up right back where he'd started. So cross off waiting for wifey to kick the bucket, late or early.
That also left out number Seven. Fuck to the N.O. for three hundred-eighty-fucking-two years in the Waiting Room.
So that left him with number Four. An apology. Betelgeuse couldn't remember the last time he'd apologized, even insincerely, to anyone. He had the niggling suspicion he never had. And if it were facilitated by that bitch Juno, he damn well knew it'd have to be at least an attempt at sincere. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckettyfuckfuckfuck erooski. The Ghost with the Most stood, steeling himself for battle, dusted of his moldy maroon tux, juiced it back to his trademark pinstripes-gone-wild, slicked back his hair, sort of, blew right past Miss oh-how-I-regret-my-little-accident-Argentina's door, dodged away from that flat fucker Ferndoch, and knocked on Juno's door.
Juno was not thrilled. She was not even slightly amused. She was, in fact, half a millisecond away from calling an exorcist herself just to get the moldy bastard out of her office. She'd known he'd stop fuming and start plotting eventually…she'd just hoped he'd wait until the century switched over. No such luck. And now she had him stinking up her office, looking for all the world like a triumphant zebra with a mange issue. She should have known that stupid stunt Argentina had pulled with a number in the trillions wouldn't have kept him back forever.
"B, I am not, in any way, shape, or form, going to facilitate some farce of an 'I'm sorry' between you and those families. Keeping in mind the fact that the Deetzes have moved and trying with varying levels of success to forget this fiasco, the fact that the Maitlands will try to kill your stinking undead hide, again, and that I detest you, what makes you think I'd do this?"
Betelgeuse grinned, pulling an ancient parchment from his pockets and shoving it in her face. "1.) You're my case worker, which leads to, 2.) You're contractually obligated to, and 3.) You OWE me."
Juno winced. That moment of weakness had been hanging over her head for centuries. And now…the other shoe had dropped. Literally. Betelgeuse had made himself at home and his boots were now dripping mud and god knew what else all over her desk.
"Fine, you got me. Barrel, over, I get it." Juno growled, smoke pouring out of her throat. Betelgeuse grinned. "But," ah, there was the wince on his ugly face, "if I get even a whiff of insincerity in your voice, I'm throwing you to the sandworms so quick it'll make you're family's head's spin! You read the rest of the contract, I assume?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, "powers henceforth limited and/or hindered by verbal inconsistencies from self and fiancé until time of Marital Completion (unless Wife deems otherwise), Fiancé Death, or Mutual Breakage of Aforementioned Contract." Whatever the fuck that means. Bring it on, y'old bag. The Geuse is ready for whatever muck you're gonna sling at 'im."
Juno sighed before rummaging in her desk for a giant Sharpie. "Fine," she wheezed, sounding tired. "I'll facilitate the damned apology. Just don't blame me if Barbara Maitland goes bareback sandworm riding again."
The old caseworker turned about in her chair and stood to drat a thin, wonky door on her back wall, scribbling the Maitland's address neatly across it. She opened the doorand walked through, leaving it open for the poltergeist to follow.
"What, not even gonna let me think about what to say?"
"Move your fat ass, B. I am not taking all day."
Grumbling, Betelgeuse shuffled through the door. Leave it to Juno to put a rush on things after all that fucking waiting. Bitch.
