Two days later Lydia cried. She was trying not to, and she hated herself for it, but she was, and she couldn't seem to stop. That was how things usually went for her...the moment something occurred to her she went and did it, usually against her better judgement.

Barbara was beside her in a second, concerned mother that she was. "Oh, Lydia, sweetie, don't cry. You'll see us again..."

When I'm dead, she thought brokenly. And who else will I see then? But she didn't say this out loud, because it sounded petulant even in her head, like she was trying to convince them to stay. Which she wasn't, she reminded herself. They were fine with living inside a house with her being the only person they ever saw beside each other, but to be happy they had to go. And they would never consider taking her with them...Lydia wasn't sure she would, anymore, either.

Adam's heavy hand squeezed her shoulder which, if anything, made her cry harder. They were really leaving her.

"We can probably find some way to visit, don't worry." Adam was more awkward with the whole comforting thing, but he loved her too, so he tried.

"I just..." Her voice was muffled by Barbara's shirt. "I'm just so used to you being here..."

Barbara smiled at this, and Adam smiled too. Lydia tried to make herself smile, for them. If they found what she had said amusing...well, she would let them be amused. Anything was better than this wrenching misery, like her own parents were being taken away from her.

"Oh, Lydia, we'll miss you too," Barbara said, and Adam nodded.

I'll miss you more...you have each other. She looked at her shoes, ashamed of herself. They needed this. She needed this, in some stupid way that was determined to fuck her life up. I certainly don't want it.

She heard Adam murmuring in Barbara's ear. Gotta go. She clung tighter.

"Lydia...Lydia, we have to leave now..." Barbara gently disentangled the girl from her.

Lydia forced herself not to run back to them. "I...okay...sorry, crying and everything..."

"Don't be," Adam said quickly. "I meant it Lydia, we'll visit."

"...you promise?" She sounded more like a lost child than anything. She would be mortified later, but not now.

"Of course."

They started to fade out of sight. "We love you."

Lydia made herself watch as they left. She made herself be quiet. She didn't want their last memory of her to be the blubbering, sobbing girl she was now. And when they were completely gone, she truly broke down, collapsing onto the floor. She cried, all alone in the attic.

--

Her parents were worried about her. So were her teachers, but today was the first day of Winter Break, so she wouldn't have to deal with that for a while. She was worried about herself, come to think of it. She couldn't remember ever feeling this bad.

She sat on her bed, staring at her lavender bedspread, musing. Maybe she should make an effort. Her grades, so meticulously improved, were dropping, and she wasn't really eating much. Adam would be concerned, Barbara angry. They might even be able to see her, actually. All the more reason to get the hell out of bed...

It was a nice day, crisp and cool and snowy. That was appropriate, she supposed. Motivational, even. She could hear Christmas music from a radio downstairs.

She sighed and braced herself to finally come alive on this nice day.

At least, it was a nice day until a huge gust of wind ripped through her room and knocked her off her bed, and her vanity burst into flames.

"You fucking bitch!"

--

Of course, she screamed. Her head slammed into the wall and she couldn't think coherently for a few seconds, but she didn't need to think to be terrified. Big wind fire oh God! Shriek.

"Shut UP! Gawd, what happened to 'I'm not afraid of you' an' all that shit? Don't piss yourself, fuck."

She stopped, horrified. Her eyes darted wildly around, trying to ignore the crazed little diddy running through her head. Itshimitshimitshimitshimohnononohesgonnakillme. Where was the voice coming from? It isn't him it can't be him I am so dead crap. She had to focus on something else, or she would be driven insane.

Fire. Fire burned.

Oh God, her vanity.

"Stop it!" She yelled desperately, trying to find the strength to stand.

She was answered with derisive, angry laughter. "You'll have to do better than that, babes."

The nickname immediately had alarm bells ringing, but she dismissed them. Couldn't think about that. Not now, at least. Later, when her grip on reality was more tenacious. Fire, think about the fire. She had to put the fire out. She tried to stand a second time.

She couldn't move.

Panic gripped her, vicelike and suffocating. She couldn't move. She couldn't run if she couldn't move. She strained, tendons bulging with the exertion. Nothing happened. Nothing happened. It was like a dream, where she was running but couldn't run fast enough...what she wouldn't give to be able to walk.

The fire spread, oozing its way down the side of her vanity and spilling onto her carpet. How long would it take for it to reach her? If I'm alive by then...Smoke drifted in thick streams to her ceiling, and flashes of jade glinted at her from her mirror. Would she rather suffocate or be burned alive?

She sucked in a mouthful of air and gagged. She closed her eyes, wishing she could pull her shirt collar over her nose. Death. Dead. She was going to die. He was really going to kill her. He wouldn't kill her, would he? Her lungs burned, and she spent a bewildered second trying to figure out if they hurt because she was breathing smoke, or because she was holding her breath.

"Say my name..." the voice purred, low and rough.

Not unless you say mine first, she thought muzzily, and almost giggled. "Make me!" She forced out, eyes streaming.

The fire licked at the end of her bed, climbed up the walls. The whole time, she lay prone on the ground, crying for reasons she wasn't really sure of. Did the smoke burn? What an utterly pathetic way to die. "Stop..."

"No really, kid, say it." His voice had an edge to it. "I can't stop the fire unless you let me out."

He was lying. He was lying so he could come out and kill her. Was doing it indirectly not good enough for him? Anger flashed through her, sudden and hot. Hotter than the fire, fire burned. Sssmoke.

"Lydia! Do you want to die?"

Not really...

"Beetle...juicebeetlejuicebeetlejuice. If you kill me I swear to...God...not funny..."

And then there was laughter and another gust of wind and she was being lifted, and she was gone.

--

He burst from her mirror in the wake of a miniature version of a full-blown twister, screaming his rapture in tones of laughter no human's vocal chords could duplicate. The smoke was blown clear away in the face of this new, stronger wind. His luminescent green eyes immediately spotted the dark little girl lying in the corner, still. She must have passed out. Fire was getting awfully close to her. Couldn't have that.

Beetlejuice swooped down and scooped her up, awkwardly cradling her to his chest with one arm while the other waved in somewhat lazy circles. The fire diminished, and eventually disappeared completely. Easy, when he wasn't trapped in a damn mirror.

Her room was singed, her vanity destroyed. Couldn't have that either. If her parents saw, and they told Adam and...that other one, the one who inadvertedly ate him, and they told Juno... A flick of his wrist and the room restored itself. He flexed his fingers, grinning crazily. So nice to finally be himself again.

He took a moment to look down at the girl in his arms. Her head lolled back limply, mouth open. He snorted.

Plop, onto the newly refurbished bed she went. Bounce, one, two. She didn't move, arms and legs all akimbo. He stared.

Well fuck. He'd killed her.

"'m such a dumbass..." Probably he should have thought this out better. Starting the fire had been easy, just a little spark and her highly flammable furniture polish had done the rest. Rendering her immobile had been easy, too. Her fear, especially of him, was like a potent energy source, easily harnessed and put to work. Undoing these things was another matter entirely...He had thought she would have called him out much sooner than she had.

Her chest (almost completely flat, he noted with vindictive, if not childish, satisfaction) heaved slowly up and down. Not dead. Maybe he should...reposition her, or something. She was gonna be all sore when she woke up.

Then again, maybe not, he thought, turning away.

He was Out. Fucking finally. A year in a plastic goddamn chair, with nothing to do but fucking hate the fucking girl who was currently sleeping.

"Could kill ya," he mused, looking down at her and raising his eyebrows. "Nice and painless, you bein' asleep and all..."

Unconscious, he corrected himself. Well, even better. He wasn't the kind of person to torture little girls...adults who deserved it, maybe, but that was something else entirely.

Not that she didn't deserve it, little bitch. His lips curled back over his pointed teeth. He had been so fucking close to being Out, Free, forever. He hadn't really been in a hurry to leave the Neitherworld behind, he had just wanted out of that damn model. Juno had picked wisely on that particular punishment. The old hag.

Well, he was Out now, and he could keep Lydia terrified long enough to come up with a plan. Or he could just kill her. God knew he wanted to. He had fantasized about it, even. What else could he do for an entire year? Torture was a nice option. Not the physical kind, that was below the belt even for him, but little things. Flickering lights, moving objects...just cheeky little reminders that he knew where she was, he was watching her, and there was nothing she could do to protect herself. Then when he had her nice and worried he would find some way for her to release him, and finish it.

Of course, he had botched everything by flying into a fury the second Juno let him loose. He hadn't thought about it. He had just done.

He really hadn't meant to burn her alive, though. That was her fault. Stubborn bitch.

He looked at her again. She was thinner than the last time he'd seen her, and taller. Weird, how people who weren't dead were always changing. She had ditched the spiky-bangs look, opting instead for longer, more natural looking ones. She wasn't wearing any makeup, either. Good. She was too young for that crap, anyway.

If I killed her? Wouldn't work, he realized with a sinking feeling. If Adam and whatsername or her parents found her dead little body they would know...even if he made it look natural they would know. They would say it, even if they were just suspicious, they would say it, and he would get sucked back In. He could kill all of them, but that would be somewhat hard, exorcisms had always been tricky for him. And that was a lot of people to be killing.

He wouldn't mind so much with the woman though, crazy worm lady that she was.

And he would definitely get in trouble with Juno. Lydia was one thing, three deaths and two exorcisms was another. She would find a way to put him back and he would be back where he started, without anyone to call him Out.

When it came down to it, it was all up to Lydia's cooperation.

Well, fuck.

--

Lydia woke up with a headache and the smell of new furniture.

Huh.

She rolled over and found herself staring at the very man she had assumed herself rid of, reclining lazily in midair with his arms behind his head.

She wasn't aware of making any noise, but she must have done something, because his startling eyes snapped open and he was on her in an instant.

"Listen up, girlie," he growled, voice gravelly, straddling her with one large, cold hand covering her mouth. "Don't think I won't kill you if you scream. Keep quiet. Got it?"

She nodded. She was probably too afraid to make any noise anyway. He was on her, pressing her into the bed with his weight, and she could feel the coolness of his skin through their clothes. No way to escape...nowhere to escape to, actually. He could find her.

He took his hand off her mouth, but made no effort to move off her, just leaned back and crossed his arms.

"Get off me," she mumbled, afraid to move lest she touch him more than was necessary.

He raised an eyebrow. "Wassat?"

"I said get off me!" She said louder, turning red. "It's not like you can't catch me if I run away."

He leered at her. "I like it here. Nice and comfy. Makin' me kinda hard, actually."

He was lying about that last part. She didn't want to call him on it though, afraid he would take it upon himself to prove her wrong.

"Please don't," she said in a tiny voice, hating him, hating her weakness. She squeezed her eyes shut as he brought his face closer.

"Don't what, Lydia?"

She swallowed. "Don't...don't rape me."

It was quiet for a few seconds, and she opened her eyes. He was staring at her. Then he sighed and rolled off her.

"'m not gonna rape you. Fuck."

She sat up, timidly watching him. He was sitting cross-legged at the end of her bed, looking sullen, like she had insulted him. He looked different. Thinner, definitely. His eyes were more sunken, surrounded by light purple circles that made his eyes seem even greener. The mold and dirt that had been crawling up his neck the last time she had seen him was gone.

"Sorry..." She said. "You just...implied it."

"I'm not that fucked up. Yet. You, on the other hand..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Years of being made fun of by her classmates made her touchy. He was telling her she wasn't normal. Fuck him.

He was suddenly in her face again, snarling. "You broke a promise, Lydia. That's a big deal."

She fell over backward in her haste to get away from him, and he loomed over her once again. "I – I wasn't the one who killed you!" She immediately regretted saying it. She had reminded him of Barbara. Shit.

"You were struggling enough before that," he growled. "I kept up my end of the bargain. You didn't. Who's the bad guy here?"

"Don't pretend you're a victim," she snapped, suddenly angry. "A good person would have done it anyway, and they definitely wouldn't have forced a fourteen year old girl to marry them, you – you pedophile!"

"That doesn't have anything to do with nothing," he snorted. "Doesn't matter if I'm a good person or not. I did my part, you didn't. Way I see it, you owe me."

"And if I refuse to help you?"

He didn't say anything, just grinned wryly at her and held his palm in front of him. Bright fire shot from the end of each fingertip.

"All right, all right," she said quickly. He curled his hand into a first and the flames were extinguished with a hissing sound. "What do you want?"

"Not sure yet. For now just keep your mouth shut. That includes those two fuckers you have locked up in your attic."

"Leave them alone," she said, sitting bolt upright. "I mean it, Beetlejuice – "

"Don't fucking say that."

He shoved her, hard, onto her back and locked his hands over her wrists. She yelped and bucked under him, panicking. "Get off me!"

"Lydia?"

They both froze, staring at each other. "I'm not here," he hissed at her, then vanished.

She sat up. "...Beej?" She ventured tentatively.

Her door opened and Delia stepped into the room. "Lydia, are you all right? I thought I heard yelling."

"Mother, knock!" She said, amazed at how annoyed her voice sounded. She was still practically shaking.

"Oh, sorry Lydia," Delia said, blinking. "But what were you doing up here?"

"I fell out of bed. Freaked me out."

Delia sighed. "Really, dear...you had me worried."

"Sorry."

"Just be more careful. Dinner is in five minutes. We're having crab puttanesca. Will you be eating?"

"Um...yeah."

Delia looked surprised, then smiled. "Oh, good. You've gotten so thin..."

She left, shutting the door behind her. Lydia had just started to recover when Beetlejuice popped back into the visible spectrum, floating at eye level next to her bed.

"Happy?" She said bitterly, glaring at him.

"Yeah." He grinned. "Bring me back some dinner."

--

"Can you even...how are you doing that?"

He swallowed a huge, un-chewed mouthful of pasta and seafood. "Not hard. Eating doesn't do anything for me, but it's fun."

"It doesn't back up or anything?"

He snorted. "No." She waited, but he didn't offer any further explanation. Vaguely disappointed, she leaned back against her door and watched him.

"What happened to all the stuff on your neck?" She couldn't seem to be quiet. All the things about him that she had found interesting a year ago were bubbling to the surface, despite what she knew. That's he's a con-artist. A murderer. A perverted asshole. Being afraid of him didn't make him any less interesting.

"Ask alotta questions, don't you?"

She flushed but refused to be intimidated. "I'm curious."

He finished the heap of food she had given him and moved on to licking the plate. "Why's that? You miss me?" He looked at her piercingly over its ceramic edge.

"Hardly," she said derisively.

He snorted disbelievingly but put his empty plate down, stretching out on her bed. "I had all that crap on me because I drowned in a bog and never got around to getting it off. Being swallowed doesn't change you much."

"...I am sorry about that."

"Doesn't change much, though, does it?" He sneered.

She ignored him. "I mean, I didn't want to marry you, and I'm glad I didn't, in the end, but...I'm sorry you died."

"Yeah, well, now you get to fix it."

She took a deep breath. "If you hurt anyone I won't help you."

"You don't much of a say in this," he growled, going from relaxed to intimidating in a second.

"So kill me. But you need me to stay out, don't you? That's why you haven't yet." She was realizing these things as she said them, and by the time she was done talking she felt extremely pleased with herself. And much safer.

"Aren't you smart," he spat at her.

"Uh huh..."

"Fine. I won't hurt anyone."

She smiled at him. "Thanks."

They resigned themselves to having to spend the night together.