I wasn't insane until someone touched my heart. - Edgar Allen Poe
Someone Touched My Heart
Hangovers were horrible. Absolutely abhorrent.
After all those diligent years in which Jane Butterfield avoided drinking heavily, she somehow let the night of New Year's Eve get to her. Although there were several factors as to why:
One: The death of Charles Deetz had effectively cut her off from resources to his contacts. He never did trust her with the phone numbers. While they were on good terms, he was ever the shrewd businessman. Charles Deetz knew her type well and thus withheld the majority of his connections.
Two: The available land in the Connecticut countryside had either been snatched up by corporations seeking to develop shopping centers or town officials who aimed to preserve the woodlands. Neither were interested in the development of housing.
Three: Since those in number two had refused to build, the housing market in the county was dwindling due to the lack of available dwellings. The majority of the historical properties were owned by families who had refused to budge, and no amount of money would sway the owners. Which only left her with the option to lay in wait for the second generation to sell their inheritance.
And finally, the stubborn sentimental Second Generation.
That last one was 'the kicker,' to take a term from her child's vocabulary. Sentimental values were growing, and the money-hungry, ambitious twenty-somethings were becoming a rare occurrence in these small towns. Not to mention, that many of them had siblings and there was always that one who would put up a fight.
On a rare occasion, she could find an only child and should she succeed. She could get a reasonable price the moment that she had talked them into moving to the city. Then, she would collect a commission by referring these kids to her fellow agents and "score" on flipping the house in the country.
The trouble this year; two stubborn local kids. The Officer, who refused to sell his grandparent's home with its substantial acreage and then the Deetz Girl.
After watching the two waltz off into their own little selfish world, Jane had hit the bar.
Lydia Deetz was a thorn in her side. Now she held a handful of properties and had no idea of the potential that was under her power. She could have sold half while still collecting the rent from the smaller properties. That stupid child was now a well-off woman, but she had no ambitions to seek out any further success.
According to Delia, the girl would rather spend time at home playing with her camera and hanging out with that creepy handyman. Lydia didn't even have a job, and she was just as bad as the Brewster girl, living off her parent's success.
Even weirder than Brewster was that the Deetz girl had an unnatural attachment to her father. It was enough of an attachment that once it was noticed, Delia was quick to share what she knew about Charles's daughter. She had held nothing back once they knew that his time was coming to an end. It was as if spending that extended the amount of time in the hospital had broken some spell over the artistic woman. No longer did she smother Lydia with affection in the way that she used to when they had first arrived in town.
For a long time, Jane had always felt that something was off with that family, but she could never put her finger on what it was. Instead, she did what she could, by appealing to Charles Deetz's interest in homes and to Delia's hobby of eccentric sculptures and paintings. The one that she could never connect with was that child.
Still, it wasn't going to stop her from trying. She would get that house in Peaceful Pines soon enough. After all, it wasn't like she wasn't used to waiting. Her success in Winter River had proven that she could sell anything, even though the Maitlands had tried so hard to keep her away. If it hadn't been for the accident, she would have had to wait longer.
Her thoughts wandered to the broken bridge, and she wondered if anyone ever fixed it…
The ringing of the chimes, signaling a customer, jolted Jane from her musings and forced her back into her charming businesswoman persona.
"Welcome to Butterfield Real Estate, Can I… Oh! Claire Brewster! How lovely to see you!" She squashed the irritation that the spoiled child sparked inside her. No, not a child; a rich potential buyer.
"You are so welcome. I know it's hard to have a bad day when I come into town. So, like, what properties do you have? Daddy isn't going to come today. He's still out of town, and I'm supposed to buy a house or something." Dramatically, Claire sighed as she sank into the chair and didn't bother hiding her disgust for the decor.
"Oh, well, is that right?" Jane's expression widened. "Will this be a mansion, estate, or are you looking for a collection of townhouses? I hear that there is a cute little collection of cottages -"
"Ugh, eww, no. Nothing so basic. The house is for me since daddy said that I needed to buy my first house on my own, so, like, I took his card. I'm looking for something special. Something close to home cause I need the servants to come over and cook for me when Mummsie and Daddsie are out of town." Claire inspected her manicure and glanced around at all the images pinned to corks boards. They were strategically placed at the eye level of anyone standing, and she scrunched her nose in distaste.
"I'd be happy to help you find a place. Now let's see, we have a few houses near town. A couple of apartments and-"
"Why do you have a photo of the Deetz dump?" Claire stood up, completely interrupting Jane. The older woman harrumphed at the disruption and stood to follow the girl to the wall of her dream homes.
"These are homes that I am hoping to acquire one day. A wish list, so to speak. See there is your parents' mansion -"
"So you are, what, gonna sell it without telling her or something?"
Jane clenched her jaw. Tightening her lips to prevent herself from saying something she would regret and possibly scaring away the potential commission, she returned to her desk.
"Regretfully, no. Lydia is not willing to sell," Jane reached for her desk drawer and fumbled around inside of it for a file. "I have been working on a list of properties that remain in the Deetz's estate. Mrs. Deetz had a great eye for decor, and Charles Deetz was a location guru in many ways. So many of his properties have held a high interest in certain circles and THAT house, well, let's say it's a hot commodity."
Claire returned her eye to the photo on the wall.
"I guess it does have some potential"
Jane knew that look. It was the glint of greed and the satisfaction of a kill… Claire Brewster wanted that house.
Three days, nine hours, and twenty-seven minutes… give or take a few seconds depending on metaphysical time zones. Beej watched the clock. Tick tick tick…
While he never left his Roadhouse, the temptation to run down to Dante's never left him either.
This was hell.
All he wanted to do was go up there, and back to Lydia, help her little dark scheme flourish, but that damned image of her lip-locked with that breathing dickhead stopped him short. He didn't wanna risk walking in on something else.
So, he waited.
Lydia didn't have to summon him. She could, but she didn't have to use those words to get him to join her. Nor did she need them to visit him. She could come anytime she wanted. The fact that she hadn't led him to believe she was too busy and possibly too busy with that cop.
"I need another beer," he growled.
"No," A voice came from nowhere in particular, "You need to go up there and sweep her off her feet. Show her what you got."
His heart slipped out of his shirt.
"Oh, hell no. I thought I locked you in there for good. GET. BACK. IN. THERE." He nearly squeezed his own heart when he shoved it back into his chest. "I fucking hate this universe!"
Jumping up, Beetlejuice paced, but the voice echoed in his chest.
"She liked it. It made her laugh."
"She was a kid."
"Lydia is a woman."
"No fucking shit," Beej punched himself in the gut. "So stop tormenting me."
"Hey, you do this to yourself dick for brains." The inner voice yelled back. "Now grow a pair and stake your claim."
Three days and ten hours after the New Year, Lydia sulked in her living room.
Sulking was not something that she wanted to do, but it felt appropriate. There was a time, back in her childhood, when the dramatics of being a mopey feminine version of her favorite writer appealed to her sensibilities. It was nostalgic and cathartic.
She had chosen to speak to no one in the last few days and preferred seclusion over socialization in the aftermath of the ballroom disaster.
It really wasn't a disaster, per se, but in her heart, she felt like a betrayer.
'There was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust.'
Lydia picked up the Handbook and flipped through its contents. Settling herself on her sofa, she began with her ritual of picking through passages to find more information on the afterlife and its intricate rule system.
"There is a subtle difference between the act of taking one's life and martyrdom. In the event that the suicide is at the hands of another, there is a strict criterion for The Martyrdom Defense in regards to misplacement of limbo residency."
Lydia looked around the room in search of her notebook to bookmark her next point of research when the doorbell rang. Carefully she set the book aside, sliding in her bookmark as a reminder to return to the chapter later, and set off for the front door.
It certainly wasn't one of her friends, because they all knew to use the kitchen entrance.
After peeking through the peephole, she let out an audible groan before opening the door.
"It, like, took you long enough." Claire Brewster shivered in her coat, "It's totally freezing out here."
Pushing past Lydia, Claire intruded into the house.
"Um, excuse me?" Lydia offered, under her rudeness did not go unnoticed when surprise won out over outrage. "Claire?"
"Look, Deetz." The girl spun on the spot, rubbing her elbows and shivering as her body began to adjust to the warmth of the house. "I'm not really good with doing the 'goody-two-shoes' thing, and apologizing for shit that I'm not even sure I need to apologize for, but I got a letter from my parents that told me that I needed to make nice with you."
Stunned, Lydia closed the door behind her and adjusted her winter wrap around her shoulders.
"Why?" She asked.
"Like, what's your damage, Lydia? I said I'm here to apologize." She scoffed. Taking her jacket off, she walked into the living room and, as she passed, she threw the coat down onto the sofa.
Lydia watched as Claire sized the house up and down before smiling.
"I say you made out like a bandit with this place. Custom layout and architecture. Old Mrs. Deetz did a stellar job."
"What exactly are you here to apologize for? I'm in the middle of something."
"Oh, puh-lease. You aren't doing shit. No one has seen you since the party. I would have thought you finally got a good lay in, but Officer Loner was moping around town, and that is not a guy who has had his world rocked."
Guilt punched Lydia in the gut, and had she had access to Neitherworld powers; she would have no doubt given Claire a good show with how she was beating herself up. That damned kiss was going to ruin her.
"Not that it's any of your business, Claire, but I am in the middle of something. Now, I can accept your fake apology, since I know you don't really mean it, and we can go our separate ways."
Lydia pleaded with whatever gods that were listening that the blonde would leave her home before the urge to …. well… she wouldn't put it into words just yet.
"Unlikely." Claire took a seat on the armrest of the sofa that Lydia had earlier been occupying. "It's not the only reason that I'm here. You see, Daddy had a deal with your mother before she kicked the bucket. It seems, like, she was afraid that your dear old pops was going senile and asked that our lawyers review the will that he used to name you as the … ugh… what's the word.. executioner?"
"Executor," She corrected, with a roll of her eyes.
"Whatever. Thing is, I had a little chat with Jane Butterfield."
Lydia's expression of disinterest sharpened and her eyes penetrated into the hidden motives of her former tormentor.
"She, like, really wants to make a pretty penny so…" Claire stood up and placed her perfectly manicured hands on her hips. "I'm gonna take this dump off your hands."
With a red flash, a rush of adrenaline surged inside of Lydia as her posture straightened. "Get out."
Ignoring Lydia, Claire turned her back on her and trailed her hands along the wallpaper until she reached the wooden accents that separated the living room from the kitchen.
"I mean, after all, Jane had a point. Like, who would end up marrying you? You couldn't keep up with all this without someone to support your jobless ass." Claire's laugh bubbled. "I mean, look at you! I bet you're still a virgin."
The growing rage began to boil from under the surface of her very flesh. Each pulse of her heart brought the pure, unadulterated hate from deep within Lydia's core. After all these years of putting up with that spoiled brat's taunting and scheming….
After Claire screwed over Prudence, Humiliated Bertha, and tormented Lydia….
"Speaking of, I swear I'm surprised that creepy ass pedo handyman didn't pop your cherry years ago." With a cackle, Claire faced Lydia and smirked. "I guess it's too late now since Little Lydia is all grown up with tits and everything. You probably just got too old for him."
Snatching her father's letter opener from the table by the doorway, Lydia stomped across the room. With one swift motion, accompanying the surprised expression on Claire Brewster's overly tanned face caked with makeup, she impaled the sharp object into the flesh just above her clavicle.
With a spurt of blood that hit Lydia square in the face, she stabbed again. "Beej would never, EVER, have touched me! He loves me! He wouldn't hurt me, you pathetic excuse of a whore!"
Screeching, she stabbed again as all of the anguish through the many years burst forth. She wasn't even horrified by the words that flew from her lips, nor did she flinch at the tears that came from the dying girl's eyes.
"How dare you speak of him as if you know anything! You don't know anything! I love him, and no one, NO one insults him. No one will ever say another cruel thing about my ghost ever again!"
With a final shriek, Lydia gave one last stab into Claire's abdomen. Breathing heavily, she studied her handy work and grinned.
"Thank you, Claire." She laughed with a wickedness that would have rivaled The Ghost With The Most himself. "I guess all I needed was just one more push."
"Hot Fucking Damn!"
Spinning around, Lydia found Beetlejuice with his mouth agape, standing in the archway near the base of the stairs and holding a bouquet of dead roses and lilies. While still panting from the exertion of her kill, Lydia moved away from the mutilated body of her victim.
"B...Beetlejuice" she stuttered and collected herself while dropping the letter opener. Her face and body covered in blood, and the innocent, surprised look on her face did nothing to take away the glorious vision before him.
Beetlejuice had now witnessed three murders at the hands of this petite waif of a woman, but this…. was too much. As he dropped the flowers onto the floor, Lydia's lips began to tremble, ready to spout words of apology or a suitable explanation though neither would come.
Crossing the room with determined steps, he reached her quivering figure. Grabbing her by the base of her neck, he captured her mouth with his and stifled her cry of surprise.
With his other hand on her face, he smeared the blood across her cheek while he devoured her breath. With a quick adjustment, his hands lowered to grasp her hips, hoisting the girl up, while her legs knew what he wanted as they wrapped around him.
A growl of pleasure escaped him. For years he had waited for this. The ages upon ages of denying himself the carnal relief as he watched for a sign that she wanted him just as much.
Lydia returned his need tenfold, while she yanked on his tie to loosen up the knot, as her hips gyrated against his, pleased by the feel of his hardness.
They wanted. They needed, and then they topped over onto the sofa. She straddled him, ripping her blouse above her head in the process. Beej didn't need to be told that he should do the same. Quickly, yet comically, he divested himself of his shirt and jacket, while the tie unraveled itself and flew off to the other end of the room.
After Beej juiced away her bra to follow his tie, only then did they pause.
He looked her over, she was wild, dangerous, with blood all over her hands and face. Taking his hands, he smeared the red liquid down her neck, between the valley of her breasts and across her belly. Fingering the edges of her pants with a wicked smirk, he blinked releasing his power to strip them both of clothing in an instant.
He was on her faster than she could process their change in position. Lifting her legs over his shoulder, he propped himself between her legs.
"I've seen what you've done with that sham of a toy, Babes. You will like this so much better."
After plunging in, she screamed, and he wasn't wrong. She did like that better.
Her body had acclimated over the years to accommodate her imaginary lover, but now that he was fully realized, she was slick, moist, and ready for that forceful entry.
Arching against him, she cried his name.
"Oh, yeah. Say it again, Lydia." He growled and began pumping into her.
"Beetle-juice." Lydia cried, before pulling him back down to feed on his lips with hard kisses.
His mind was gone. He was mad, crazed, and he needed this woman to scream bloody murder. As his speed increased, she released him, tilting her head back, crying out in pleasure and pain.
The combination of sensations left her limp and helpless to his onslaught, as her leg slipped off his shoulder and onto the backrest of the sofa. The other dangled, and held for a moment longer, before slipping off, only to be caught by his elbow while it hung over the edge.
"That's right, Babes." He licked her, following that trail of blood. "Scream for me."
And she did, loud, and without restraint. She cried out while he slammed the full force into her until her body greedily clenched around him.
"Son of a —- ung, fuck" He collapsed on top of her.
The scene was a gory, fucking mess, but neither paid much mind to the body that was in the middle of the room. As it oozed out the lifeblood of one they both despised, both were oddly grateful. That bitch really did bring them together after all.