Disclaimer: Beetlejuice and all related characters belong to Warner Bros. I wouldn't take responsibility for BJ if you paid me. No way, baby.
Chapter 9: Pennies
Lydia tossed and turned that night, restlessly turning the night's events over and over. She had figured it out. And she had managed to put him back without too much damage to heart and home—um, hearth and home. But even so, she knew she was nothing if not sorely outmatched. As she slept she could feel his tension, as if a giant invisible cat were pacing her floor, muttering angrily.
"Cats don't mutter," she muttered to herself. But she could almost hear the steady stream of invective just underneath the audible range. The one question she could not answer was the only question that mattered. How long would it take before her curiosity overcame her caution? Finally, just before dawn, she finally relaxed, out of sheer exhaustion, into fitful sleep, troubled by a dream that even asleep, she knew was not her own making.
In the dream, she was dressed exactly as she had been that night, in indigo jeans and a black button down oxford. And she was walking through the town hall, but the lights were off, and the silence of deep night surrounded her. Then, faintly, she heard a whirring at the extreme edge of her hearing. It seemed to multiply as she walked, until she was certain that she was completely surrounded. A match flared right in front of her, and she blinked as the light flooded the great room. The source of the whirring noise was immediately evident—thousands and thousands of pennies were spinning in place, filling up every inch of the room but the space where she was standing. As she walked forward, the pennies parted to let her through, and closed up behind her. She felt a curious open-air claustrophobia, coupled with a sense of nervous dread.
Determined not to be intimidated by pocket change, she reached out and tried to grab a handful of the spinning pennies, but her fingertips brushed against something cool and firm. Slowly, hypnotically, he wafted into view, and her hand was pressed against his throat and jaw. His eyes were the lazy, dangerous eyes of a predator, and his mouth was tugged slightly upwards in an almost-gentle smile. She pulled her hand back like it burned, but her fingertips were tingling.
"You."
"Me." And then the cool façade of the hunter dropped and he chewed at his bottom lip, his eyes flicking around nervously. "Where did all these come from?"
She looked at him as one might look at a small, untrustworthy child. "Beej, this is your dream. I'm just hosting."
He held up his hands, protesting innocence. "Babe! This is definitely not me. You must have pennies on the brain." He flinched as a handful of coins splashed against his shoulder. "And frankly, I'm kinda scared. Want to go someplace to chat, cutie?"
"Do I have a choice?" she asked dryly. He blinked at her innocently.
"What? Don't trust me? I thought we were friends!"
She smiled. "You're kidding, right? Trust you? I set you free in good faith and you leave me passed out on the floor, for starters…"
He flinched, and widened his eyes at her. "Oh, hey. Wait! Just hold that thought, k, babes? These pennies are really starting to get on my nerves." He grabbed her hand and gave her a hungry grin. "Let's get outta here." That tug again, and she was whisked along in his wake, her protests cut off abruptly by the darkness.