(A/N) Here it is, the long-awaited next chapter in the Rightfully Mine Saga. I apologize that it took so long, but what are you gonna do when your schedule is like mine? Oh well, enough with the excuses. On with the show!
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Beetlejuice smiled, the very termites in his teeth wriggling for joy. So she'd finally gotten it, had she? That it wasn't a dream. That her nightmare had blossomed into an all-too-unbelievable reality. It was too tempting to say something cliché like "Your nightmare's just beginning, babes", but then he would be like all the other cookie-cutter bad guys instead of the demon that he was. He was better than such frivolous statements.
He was the Ghost with the Most, after all.
She was trembling again, her flesh shivering, warm beneath his cold fingertips. Too add insult to injury, he gave her an almost loving caress as he pulled her forward off the wall and towards the desk.
"She's ready," he stated with a malicious grin.
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Her eyes scanned the ornate, spidery script almost unable to read her native language. Words like "union" and "joining" sent a queasy kick to her guts, while terms such as "marital" and "legally binding" were just barely beyond her comprehension. In essence, to sign this paper meant to sign herself away. God could have her soul, but the Devil got her body.
No, not the Devil, she thought. Worse.
The sharp quill pen floated before her and suddenly she felt him close behind her. The whisper was silky sick, creeping in her ears like worms.
"I can't force you to do this part, babes. You get to do it on your own."
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she gripped the pen. She gazed up at the emotionless woman's head above her. No sympathy. No glimmer of hope that this wasn't real. No care at all.
No care.
No more emotion.
Only hurt.
She signed.
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Afterwards, residents of the afterlife would say that there rose from the very bowels of Hell a screeching laughter so manic, so foul, so insane that they imagine Satan, if such a deity existed, had finally managed to kill his greatest adversary and damn him to the darkest circle. Some civil servants, possessing very weak constitutions were actually liquefied in the blast. But it was Lydia Deetz alone who heard nothing.
She was dead!
Beetlejuice descended from the air after his fit of mad glee and opened his eyes. And promptly shrieked.
Lydia lay on the cold marble floor, pale, her skin with an almost blue tint to it. She was not breathing. She was dead.
But more amazingly – hell, entirely amazingly! – was the hand he now held out in front of himself. The fingernails were no longer ragged and discolored; they were pearly pink. His flesh was warm and peach-toned.
"Get me a mirror!" he demanded, jubilant.
"Can't," the old crone stated. "There aren't any on this side."
"Are you kidding me? I switch places with a breather and you don't even have the decency to-…"
"Not 'switch places'," she interrupted. "The marriage is essentially a 'marriage' of assets. You share all the life you two possess, namely hers. Take care of it; it's the only one you've got."
The girl stirred. As she stood up, he saw just how right the old hag was. Lydia was completely devoid of any signs of mortal life. Her face was sunken, her hair dull, her lips pale and blue. But her eyes burned with something he didn't think was left in her after the time she'd just had: rage. He almost shuddered.
"You…" she hissed. "You-…!" Energy – his ghost energy! – crackled around her fists. If the following blast didn't kill him on contact, it would definitely send him into orbit to finish the job.
"Ah-ah-ah!" He waggled a finger at her. "Hurt me, pumpkin, and you'll never breathe again."
This fazed her. Her pupils dilated a bit and she gave him a leering glance. He smirked.
"We share this life now, babes. 'Till death do us part'. You could kill me now, but then we'd both be dead and I'd have free run of you anyhow."
"Oh?" Her voice was at a haunting pitch, low and dangerous and totally unlike the little shrinking violet he knew. Suddenly she was close, her cold lips near his ear. "You'd be surprised," she whispered, "at what you can live through."
"Ooh," he snickered playfully. "I love it when you talk dirty, honey. It kind of puts the fire back in our relationship."
Suddenly there was searing pain between his ears. Her hands were on either side of his head and conducting psychic energy between them through his brain. He hurt. Oh, how it hurt!
Somehow he managed to throw her off. She floated nearby, drifting to and fro, all the while keeping her eyes on him like a cat eyeing a bird. Seemed that she'd inherited not only his ghost powers, but his mania and lust for revenge too.
"I'd love to stick around, but I finally got what was mine," he declared, turning for the door. "If you two birds'll excuse me, I've got a living world to enjoy for the first time in about six hundred years."
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Oh, he was wicked. All this time, all the pain she'd suffered – all to steal her life and just waltz out without a second thought about her! But then, what more could he do? He'd already killed her!
"Beetlejuice!" she howled. "This isn't the end! I'll get you!"
Without turning back, he gave a little wave. "I sincerely hope you do. Whatever a little minx like you could cook up to punish me is bound to tickle in all the right places."
Inconceivable. Even as he traipsed away, without any cosmic powers at all, he could still manage to twist the knife deeper.
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(A/N) The next (possibly last) chapter is finished and due out in a little bit. Thank you all for your support, and forgive me for keeping you waiting.