Chapter Five: Brooding

It had been days since she'd run out the door, and Beetlejuice still found himself still on the couch, ruminating over the woman who'd inevitably doomed him to be confined to the Neitherworld for all of eternity. Sure, there were chances of finding another breather to torment into marriage, but he was well aware that the outlook was bleak.

In truth, he'd never really let the idea of marrying her go. Lydia had been the only one to say yes, even if the circumstances were less than desirable. He'd never even gotten close to sealing the deal with anyone else. Hell, he'd even went searching for her, in some sick hope that he'd run into her and get her to pay up. And now that she was dead, well, he was practically fucked.

Of course, what baffled him the most, was her intention to apologize to him. Just why did she want to do that? Did she want something from him? He racked his brain, but to no avail. Truthfully, the poltergeist didn't know how to take her apology. He'd never had a single one of those since he'd died, and maybe before, if he was really keeping count.

He had to admit, that even though thick resentment flowed through his undead being like electricity, much of his rage had quieted while being away from her. Had he really invited Deetz to live with him? It was a possibility, given the fact that she was hot as hell - and he was trashed. It would be nice to look at that all day long. And it would sure help those horrible bouts of loneliness and self loathing, which he certainly did not have, because he was definitely not having those stupid thoughts at all. Nope. No-siree!

"I need to take a whiz..." he blurted out, excusing himself from his own angsty inner workings.

One steaming hot piss later, and he was right back where he started - thinking of Lydia Deetz. What exactly was he gonna do about it? Was he gonna just forget about her now? She wasn't any help to him now, being dead and all. Was he just gonna let her wander around with no place to go? And since when did he start caring about anything anyone else was doing?

Beetlejuice groaned, scratching his head as he stood up to pace about like a rabid panther. With his chances of marriage now greatly reduced, he'd have to put a hell of a lot of effort into getting close to those broads ole' Jerrycurl was living with. He'd really have to make sure there were no chances for one of them to back out, or escape, or send a fuckin' sandworm after him.

Feeling rather anxious and a bit stir-crazy, he decided that now was the perfect time to pick up where he left off. It was time to pay good ole' Jerry a visit.

Gerald sighed, relieved to find the two young party girls gone for the night. Now at least he could have a few hours of peace and quiet. The only time he truly had the luxury of silence was when they were sleeping or out for some reason or another. With a content smile on his face, Gerald wiped the beading sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief before coming out of his study to enjoy his empty apartment.

He meandered though each room, stepping over the occasional bra or empty beer in the floor, and grimacing each time he had to do so. He wandered over to the small kitchen, opening his fridge out of curiosity, only to find some ancient containers of take out food and a six pack of beer. He shook his head, slowly closing the refrigerator door. No surprise there, he thought.

Gerald made his rounds through his once clean and tidy appartment, feeling apalled at just how wretched and filthy it had become. At least, he thought, they won't go near my study. However, he did miss the freedom of his once quiet retreat, and found his mind wondering the possibilities of calling on the voice on the other side of the radio. He himself didn't know the first thing about really scaring someone. In his previous life he was the one who got scared, not the other way around.

Gerald stopped his self-guided tour as he eyed a strange, glowing, tattered newspaper laying on a nearby coffee table.

"What on earth..." he mumbled under his breath, hesitantly picking up the ancient paper.

Brow furrowed, he took note of the unusual layout - nearly every page was covered in obituaries. He flipped through each page in bewilderment, until he came to an obituary that had been circled in red. It was his.

"Gerald Lunder, born May 1, 1953, passed away November 2, 1998. Gerald was preceded in death by his parents, George and Tammy Lunder. Among his remaining loved ones are his brother, Carl Lunder, and sister, Geraldine Sullivan. "

Sighing, Gerald continued reading, his heart feeling a bit heavy in realizing that he hadn't spoke with his living siblings in months.

"His funeral will be held Friday, November 5 at 3:00 pm at...Hey Jerry ole' buddy you still readin'?"

Suddenly startled by the strange writing, Gerald dropped the paper, scattering the old pages across the floor. Was it that voice again? He paused a moment, wiping his sweat-laden brow before apprehensively searching through the paper to find his obituary once more. He had a strange feeling that it may be a bad idea to read further, but curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Finding the desired page, his eyes picked up where they'd left off, only to find his obituary a bit...different.

Gerald Lunder: Newly-appointed stiff. Dead. Deceased. Dead, dead, deadski! Found stiff as my dick in a room full of fifty cent hookers! Enough about me, though (Ahhh, Gran-gran, you always throw the best birthday parties!). It happened, and all because his ticker decided it was made for a human instead of a baby balooga. What about it, Jerr? That what happened? Am I close? Yer damn right I am! *TURN PAGE TO SEE MORE*

Feeling irritated, Gerald nearly threw the crumpled old paper to the floor. Who was this maniac to insult him? Gerald was already dead, and constantly plagued by loneliness and the complete tyranny of two relentless college girls! Was it really necessary to give him any more grief? Just what did this madman want? Really? What did he want? Gerald sighed, giving in as he turned the page. He looked on, as the next page showed an illustration of a blinking sign, reading "Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse!". A wary look fell over his features as he noticed that the bulbs illuminating the sign were actually blinking. Gerald's eyes lowered, continuing onward.

Betelgeuse, Neitherworld-reknown entreprenuer, connoisseur, and expert bio-exercist (also minoring in Women's Studies *wink, wink*), would like you to fill out the following survey:

Gerald rolled his eyes before reading on, wondering what a survey of any kind would possibly accomplish. He then grabbed a ball point pen from his front shirt pocket before seating himself on the couch. May as well be comfortable, he figured. Gerald skimmed over the first question, baffled by the strangeness of it all.

"Are you dead? What kind of a question is that...?" he grumbled, impatiently checking the box titled "yes". He then, with even less patience moved on to the next question.

Are you miserable in your current after-living situation?

Gerald sighed, nodding in agreement as he checked "yes" again.

Are you fat, incapable, pathetic, weak, or any other adjective that would currently describe you?

Gerald gripped his pen, feeling agitated by the blatant insults, before sighing defeatedly, somehow feeling that at least, in part, some of those things were true. Boy, did this "Betelgeuse" character know how to set off his self-loathing. Another hesitant check in the "yes" area, and Gerald continued on.

You ever get laid, Jerr?

"What?!" Gerald huffed, exasperated by all the insults.

It's just the whole book-nerdy, glasses, you know, the whole fat Bill Gates thing. Never mind. Uh, would you like your breathers to vacate the area as soon as possible, never to return?

Gerald wiped his brow, now fuming on the inside. He quickly swiped a check over the next "yes" box.

Now we're talkin'! If you said "yes" to any or all of the above questions, please request the ole' B-man as soon as possible! You remember the drill. Just say the name three times! Will you agree to act upon the terms and conditions stated above?

Gerald, now highly irritated and indecisive, sat fiddling with his pen while wiping the back of his hand over his soaked forehead. Sure, he could request this beligerent fellow's services, but why? Sure he was tired of those two girls, but if this lunatic was half as crazy as he sounded, he could unleash a hell far worse than those two could ever deal out. Besides, why did he want to summon someone who constantly berated him? Gerald huffed, promptly swiping a check over the "no" box. He then defiantly tossed the old paper to the floor before marching off.

"The nerve ah' that guy..." Beetlejuice muttered angrily, taking a final drag off of his cigarette before flicking it off into a dark alleyway. It was the dead of night, and all he could do was wander about, mad as hell. He was too pissed to drink, and far too pissed to create havoc. Hell, he was even too pissed to bar hop, and that was sayin' something!

He paced along the busted sidewalk, passing various dark, faceless, nameless figures in the night. A couple of corpse-colored, scantily-clad women walked by him, grinning. "Hey there, stud. Wanna ride?" one purred, flashing a wicked grin.

"Not now." Beetle growled, too irritated to even think of screwin' some broad.

The two women scowled. "Go fuck yourself!" one of the women yelled, venom in her voice.

Beetle's face twisted in anger, while he gestured a jerking-off motion in mid-air. "That can be arranged, dollface!" he spat. "Won't be the first time..."

He glared at the ground, pulling another lit cigarette from his pocket and bringing it up to his lips. All he could think of was how unattainable getting out seemed to be. With Gerald Lunder's refusal to call on him, he knew he had not a snowball's chance in hell of getting close to one of those chicks. And without a breather to hitch himself to, he was completely and utterly trapped.

Completely lost in his bitter thoughts, Beetlejuice remained completely unaware of the fact that a small, dark stranger was walking in the darkness ahead of him. Even the pale blue glow of the streetlights didn't alert him to the figure as it passed beneath them.

"Shoulda' known that wimpy heart-attack victim wouldn't go for it..." he muttered, smoke trailing from his lips. Suddenly, his eyes still on the ground and his head still devoured by his racing thoughts, he crashed into an unknown object. "UGH!" he stumbled, dropping his cigarette on the sidewalk as the smaller figure fell face-first to the ground. "Hey! Whydon'tcha watch where yer goin'?!" he growled, grabbing his much-desired smoke off the pavement.

"...Betelgeuse?" a startled, feminine voice gasped. The woman scrambled up to her feet, turning to lock eyes with an equally-startled poltergeist.

"Hey, easy with the name...Deetz? What the hell are you doin' wanderin' around out here? Don't you have somewhere to be? Like livin' in a sewer or a big box or somethin?" he smirked deviously at her, his annoying behavior partially fueled by his bad mood.

He glared at her, waiting for her to either argue or slap him silly in response. However, to his surprise, she didn't. She simply sighed, brushing herself off. "Yeah, yeah, I know...I broke my promise and ruined your afterlife. I get it." she muttered, turning to vanish back into the night.

"Wait, what?!" he grunted, baffled by her lack of fight. Well, she was a buzz kill.

She paused, before turning back to face him. Her features shown signs of exhaustion. "Look, I've already apologized to you. I don't know what else you want from me."

What was with all this apology shit? Was this some kind of trick or something? Beetle raised a wary eyebrow. "What're you doin' out here, anyway?"

"I'm uh..." she averted her eyes, now fiddling with her dress. "I'm looking for someone..."

Both his brows raised. "Oh, really? You mean, you're not, uh, you know..." he smirked, rubbing his fingers and thumb together.

Lydia glared. "I'm not a hooker, if that's what your asking..."

"Who said I was asking?" Beetle grinned, further annoying her. "Who are you lookin' for, anyway?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "It's a long story."

"Alright then, let me hear it. Might explain why you've gotten all weepy and sentimental and crap." he provoked, hoping to hear some sort of explanation for Lydia's apologetic behavior.

"Let's just say I know what it's like to be in your shoes now..." she stated, looking him square in the eyes, before turning and walking away.

Beetle's eye's narrowed in on the young woman, who's slim figure was quickly leaving him. What was with all this cryptic shit?! He didn't know anymore than he did two minutes ago! Did it even matter at this point? Feeling strangely anxious, Beetlejuice took an extra-long drag off his cigarette. Where was she going anyway? Would he ever see her again? Of course he could, he was the ghost with the most - he could find anybody in the afterlife! But what good would it do him? And, why was he bothering? Why did he suddenly have the urge to keep Lydia Deetz - lier, cheater, and deal-breaker - around? Well, it certainly wasn't that "I'm sorry" bullshit (Was it? Nah, couldn't be.). It had to be something else...

Beetlejuice suddenly smirked, "Hmmm..." That was it! She still owed him! Maybe he could use that to his advantage. Perhaps the Jerrymeister could use a woman's touch to convince him to call on the B-man...

"Ack!" Lydia yelped, jumping back.

"Hey, sugar." Beetle grinned, as she nearly walked into his appearing form.

"What do you want?" Lydia sighed, exasperated. Normally, this would only fuel Beetle's tendency to provoke. However, he simply stared, speechless, as Lydia merely folded her arms, averting her eyes from him. Something in her voice sounded defeated and full of sorrow. What in the hell happened to her?

"Uh...Wait a minute." he said dumbly, biding his time.

"What?" she huffed, her brown eyes glittering and somber under the pale glow of the streetlights.

"Not so fast. You still owe me, Deetz." he stated, quickly steering the conversation in line with his motives.

Lydia's brow furrowed, her confusion evident. "Yeah, but you said it yourself - it won't do any good to marry me now."

"While that may be true..." he hissed, grinning devilishly while snaking an arm around her shoulders and provoking a shudder from her. "That doesn't stop you from helping me get hitched."

Much to his surprise, Lydia merely stared at him. "So...That's it? You want my help?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Mm-hmm!" he nodded, a toothy grin forming on his grimy mouth.

"Well, a deal's a deal." Lydia shrugged. She then gave him a leary glance. "Does that mean I'm staying with you again?"

"Uh-huh," Beetlejuice snickered.

"Okay. My search isn't going that well anyway. So, when do you want to head-"

Suddenly, the streetlights dimmed as Beetlejuice squeezed her tightly, interrupting her mid-sentence. In a flash, the two of them appeared back on his decrepit old sofa.

"...home?" Lydia mumbled, scanning about to find herself back in his old roadhouse.

Piece of cake, he thought.