Chapter 7: Pesky Conversations
Beetlejuice stomped into his bedroom, slamming the door behind himself.
"FUCK!" he hissed, balling his fists as he kicked his rickety old bed, causing it to crash to the floor. "Piece a shit furniture..." he muttered to himself, finding somewhere to misdirect his rage.
He then grew quiet, seating himself on the edge of the broken bed, seething inside. Since when did he start feeling pity? The last time he checked, he still had a pair of balls between his legs, which should have eradicated all those estrogen-fueled emotions - including that particular one! Hell, the last time he'd felt actual pity was for himself when he realized you could still contract the clap in the Neitherworld. He felt it even more so when he got cured, only to realize there was a ninety-nine point nine percent chance he'd probably catch it again. Damn his love for cheap sex!
Of course, those were all warranted reasons for such an unwelcome emotion. What wasn't warranted, however, was feeling sympathy in any form for a certain Lydia Deetz. He didn't understand why he felt it, either. Maybe it was those big, sad, doe eyes, or the pitiful way she bit her lip when she was nervous. Hell, it was almost endearing.
And it sure as fuck didn't help that the woman grew up to be drop-dead (no pun intended) gorgeous. Sure, she used to be a cute kid, but that was just it - she was a fuckin' kid! He may have tried marrying her, but it was merely a business deal - he wasn't into that kind of sick shit. It was just so much easier dealing with her back then - the only time he felt a small pang of sympathy was when she'd told him she wanted in the afterlife, which he couldn't fathom in the least. Now, she was all grown and hot and sad, and he was hanging on to every word like a sap.
He'd spent five grueling years with his head the size of a golf ball in that cess pit of a waiting room, only to regain a head of normal size and be thrown in the clanker. Good thing he'd been locked up in solitary or he'd have a really large, aching asshole by now. What boggled him the most was that after nine years of hellish waiting, he should've had enough pent up rage to burst Lydia Deets into flames upon eye contact. Instead, she walks into his life and he starts feeling...things...for her. A total of ten complete years were spent meticulously building resentment, and in a matter of days, Lydia Deetz walks right in and de-balls him. Shit.
To make matters worse, he didn't see how that prick of a fiance (or whatever the fuck he was supposed to be) could up and leave a hot little thing like that. Even more disturbing, was the fact that he found her personality to be pleasant, and that word wasn't even in his vocabulary. He'd even felt a slight twinge of another emotion he didn't dare name, when he thought of another bastard potentially marrying her. That, he was sure, meant that someone, somewhere was reaping divine punishment upon him. Shit, he hadn't felt that emotion since he'd been alive, and that was a hell of a long time ago!
He was losing it fast, and he was well aware of it. Lydia Deetz had him by the balls whether she realized it or not, and that's why he decided to counteract those gushy feelings with a bit of violence and havoc (those were kind of his thing, after all). It seemed to work. She still seemed to think he was a hate-filled maniac, and he got a new bargain out of his shenanigans. Win-win situation.
Lydia eyed Beetlejuice's refrigerator, half in fear, half in disgust, as she pondered on whether it was wise to actually open the moldy, crust-encased appliance. She'd awakened an hour ago, not quite sure of what to do with herself in her new prison-slash-home. Well aware of her own expiration, Lydia knew she didn't technically have to eat. However, she loved food when she was alive, and it just didn't feel right not to ingest something. That being said, the contents of Beetle's fridge would be questionable at best.
Sighing with indecision, Lydia examined her surroundings, partly in awe of the fact that one being could accumulate more grime and refuse than a landfill. Every room was filthy, every wall was moldy and adorned with cobwebs, and the floor was apparently used for the same purpose as the trash can. There were more cigarette butts in his filthy carpet than sands in the desert.
Finally letting curiosity overtake her, Lydia slowly opened the door, only to gasp when several insects ran out of it, screaming. Screaming? Once the fearful creatures were out of her way, she saw about fifty empty beer bottles and a pack of cigarettes. Figures. She rolled her eyes, frustrated.
Lydia wandered back into Beetle's living room, plunking herself down on his sofa unceremoniously. Might as well watch some TV since there's nothing else to do in this hell hole, she figured. Noticing there were no buttons on the television, Lydia started scanning about for the remote, before coming up empty-handed.
"It's got to be somewhere..." Lydia mumbled, now digging in the couch. Reaching in between the cushions, she smirked, feeling smooth plastic and buttons on her fingertips. Grasping the object, Lydia shrieked, when something tugged back on it, nearly pulling her arm down into the god forsaken depths of Beetle's abysmal sofa. She quickly released the remote, frantically yanking her hand up from the depths.
"Ugh..." Lydia placed her face in her palms, already feeling defeated. She realized she'd only been awake under two hours, and already she was miserable. After last night, she'd officially deemed herself as insane as the poltergeist she was currently living with. What in the hell was she thinking? She should've known her good intentions wouldn't go unpunished around Beetlejuice. Of course he'd react terribly to her! She'd betrayed him over a decade ago, and he'd only been free for one year. She considered herself lucky that he hadn't blasted her to Saturn by now. She then figured things could always be worse, as she could've have ended up as Sandworm food.
Why did she feel so guilty for breaking her promise, anyway? Beetle was the one who'd pressured her at the worst possible moment, knowing she'd give in to save Adam and Barbara. He was a manipulator, a crook, and an idiot to boot. Nothing about him should've motivated her to apologize.
But then something happened to her when her fiance left her standing at the altar. She remembered the humiliation and the hurt she felt from his rejection. Lydia remembered laying awake at night desperately racking her brain for answers, only to come up empty-handed. Then she began to remember the other wedding, and a small pang of remorse that she never knew existed suddenly began to well up inside of her. The ghost was an asshole, but did he really deserve to be eaten? Maybe she would've felt less sympathetic had he not saved her beloved Maitlands. Therein was the problem - he'd saved two ghosts that Lydia had now grown to love like a second set of parents. Without him, she wouldn't have had Adam and Barbara around, and without them, she couldn't have seen her outlook on life turning around like it had. They were the positive influences she needed to grow and learn, and Beetlejuice was to thank for that. Truthfully, she didn't even know if he'd be around once she crossed over to the other side. For all Lydia knew, Beetlejuice could've been permanently vanquished. Strangely enough, the thought of him being gone forever sort of bothered her in a way she couldn't quite fathom.
Now her cleansed conscience and her big mouth had landed her smack in the middle of his plans to get out once more. She wasn't so sure what kind of scheme Beetle had cooked up, but it would more than likely mean trouble. She certainly hoped he'd quit losing his temper in the near future, given the fact that he'd already scared the daylights out of her twice in their short time together. Lydia may have been a ghost herself, but dealing with the likes of Beetlejuice was to be dealing with a powerful force to be reckoned with, given that force may have been cleverly hidden under a masquerade of lechery and feigned stupidity. She truly wasn't sure what he was capable of, but she sensed that she'd never seen his full potential. Lydia reasoned that if there was one being who could successfully kill her a second time, it would be Beetlejuice, and that was beyond unsettling. However, she also sensed that he'd been holding back, even during his worst moments, both past and present.
"The fuck are you doin' up so early?" a gruff, grumpy voice muttered, as Lydia found herself being pulled back into the present.
She turned to find Beetlejuice propped against the wall in a raggedy old robe, pulling his flask out to take a drink.
"Isn't it a little early to be getting wasted?" Lydia blurted out, feeling instantly irritated by his presence.
"You call it wasted, I call it breakfast, buttercup." he grinned widely, before throwing back the flask and chugging it. He wiped his grimy hand over his lips. "Ah...You know what they say: most important meal of the day, an' all..."
"What's living in your couch?" Lydia asked. "I tried to get the remote, and I'm pretty sure something down there attempted to abduct me."
"Oh, that..." Beetle chuckled. "Just a teeny, tiny little pest problem I got goin' on. You know how it is. Tried callin' the exterminator, but he's booked up for about two hundred years, with it bein' termite season an' all. But don't you worry, there ain't nothin' gonna pull you down and de-bone you, or slurp out yer innards or anything." he mumbled, clearly lying. "And really, that only happened one time, and I paid her for her services beforehand, so it ain't like I feel bad or anything..."
Lydia jumped off the sofa, yipping as she felt something moving about under the cushions while Beetle spoke. "Oh god..." she gasped, looking to Beetlejuice, who smirked deviously at her. "Gee thanks, that makes me feel so much better."
"No problem, Babe. I do what I can." he straightened his robe, before plopping on the couch and reaching into its depths. Lydia's eyes grew wide hearing the grotesque noises coming from beneath the cushions. Beetle furrowed his brow, "Hmmm...gotta be in here somewhere...It's the last place I put it...Ah-ha! Here it - woah." He suddenly seemed stunned, pulling out a nub where his hand used to be. "Uh...maybe I ought to put a rush on that appointment, whaddya think?" he grinned stupidly at Lydia, who could clearly see that he was full of shit.
"I think I'll just sit on the floor..." Lydia huffed, folding her arms.
"Alright, alright! There ain't nothin' gonna get ya. See?" he said, as Lydia saw his missing hand rise up from the depths and wave at her.
"So that was you trying to pull me in?" Lydia asked, now placing her hands on her hips.
"Guilty as charged." he grinned devilishly, as his detached hand patted the empty space beside him. "Have a seat, Babe. I won't bite...hard." he smiled wickedly, licking his green teeth.
"Only if I don't have to sit on your hand." Lydia looked to Beetle in disgust.
"Ya sure?" Beetlejuice waggled his eyebrows mischievously. Lydia made sure to shoot him a glare of pure disgust to get her point across. "Fine..." he muttered, reaching into the couch and pulling out a fully-attached hand once more.
Warily, Lydia seated herself beside him, as he turned on the television, quickly changing past the porn channel it had currently been set to. Then things grew quiet - awkwardly quiet. Lydia could've sworn Beetle seemed uncomfortable somehow, as he sat mindlessly channel surfing.
Oh, what the hell, she thought. "So...You seem in a better mood today, considering you're not clamping my mouth shut." Lydia began, feeling the urge to pick his brain. Then she began to inwardly question why that urge happened in the first place.
Beetlejuice shot her a look, not looking the least bit amused. "Not the best way to start off there, Babe." he glared, feigning a smile. "Might wanna work on yer conversation skills."
"Well, it's true. Besides, I'm stuck here now, remember? What am I supposed to do, not speak at all?" Lydia spat, irritated by his avoidance. She figured that if she had to be a prisoner in his dumpster fire of a house, then she should at least be able to speak her mind. Of course, she quickly reminded herself that she was being a psycho and that Beetlejuice wasn't exactly one to be diplomatic.
"Damn it. Shoulda' made that rule number four..." Beetle grumbled, scratching his head.
"Well, you didn't." Lydia stated bluntly, slightly content with her small victory. Unfortunately, that feeling was cut short by her curiosity. The only thing she'd seen the poltergeist do since she met him on the other side was drink and attempt to get laid. Surely there was more to him then that, wasn't there? And why hadn't he burst her into flames yet (not that she was complaining or anything)? "So, uh...What do I do?" she continued, genuinely curious.
"Easy, whatever I tell ya." Beetle snorted, appearing completely satisfied with his newfound position to boss her around.
"I know...I mean now. You're not telling me anything." Lydia spoke, noticing a strange look on his features. He almost seemed a bit caught off-guard.
"There's nothin' to tell." he shrugged. "Do whatever. I don't give a shit right now."
"What?" Lydia's brow furrowed, as she tried to figure out why he was acting so different all of a sudden. Wasn't he hell-bent on making her do his bidding just last night? "Don't you want to talk about me helping you get out? Is there a certain person you're trying to marry or something? Or..."
"Fuck..." Beetle grumbled, wiping a hand over his face. "Not now, Deetz. It's too fuckin' early for this shit. God, I need a smoke..." Beetle said irritably, forming a cigarette in his hand out of thin air.
What was up with him? "Why do you want to get out so badly anyway?" she inquired, far too curious to pay heed to his warning.
She watched as Beetlejuice took a long, hard drag from his smoke before turning to her and blowing smoke in her face, causing her to cough and choke on it. "Let's just say it's none of yer damn business and move on, Deetz."
Now she was intrigued. Something was up with him, though Lydia wasn't quite sure what. She couldn't help but feel the urge to ask the ghoul more, for her natural tendency to be curious was winning the war with her common sense.
Maybe a quick change in subject was in order, Lydia mused. Even better, a subject that would ultimately achieve the goal of helping Beetlejuice and then getting far, far away from him. Fanning violently at the suffocating smoke, Lydia asked, "Just what are you trying to do, anyway? How are you trying to get out?"
Beetlejuice groaned at her questions. "What the fuck is up with all this interrogation? What were you, a private investigator or some shit?"
Lydia grinned, feeling as if she was wearing him down a bit. If he was keeping her around, he'd have to get used to her questions anyway. "A detective? Not even close..." she chuckled. "Please?" she then asked, trying to snuff out the rest of his resistance that didn't make any sense in the first place. Why would he need her help, and not tell her anything about it?
"So?" she persisted, eagerly awaiting his answer.
Beetle didn't speak. Appearing as irritated as ever, he poofed a ratty old newspaper into Lydia's lap, startling her. He flipped a couple of pages, then pointed to an obituary. "There, ya happy?" he huffed.
"Gerald Lunder..." Lydia mumbled aloud, reading the details of Beetle's latest victim. The poor guy had died of a heart attack, and now Beetlejuice was probably going to give him another one. "What's the plan?" Lydia inquired, watching Beetle blow smoke into the air, forming RIP, apparently for his own amusement.
Beetlejuice shot her a leary glance before answering. He almost seemed defensive. "Ah, you know, the usual - at first it was harassing, persuading, stalking, seeping into the recesses of his mind. Didn't work for old chubby, though. Apparently, Jerry isn't interested in the B-man's services. Dipshit." he muttered, clearly not happy with the guy. Of course, Lydia couldn't blame this Gerald fellow for not wanting anything to do with the likes of Beetlejuicee. If anything, the man was smart.
"You see, he's the nerdy, booksmart, doesn't get much ass type. The guy likes peace and quiet. Whatever reason someone would want that shit, I have no idea. Anyway, now he's taking the inevitable dirt nap, and two smokin' hot college babes are livin' in his space, partyin' and bein' awesome an' all that - which the guy hates - and it's drivin' him fuckin' loony, ya know?" Beetle continued, a lecherous grin now forming on his features. "Now I figure, those chicks love to get shit faced. Not buzzed, not tipsy, not a little drunk - no. They like to flat-out get hammered! So what I'm thinkin...I get in while they're judgment is a bit constricted, scare the shit outta them, force one to marry me, and they get the fuck out. Then I get out. You know how it works. I don't even have to see the lucky bride again! All I need is her word, ya know?" he explained, seeming to grow excited with the anticipation of it all.
"So...what do I do?" Lydia asked, wondering how she could play a part in all this.
"I dunno yet. I figured maybe you could talk to ole' Jerr for me. Apparently, the little prick doesn't like my methods. I can't convince him to let me out. Maybe he'll listen to you..." he paused, scratching his head and averting his eyes from Lydia awkwardly. "You know, you got all that 'nice' shit goin' on. Maybe you can butter him up or something. You know, maybe do that sweet talkin' stuff you do?" he muttered uncomfortably.
"What?" Lydia questioned, baffled. "What 'sweet-talking'?"
"You talk nice, damnit! You ain't a big ole' asshole like me, okay? Just be nice to him, and try to convince him to use my services, if ya get mah drift!" he admitted, fuming while he did so.
"Oh." was all Lydia could say. It was a little more than strange to hear Beetle admit a fault of any kind whatsoever. Now she was feeling awkward for some reason she couldn't quite put her finger on. "When do we start?"
Beetlejuice suddenly smirked, his eyes narrowing on her. "You really want rid of me fast, dontcha', Lyds?"
Lydia, startled by the fact that he could read her true motivations like a book, simply stared blankly at him. She had nothing to say to that, really.
"You do, dontcha? You expect me to just sit back and let you take the wheel, eh? You'd get a sweet deal out of it, wouldn't you? You'd help me, I'd get out, and you'd never have to deal with ole' BJ again. Right?" he asked, his voice growing threatening.
"Uh, isn't that what you wanted?" Lydia remarked, trying to counter his onslaught.
"It's not the only thing I wanted, Deetz. I was forced to wait for nine years...Nine fuckin' years, Deetz! I've been free for one! You get mah drift? You ain't gettin' outta this so easy. We'll do this when I damn well feel like it, and the B-man doesn't feel one bit like fuckin' with that fat nerd and his college bimbos at the moment!" he yelled, causing Lydia's heart to sink. This was it. She truly was stuck with him for the long haul, and all because of her stupid conscience. Damn it. "Understand?!" he spat, pointing his grimy finger in her face, the cigarette nearly touching her and causing her to wince.
Feeling exhausted and defeated, Lydia simply nodded, folding her arms and sinking back into the couch like a scolded child. Silence filled the musty air of his home, feeling thick like the rings of smoke coming from Beetle's disgusting mouth. She needed away from him, if only for a moment. It was just too much to fathom living with him for, well, however long he wanted to torment her.
"BJ?" she asked timidly, not daring to use the angry ghoul's name. Beetle, who'd returned to mindlessly flipping through the channels, paused briefly, not looking at her. "Is it okay if I sleep in your bed for a bit? I didn't sleep well last night..." she mumbled, trying her best to stay civil, despite the growing urge to punch him in the groin with a vengeance.
Beetle stayed quiet a moment, before shrugging. "Yeah, whatever..." he muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette.
Lydia slowly stood up, walking to his bedroom, where she flopped on his filthy bed, sighing. At least she had some distance from him, if only for a little while.