Chapter 1
Curiosity was what made her do it. Surely it was just curiosity or at least boredom.
It had been nearly fifteen years since "the-day-we-will-not-mention," as Charles had dubbed it. Although, in all honesty, Delia mentioned it quite often. She loved to tell tales, often exaggerated– although Lydia didn't know why she bothered, given the already outlandish nature of the truth– when showing her snake sculpture.
But on that day, six years later, Lydia found herself wondering what had become of Betelgeuse . Adam had told her, after weeks of her asking, that the poltergeist had been locked away, unable to be summoned. Adam had believed that this information would be comforting to his adopted daughter, that she had been looking for answers out of fear. If she was honest with herself, Lydia had been asking out of guilt. Of course, a rational part of her knew that a grown man, or in this case a very old ghost, should never have even asked her to marry him, but the fact that she had reneged on their deal did not sit well with her. He had wanted out in return for saving her ghost parents. He had, rapidly and with flair, upheld his half of the deal.
There would be months at a time in her life where she would not think of the-day-we-will-not-mention. In her own mind, despite being practically raised by ghosts, she felt like life was normal. The Maitlands felt so normal and warm despite being the opposite in both regards.
Regardless of her motivation– be it curiosity, boredom, or guilt– she decided to call him. She was sitting in her apartment, writing out her work schedule for the week when she let his name slip. In an almost sing-songy whisper, "Betelgeuse ." Realizing that she had written his name as she said it, she began to erase it. And then, quickly so that she would not give herself time to rethink, she said it two more times. "Betelgeuse , Betelgeuse ."
And there he was.
No grand entrance this time with circus music, no elaborate theming; it was just him, still in the red wedding suit standing– no, swaying– in front of her. She gasped and stared at him. It barely registered that he was still in the red wedding outfit. With her sitting and him standing over her, he felt tall and menacing. She looked at his face that sneered at her. His eyes looked wild and seemed to have trouble focusing on hers. If she didn't know better, she would have compared him to a frightened dog, terrified but snarling. Then his eyes grew wide with recognition.
"Deetz?" He laughed in a way that could only be described as manic before completely collapsing to the floor.
Lydia froze. She didn't truly expect anything to happen and now, face down on her carpet, was the literal ghost of her past. Her heart was beating fast; she found herself afraid to approach him. She knew what he was capable of, of course, but the look he had given her was one of a mad man. Who knows what he would do when he woke up?
Minutes ticked away with nothing happening. She had the ridiculous thought cross her head that she should check if he was still breathing. Of course not, she chided herself. He's dead.
When it became clear that Betelgeuse was not going to wake up soon, and when Lydia had fully convinced herself to leave her chair, she slowly knelt to the floor to examine him. With his face pushed against the floor, she could only see his backside. She looked him over. His outfit was in tatters, the pale skin that was showing was cut and bruised in no clear pattern, and his hair was singed at the ends. Strips of his suit had been cut and torn, revealing more injuries. She raised a hand over one large tear as if to pull it aside, but retracted the hand again quickly. She didn't want to wake him yet.
His right arm was outstretched over his head in a way that indicated it may be broken and the cuff of his sleeve was pulled slightly back. She noticed a glint of metal on his wrist. Finally gaining the nerve to touch him, she tugged the sleeve back farther, revealing a tarnished but seamless metal band. Checking his other wrist, which had fallen to his side, she found another just like it amongst his many watches.
She considered briefly sending him back. This wasn't her problem. She closed her eyes and took a few breaths, ready to say his name, but as she opened them again, she saw his collapsed corpse in full. He wasn't the intimating monster of her childhood anymore. In fact, he looked shorter than she remembered and considerably thinner. And she just couldn't, in good consciousness, send him back to whatever had been hurting him.
Pushing herself up from her crouching position, she went to grab her first aid kit.
Upon returning to him, she found that his face had turned to the side. His expression was screwed into a grimace of pain, his dark eyelids squeezed shut and his mossy lips were pressed tightly together.
She placed the first aid kit beside him and grabbed a pillow from the couch. Very gently and very slowly, she slipped her hand under his head. Splaying her fingers so as to support most of his face, she lifted him just enough to slide the pillow under him.
"Ughmm."
His pained moan had her freeze with the pillow in place but her hand still holding his head. She silently counted to thirty before lowering him onto the pillow and removing her hand.
She had no clue how to set a bone, but she could at least splint his arm to keep it from moving. She grabbed the roll of bandage from the kit and looked around for something strong but thin and flat. Finally deciding to roll up some magazines, she was able to bind the upper part of his arm to it. His body did not move through the entire process.
Pushing herself to keep moving, she began to gently dab his open cuts with Neosporin, adding bandaids as she went. She remembered her own mother would always do this to Lydia's scraped knees and palms. She smiled sadly at the memory and then continued.
The bruises posed a problem. She could ice them, but she really didn't want to wake him. Looking at the constellations of marks, she sighed and decided to simply avoid touching them for now. She wasn't even sure if anything she was doing would help. When he did waken, she would offer a pain killer.
Having done everything she could for his back, had to roll him over. She was gaining confidence in her movements, still cautious about the bruises. She placed another pillow next to his head and pushed him by the shoulder and hip onto it…
…to see him staring right at her with a shit-eating grin. "I knew you wanted to touch me, babes. We coulda just skipped the pretense and done this years ago."
Chapter 2
She released him and backed away with an embarrassing squeak. As she hadn't fully turned him over, he fell onto his back, grunting. He looked at her accusingly.
Not even sure what to say, she blurted out, "Oh, sorry!"
"S'okay," his gruff voice was even raspier than usual. "The ladies are just too rough for me these days." He turned to his side, attempting to get up. Lydia mentally kicked herself for not tying him up. He lay back down quickly pounding his fists against the floor. "Fuck!" He hit the floor again and continued to mutter a stream of curses at the ceiling.
It fully dawned on her: he was no threat to her at all.
If he even had his powers, he did not seem to know he could use them. She stepped towards him again, and his cursing stopped. Reading her body language, he too seemed to realize that Lydia held the cards in this situation. He stared at her and flinched when she took another step.
Was he frightened? Lydia had no clue why it would be. She put both hands out in front of her, palms open and towards him. She approached as she would towards a shelter animal. "Hey Betelgeuse , I'm just trying to help. Can you tell me how?"
"Why?" He rasped, caution still on his face.
"I don't know," she answered honestly.
When Betelgeuse had been summoned, he had first assumed it was some new torture. Bring it, was all he could think. He had long since forgotten hope of release. When he saw Lydia, his mind could only find it funny. Do they think taking her form would do anything? Fuck that bitch. His vision blurred as he laughed and felt darkness taking over.
When he gained consciousness, he could feel someone touching his wounds. He remained still, waiting for the pain to worsen, but it hadn't. In fact, wherever the person touched, the pain dulled slightly. Unsure of how to react and unable to leave anyway, he simply waited.
When he was turned over, he could see her again, carefully looking him over. It felt real. Maybe he had escaped. Anger bubbled in him for a second. The little liar had caused this whole situation. He could not let her know that he had no powers, though. She made eye contact and he summoned the ghost he used to be. "I knew you wanted to touch me, babes. We coulda just skipped the pretense and done this years ago."
It had the desired result. She had jumped away, frightened of him.
Continuing his grandstanding, he planned on standing and towering over her. The plan did not work.
Embarrassment turned to anger as pain bloomed in his side. "Fuck!"
When he looked back at her, she was walking towards him without fear. She knew. She knew he was nothing but a kicked puppy. And he worried she would just continue the kicking. Lord knew she was not fond of him.
Waiting for the crack of bone, he steeled himself; only, it still did not come. She was approaching him like he would run away (ha! Like he could) and asking how she could help.
Why? The question rang in his head and made its way out loud. Why the fuck would she bother? But she had already, hadn't she? Really taking notice of his surroundings, he felt the softness of a pillow under his head. He likely did not conveniently fall on one. The cuts along his back and the back of his legs were already feeling better. And his arm… at first he had assumed she tied him to something, but shifting slightly, he realized she had bound it straight. Could the breather just be feeling generous? Or perhaps, faced with the reality of her actions, she felt guilty?
Either way, he wasn't moving anytime soon, so he may as well take a reprieve if it was offered.
"Guess you can, uh, continue what you were doing."
He lay on her floor awkwardly, looking at the ceiling fan and focusing on anything but the fact that she was touching him so kindly. Although he would check to be sure she had nothing else planned if she reached for anything. He began to notice the sounds of the living: a clock ticking a room away, the slight rumble of a heating vent, a bird outside, and breathing. Gods, breathing. The steady huff of air. Nothing made you appreciate that sound like the absence of it for years.
Betelgeuse was silent after that. Lydia noticed how his sunken eyes followed her when she got more supplies or reached for him. As quickly as possible, she gave him the same treatment on his front side. A large gash under his jaw concerned her the most. The moss that was growing there had mixed with the blood. It had all dried together in a coagulated glob. She decided to carefully pick out the moss and wipe the whole thing with rubbing alcohol.
As soon as the wipe came into contact with him, Beetejuice hissed and pulled away. He gave her a quick glare before resettling and even craned his neck so that she had better access. She placed a large bandaid over it, gazing for a second at the way the muscles and adam's apple moved under his white flesh and bruises before moving on.
When Lydia had run out of bandaids, she looked over her work. All the major cuts had been cleaned and covered. Betelgeuse had even relaxed enough to close his eyes. She closed up her kit and went to put it away.
The reality of the situation hit her now that she was no longer distracted with a task. He was here. He was sleeping, she assumed, on her floor. He looked more relaxed than he had when he passed out the first time, but his hands would twitch occasionally. The self-proclaimed "ghost with the most" was back and somehow completely helpless (although, it didn't seem to make him more pleasant). She had no clue what she would do with him once he could move.
She knelt by him once more. His eyes were moving rapidly under the lids and a few beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. She leaned over without thinking, reaching out to brush some of his wild hair away from his face. In doing so, her knee bumped lightly against his side.
"Agh! Please stop, please stop!" He curled into the fetal position, putting his knees and arms protectively around the spot she had touched. His eyes were still closed and the pain and fear seemed to be morphing with his dreams. "Please," he nearly whimpered.
Lydia would have been sure that 'please' was not part of his vocabulary. Resisting the urge to sit in her pity for him, she drew in a quick breath and waited until his body relaxed. Once she saw his limbs go limp, she moved them back. He did not resist.
Obviously she had missed an injury, but she would have to remove his shirt to see it. Whatever it was, it seemed serious. How would she be able to fix it? She couldn't just call a doctor. The minute they checked his vitals there would be an all-out panic. He'd probably end up in some lab.
His suit had buttons, so that would be the easiest place to start. After opening it, she found that the frilly shirt underneath it did not. She gingerly untucked the front from his pants and lifted it, folding the fabric over his chest. She couldn't help but cringe at the dark bruising, made even more clear against his pale skin. He looked like someone had taken a bat to his ribs; they were probably broken.
I don't know how to fix broken ribs, and even if I did, can bones even heal on a corpse? She thought about Adam and Barbara. They never seemed to get hurt, but they also weren't as physically present as Betelgeuse seemed to be. When he was summoned, he was more solid. Thinking of the Maitlands did give her an idea, though.
Coming to again, Betelgeuse cursed whatever gods invented the headache. Hell, he cursed whatever gods decided that the dead could feel pain. Then he cursed the Netherworld justice system. And finally, for good measure, he cursed Lydia Deetz.
Looking around, he saw her in what appeared to be the kitchen. She was pacing back and forth with a phone to her ear. Having the time to look at her without consequence, he let old habits kick in. He had to admit, she was a fine piece of ass. She must have aged, for she no longer had the willow-like body of a teenager. It was easy to forget that breathers changed as they grew, for the passage of time in the Netherworld was already strange and those around you never looked any different. He wondered how long it had been here. At least a few years. Wait, what was she saying on the phone?
"I don't know, he's obviously hurt. … Yes, it's definitely him. You don't really forget someone who looks like that."
He scoffed. What a rude little… he stopped his thoughts. She had, after all, taken care of him so far. Maybe she wasn't as cold-hearted as he assumed. Maybe she didn't know.
"Yeah, it's probably best if you talk to Juno."
Fucking bitch! Tossing him right back there. She was worse than cold-hearted. She had no heart at all.
He had to get out.
Chapter 3
Lydia's conversation with Barabra was interrupted by a shuffling sound coming from the living room. She turned to see Beteguese using his good arm to push himself into a crawling position. Placing the phone against her shoulder, she watched him for a full minute, struggling to get himself to his hands and knees, then stand, and then begin to slowly move. It was obvious that he was trying to be quiet, his boots carefully lifting and lowering on the carpet.
She was reminded how he was able to teleport immediately before, jumping from the model to the family room to right behind Otho. This current shuffle was considerably less intimidating.
She gave him time to reach the door before asking, "where are you going?"
He jumped and then bit his lip with his yellowed teeth to keep from shouting. "Oh ya know, babes, this just isn't my scene. I got places to be, people to see. We can just forget that whole agreement from before, don't ya worry your little head over it."
Although he sounded like his old self, it did not escape her notice that the hair along his receding hairline was shaking, giving away the pain it took to hold himself up.
Putting the phone to her ear again, Lydia said, "Hey Barbara, I'll call you back. … Yeah, everything is okay, we'll come by in a day or so. … Love you too." She hung the phone back on the receiver before turning back to Beteguese.
"You're hurt." She said it plainly as if it was all the argument needed.
"Nah, I'm fine now. Ghost healing and all."
He was obviously not fine.
"Where would you even go?"
He began talking quickly but clearly, "Oh, probably around New York then swing around to Hawaii; I've heard the weather is nice this time of year. I could spend some time over in Florida, lotta ghosts there." He held up his good hand, miming literally weighing his options. He voice rose in volume suddenly, "ANYTHING BUT YOU SENDING ME BACK TO FUCKIN' JUNO!"
He had leaned forward to emphasize his point, but the strain on his core was too much. The poltergeist was forced to lean against the doorway to keep from collapsing.
Lydia's eyebrows raised as she realized what had set him off. "Oh." She said aloud, wondering what had transpired while Betelguese had been 'locked away.' She had assumed for those years he was in some sort of ghost prison.
"Betelguese," she said. He flinched at his name, preparing to be sent back. "What happened?"
"Oh that's rich, babes. Like you don't know." His bitterness surprised both of them.
1988
Had he known how his time in the waiting room would end, Betelguese would have kept his own number. Instead, he looked forward to gloating. Juno was more than familiar with his antics, and she would know this was the closest he had ever gotten to getting out. Of course, she wouldn't be happy about it, but that was half of the fun. She was just jealous he no longer had to do her boring job anymore; he was sure of it.
Miss Argentina, looked up with raised eyebrows at his shrunken head. "Juno will see you now," she said flatly.
"Oh boy," the ghost hopped up and made a show of brushing off his shoulders and straightening his suit. "Time for my tongue lashing," he said to an unimpressed crowd in the room, "if ya get my meaning."
When no one reacted, he spun on one foot to the back offices. "Juno, I'm home!" he called in his best Ricky impression.
"Sit down," she hissed at him. "You have really screwed up this time, B."
"Don't I know it." His grin was surprisingly wide for such a small head.
"What are you… here." Juno flicked her hand at him and his head returned to normal. He shook it a few times and smiled again.
"Much obliged, little lady." A cowboy hat appeared on his head and he tipped it in her direction.
She rolled her eyes and took a puff of her cigarette before continuing. "I don't just mean you made a mess. I mean the higher ups want to take serious action. More serious than just a name curse."
"Whadda they got for me this time? Gonna limit my haunting range? Make me uglier? They can't send me to the sandwords; I was just eaten."
"No. They are sending you to The Room of Punishment."
For once, the poltergeist was silent. His mouth hung open as Juno read his sentence.
"The deceased found guilty, otherwise known as Beteguese, will be sentenced to the Room of Punishment for the indefinite future. His powers will be bound during this time. He will be subjected to a cycle the five types of torture: blunt, sharp, hot, cold and loud. He will be granted one recovery day where he will be given only the power to heal before the cycle repeats.
Beteguese jumped into action. "Juno, June-Bug, Juna-roonie, you can't do this to me. Come on, we're practically family; best of pals; bffs." He hooked his arm over her shoulders, "remember that time…"
She cut him off, removing his arm by flicking it off as you would a bug. "Any good grace you may have scrounged from me is irrelevant. The choice isn't mine. You tried to break the biggest rule of death: you can't live. You got too close this time and they want to make you an example" Her expression softened for a brief moment. "I am sorry. While I certainly won't miss the headache you have caused me for the last century, I don't think you deserve something so severe."
She continued, "The accused can be released from the sentence only by the injured party summoning him. For his-"
"Wait, what injured party? Nobody got hurt. Much."
"You tried to marry a minor. Lydia Deetz is the injured party."
"I wouldn't 'a done anything."
"Be that as it may, I am sure you traumatized the poor breather."
"Hey! She agreed-"
Juno cut him off by raising a hand. "The Maitlands have been notified of your sentence. Miss Deetz can decide what to do with the information."
"Alright! Loopholes; you know I love 'em!" He rubbed his hands together.
Juno quickly finished, "For his remaining time after summoning, the injured party may decide to restore his powers or to return him to the Room of Punishment. There. Now, please follow Luther."
A short but very muscular man appeared at Betelguese's elbow. He was dressed in red and white striped tights with a leotard on top. His head had a large round indent with the number 100 stamped into it. As they turned towards each other, Luther grunted, "wrists."
Betelguese put his wrist out, expecting to be handcuffed. Luther did have cuffs, but there were no chains attached. As he fastened the first one, the ghost with the most almost fell over. He felt the effects immediately. His powers were being pulled right out of him and shut out. The second one had his knees buckling under him, and Juno, in a rare act of sympathy, reached out to catch him. It proved to be unnecessary as he straightened himself up quickly.
He was marched down the hallway with Luther and Juno on either side of him. They walked for minutes in silence, passing door after door. Not many people saw the end of the Netherworld's hallway. Then again, not many would want to.
When he went through that final door, he was enveloped in darkness. And then it began.
For the first several months, Beteguese assumed Lydia was just making him wait. Or perhaps she was still a bit frightened of him. When the anger or fear passed, surely she would summon him.
After the first year he cursed her name. Her name and Juno and the Maitlands.
After the second year, he stopped cursing. He rarely talked.
After the third year, he wished for death all over again.
After that, he had little sense of time. Only his day of reprieve let him know that time had passed. No one was coming. He was nothing. Why would they? He was alone. Utterly alone.
Chapter 4
"I don't know. That's why I asked." Betelgeuse's attitude was starting to irk her. Lydia had done nothing but help him, and he was throwing accusations at her.
"How old are you now?" He barked.
"Why are you changing the sub-"
"No, I mean, how long has it been?"
She caught on immediately. "It's been about fifteen years since you tried to… since you were at my father's house."
"Fifteen," he said quietly, finally giving up on standing. He leaned against the door to slow his descent, but still managed to sit down hard. "Fifteen." He repeated.
Lydia stood in the middle of the room. She took a step towards him and then thought better of it and stepped back again. She circled through a few questions or bits of information she could say to him, but finally settled on, "Do you eat?"
"What?" he looked baffled, but at least he had been broken out of whatever spiral he had started.
"What I mean is, do you, a ghost, eat food? I was planning to make dinner soon and wanted to know how much to make. I know Barbara and Adam still enjoyed eating."
At Barbara's name, he sneered, but still answered. "Yeah; I eat."
"Great, I defrosted some salmon earlier. I'll make that with some rice and whatever vegetable I have in the fridge."
She didn't wait for him to respond, just left him there on the floor.
In the safety of the kitchen, Lydia took a moment to steady her breathing. She didn't know what she was going to do with him, and he now seemed to be angry with her. Sure, he wasn't a threat at the moment, but there was no way of knowing he wouldn't be later. Then again, he seemed eager to leave; she could just let him. It wasn't like she was responsible for him.
Having something to do, something to focus on, would help her brain. Looking through the pantry she started grabbing honey, miso, and soy sauce. Honey miso salmon sounded good. She began measuring and mixing ingredients.
A moment of peace washed over her. Peace and a bit of clarity. Regardless of the past, Beteleguese was hurt and needed help. If he would accept it, she would offer it. If he would come with her later, she would take him Adam and Barbara in order to get more ghostly help. If he wanted to leave, she would simply send him off with some food and a bit of money.
With that decided, she began to cut the green beans.
Betelguese heard the scrape of a spoon against a bowl from the adjoining room. He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. Nothing made sense right now.
Lydia had abandoned him to punishment for fifteen years and yet here she was caring for him like a child. She even spoke to him like a child. His face twisted into a frown at the thought. He was over 500 years her senior; she should be asking him for his wisdom and bowing to him when she spoke, or some shit like that. Not lowering her voice or telling him not to go outside.
She did have a point, though. Where would he go? It had been a long time since he had to rely on anything but his powers. He was able to be hurt, and he knew for a fact that breathers couldn't be trusted. He had no money, no job, no shelter. He would end up homeless. He wondered if traveling circuses were still a thing. Maybe he could join one.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp beeping sound that made him jump. Realizing it was the oven, he mentally kicked himself for being so skittish.
He needed a plan. He could do this; he was good at plans. Opening his eyes again, he looked around the room. He would need a weapon in case Lydia decided to send him to Juno. It wouldn't do much good if she used his name, but he could at least stop her from going to the phone or… or…
The smell of garlic was filling the room and, despite the pit of coldness in his core that had accompanied him since death, the room itself began to warm. Lydia had opened the oven.
He could come up with a plan after dinner.
His eyes closed again and he drifted into sleep.
Two plates filled with glazed salmon, steamed rice, and roasted green beans were placed on the coffee table. Lydia considered helping Betelguese over to it before thinking better of it and just dragging the small table to him.
The sound startled him awake and he glared at her, the dark circles around his eyes narrowing. When he saw what was happening, however, he relaxed.
"Thanks," he managed, pushing himself up with his good arm.
Lydia grabbed the couch pillow from the floor and put it behind his back. Her hand brushed against his shoulder and they both pulled back. "Sorry. I wanted to… oh, here…" she realized he didn't have a fork as he was grabbing the green beans with his fingers. She awkwardly got up to grab one and saw he had finished the greens. She quickly handed it to him before he could start on the fish.
They sat in silence, the only sounds being the click of forks. A "merroww" for the corner caused them both to jump. Lydia's cat, Goblin, had hidden in her bedroom during most of the commotion. Now that it was quiet, she had come out to beg for scraps of fish. The little black cat had only one eye, but that didn't stop her from mischief.
"Here, baby," Lydia called softly, causing the ghost to scoff.
"You never talked to me that sweetly, wifey."
"I am not your wife." She stabbed her food forcefully, and took notice of his wince.
He continued anyway. "Oh yes, you are just a liar."
"I thought you just said…" Lydia sighed and composed herself as Goblin climbed into her lap. "Listen, Beet-"
"Nah ah!" He held up a finger, "Watch the name."
"Fine, but I have to call you something. BJ?"
He gave a little chuckle at that but didn't protest.
Lydia rolled her eyes and continued. "Listen BJ, I was thinking about what to do with you and-"
He waited, wishing he did have a weapon. This was it, she was going to send him back and there was nothing he could do about it.
"- you are welcome to stay for a few days and recover. It just doesn't feel right kicking you out like this. Of course, you are welcome to leave if you want. I was thinking we could go to visit Adam and Barbara at some point if you stay; they have been working on their powers and may be able to heal you more quickly. They're only a couple hours' drive from here."
She stopped and made herself busy by stroking Goblin. The cat let out a small meow, giving Lydia's plate a head bump. Finding that no fish would be shared, she moved her attention to the stranger in the house. She walked over to him cautiously, giving his jacket a few sniffs before rubbing her head against him. He was staring blankly at Lydia, mouth hanging open. The cat's touch snapped him out of it.
The ghost froze for a second, having known some temperamental cats in his life and death. When it became apparent that the tiny beast had accepted him, he gave Goblin a few scratches between her ears.
Both people looked up from the cat and made eye contact.
"Well?" Lydia prodded "What will it be?"
"You want me to stay, I'm happy to oblige." He was back to his old act. "Just try 'n keep your hands to yourself for a while. I can rock your world, but you gotta give me at least a day to heal."
She rolled her eyes again. "How did you get so injured and…" she paused, considering her words carefully, "when will you get your powers back? Is it just that you tapped them out or…?" She heavily suspected something else, but she figured it would be better for him to say it.
He scowled at her. "Here's what I don't get. You know where I've been and you chose now to release me, and yet you're playing innocent. Hell, you're playing nurse and hostess while you're at it. Did guilt finally get you? Did a conscious form in you now that you're, what? 35?"
"31," she said flatly. "And I don't know anything! The only thing I was told was that you were imprisoned and could not be summoned."
"But Juno said the Maitlands…" he paused, rage beginning to simmer inside of him. They didn't tell her. Or rather, they told her a partial truth. "The FUCKING DEADBEATS!" Goblin jumped up and skittered back to Lydia's bedroom. "I've been tortured for 15 years," his whole body shook, "and the only one who could let me out didn't even know!"
"Wait, what?" Lydia's eyes were wide with horror. "You have been tortured? Who could have let you out?"
"YOU!" He bellowed. Lydia wondered if the neighbors would come check on her with the shouting but pushed the thought aside to focus on what he was telling her. "You were the only one who was allowed to summon me and now you…"
He trailed off. He didn't want her to know how much power she had over him right now. Sure, she had been kind and apparently not at fault for what happened, but that did not mean she could be trusted. Luckily her mind was elsewhere.
"Adam and Barbara knew? I can't believe that they would let that happen. No, that doesn't sound like them."
"Well they did. I don't care how nice you think they are. Juno let them know, and they were supposed to tell you. I have been waiting for you to call me. Each day the pain would start and I…" His voice was becoming strangely small. Lydia watched his gaze drift as if he were somewhere else.
She reached across the table to his hand that was resting there, ignoring the moss patch peeking out between his thumb and forefinger, she placed her hand on top. His reaction was immediate, jerking his hand back and stabbing her with his fork.
"AHH!" She yelled, pulling her hand back to cradle with the other hand. Out of the four small wounds, only one had punctured the skin. The others would surely bruise.
Betelguese looked mortified at the wound, even though it was much tinier than anything he had received. "Ldys, I didn't mean ta' do that. You startled me, is all and…"
She held up a hand to stop him, not trusting herself to talk. She stood and ran to the kitchen, and he soon heard the sink running.
Not wanting to appologize, but still wanting to clear the air, he called, "the dinner is really good, ya know. When did you learn to cook?"
The sound of the water stopped and for a bit there was silence. Then he heard, "Glad you liked it. I ended up taking classes at the library. Delia tried to teach me, but she wasn't exactly a- ahhh?"
"What?" He tilted his head, assuming he heard the sentence incorrectly.
Then a new voice could be heard from the kitchen. "Miss Deetz, I am here to go over the legalities of your job as the new keeper of Betelguese."
The smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the air, mingling with smells from dinner. Betelguese practically dug his grimy nails into the coffee table. Juno had found him.
Chapter 5
Although Delia was rarely home and had never explicitly said that the Maitlands could not retake the house, the couple still spent much of their time in the attic. The drafts and old woodwork didn't really bother the ghosts, as they were always a bit chilly regardless of where they were.
Barbara was pacing the floor and had been doing so for the last 45 minutes. Had she been corporeal, the creak of footsteps would have likely driven Adam insane, who had been trying to calm her down.
"She's going to know we left information out." She held her hands out in frustration while talking.
"She'll understand, honey." Adam stood to place a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off to keep pacing.
"Even if he doesn't tell her, she'll know that she was able to summon him. What exactly did Juno tell you about it?"
Adam grabbed his wife by the shoulders, effectively stopping her movements. He pulled her into a hug which she finally surrendered into. "She said that Betel…that guy was to be sent to the room of something. Entrapment? Punishment? Something like that, and that Lydia was the only one who could summon him out of it. We thought it was best if she didn't feel that responsibility."
"But Adam," she mumbled into his shoulder, "we were supposed to tell her once she was an adult."
"I know," he stroked her hair. "We messed up. Honestly, I didn't even think about him any more once she stopped asking."
"I did," Barbara admitted, "not often, but I didn't want Lydia to worry about it. And now Lydia is saying he was badly hurt. I know I shouldn't feel guilty. That man did horrible things to many people."
"You have a good heart, Barb." Adam held her face. "The fact that you feel guilty is just you being you." He gave her a kiss on the forehead to drive his point home. "When they visit, we'll explain and, if you think it's best, we can apologize."
"Okay." She nodded, but her eyes looked to the side and she chewed her lip.
An older ghost with a no-nonsense expression sat at Lydia's kitchen table. Smoke haloed her head, escaping from her mouth, nostrils, and the slit in her neck. A cigarette was held loosely in her hand that she kept a safe distance from her body.
"You must be Juno," Lydia said. She sat at the table across from the case worker.
Juno gave a single nod in response. "I see you have decided to free the Beetle. Where are you keeping him, by the way?"
"He's just in the other room," she gestured. Lydia was used to ghosts by now, but having this conversation felt surreal. They were discussing her freeing and keeping a ghost as if he were a pet. She then remembered that Juno would be the one to ask about, well, everything that had been happening. Lydia stalled for a bit, busying her hands moving the stack of mail that had accumulated on her table to the side. Finally she looked at Juno, who sat waiting for her. "Could you answer a few questions?"
"That is what I have been assigned to do," Juno sighed.
"Where has he been for the past years?"
The case worker's head jerked back. "You don't know?"
"No."
Juno's mouth thinned and then she made a "tsk" sound. "I'll deal with that end of things later. For now, you need to know that he was in The Room of Punishment. His powers have been stripped and his sentence could only be changed by the injured party." At this she motioned with her cigarette towards Lydia. "That's you."
Lydia, who had read the Handbook from cover to cover, let her mouth fall open. "He's been there? For that long?"
"Indeed."
"If I had known…"
"You should have known, but even if you had, would you had let him loose? That brings me to my next point." Juno pulled out a stack of papers from her bag. "He is now your responsibility." She focused on the top sheet and began to read: "Once the injured party has released the guilty, they will have the ability to restore the guilty's powers or remove them. By repeating the guilty's name three times, they may also send him back to the Room of Punishment for the duration of time they desire. The same method can be used to retrieve him. The guilty party must remain within a three mile parameter of the injured party with the understanding that the injured party will be responsible for the guilty party's actions. Consequences may fall on both parties if Netherworld law is violated during this time."
Juno looked up from the paperwork to check for Lydia's understanding. Lydia found her mouth hanging open for the second time during the conversation and quickly snapped it shut. "So, I could be punished for whatever mischief he gets up to?"
"Correct."
"That hardly seems fair."
"Miss Deetz, I rarely work with the living, so perhaps you are unfamiliar with how the world of the dead works. I would have hoped those Maitlands would have informed you of more, but the rules are rarely fair. I certainly would not have chosen my line of work if they were."
Lydia recalled Otho's statement about suicides. Lydia glanced quickly at the slash in Juno's neck, and then politely looked away. Juno noticed.
"So you understand." The statement had two meanings. Lydia understood Juno's fate and she understood that there was nothing that could be done about her own predicament. Juno continued, "All the details can be found here. Please sign below to say that you have been shown the information."
A fountain pen materialized in Juno's hand which she handed over to Lydia. While Lydia signed a shaky signature, Juno leaned back in her chair to look into the living room. "I'll have to talk to that one as well."
Betelgeuse had been listening as the two women discussed his ownership, for that was what it was. He was being passed from one keeper to the next. Granted, he much preferred Lydia as a jailer, but nothing beats freedom.
When he heard Juno say they had to talk to him, he scrambled to his feet. Well, he tried. His ribs panged with cold pain, causing him to double over.
And that's how they found him, curled under the coffee table wincing.
"Beetle." Juno said quietly, her head tilted slightly.
Taking none of her pity, he propped himself up on his good side. "Juno, what took you so long? That Room of Punishment is no joke, lemme tell you. No worse than that waiting room, though, am I right?"
"You've looked better; and that's saying something." She made a quick glance of his injuries. "But it seems as if Miss Deetz was kind enough to attempt repairs."
"Oh, I think he has a broken rib," Lydia said, interrupting the two.
"Not much can be done about that. It'll heal on its own, and probably faster than it would for the living. You can always let him have his powers back for a bit if you want to speed things up, but that's at your discretion." She took a puff of her cigarette and studied the response of both of them before continuing. "To business then. Beetle, you need to sign– "
At that point three things happened simultaneously:
Juno thrust the pen towards Betelgeuse, nib forward.
Beetleguese did not see the pen, he saw the hot pokers coming for his eyes, his stomach, his limbs. He scrambled backwards, hoping to delay the burning, pressing himself against the door and continued pushing as if hoping to go through it. Summoned without powers, though, he was solid and trapped.
Lydia stepped between them, arms wide, blocking the ghosts' view of each other as she was a head taller than the older ghost.
"He's not a fan of sharp items right now." Lydia held up her injured hand as an explanation.
Juno's eyes widened, causing her forehead to crease. "I see that now." She held the pen flat in her hand and it changed into a pad of ink. "A fingerprint will do. We have a surprising amount of ghosts from various time periods who do not know how to sign their names."
The poltergeist had calmed considerably when Lydia's body came in front of him. He was staring up at the back of her head as if she were a goddess. For a second time that day, she had stopped the pain, she had protected him. Him.
All the anger that had been building inside of him for her drained in that moment. In that moment, she was his world. In that moment, he loved her. And in the next moment, he knew he was screwed. Fuck me.
Both women missed his worship and subsequent self-hatred, as one had her back to him and the other could not see through a living person. By the time Lydia had turned around, he had forced his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression.
She crouched down so that they were at eye level, simultaneously she reached behind her with an open hand. Juno dropped the ink pad into her hand. "Hey, I am not going to send you back, okay? Juno can leave once you put your fingerprint on the contract."
He silently offered up his pointer finger, hating how humiliating this was while enjoying the softness in her voice. He saved face by switching the pointer for the middle finger. She glared at him for a second before he smirked and switched back. She made quick work of pressing it into the ink pad and then swapping for the contract. When it was done, she stood up and handed it back to Juno. Betelgeuse, having no napkin or cloth, wiped the remaining ink on his pants.
Juno nodded as she took the contract back. "You'll have your hands full with that one, but you seem to be doing alright." She glanced back at Lydia's hand. "If you want my advice, I recommend reading that entire contract. You are not without tools."
"Juno, before you leave, could I make a request?" Lydia spit out quickly.
"You can. I make no promises to fulfill it."
"Could you tell my dad that I love him?" Lydia looked towards the floor.
Juno nodded once and then disappeared, leaving a wisp of lingering smoke.
Charles Deetz had died two years ago of a heart attack and had made Netherworld history by being the only ghost to voluntarily take a civil servant job. If asked, he would tell people he enjoyed the monotony of it. It was relaxing for him to fill out paperwork that had a repetitive flow to it. It made him great at his job.
However, when given the chance to take him on as an assistant, Juno turned it down. She suspected that Deetz had ulterior motives for taking on the position. He had asked many questions about Betelgeuse when he was first brought to the waiting room, and Miss Argentina was more than happy to supply answers.
According to Miss. A, the man had seemed extremely pleased when hearing about the poltergeist being locked up until he learned about "the Lydia loophole." It was then when he asked for a job application. Having never needed people to apply, he was just given the job. He was snatched up quickly as an assistant and had cut down on processing time by 23%.
Upon returning to the Netherworld, Juno considered Lydia's request. She weighed the repercussions of letting Charles know that she had seen his daughter. At best, he would request to see her first, at worst he would know that the Beetle had been released. Settingly on the fact that there was not much he could do about either scenario, Juno snuffed out her now dying cigarette and approached his desk.
"Deetz, your daughter says she loves you."
He had been bent over a stack of papers but his head snapped up immediately. "You saw Lydia?"
"Yes," was all she responded before walking away.
Charles waited until she had returned to her own desk before opening a drawer and carefully removing its contents. He had been prepared for this day.