Chapter Fifty: Epilogue
"HA! Pay up, boys!" Beetlejuice cackled, Cuban cigar dangling from his lips as he stood, chalking the end of his pool stick after cleaning the floor with his current competitors.
"You got lucky." A heavy, muscular man with ebony skin and a giant, tribal arm tattoo grabbed the bucket of pooled betting money, shoving it over to him.
"Pfffft! That's what pussy losers say." he shot all the boys a look that said yes, they were all whiny pussies, and yes, he'd handed their asses to them. He watched them curse and swear under their breath, as he sniggered, pulling the giant wad of dollars out of the bucket, before tossing it back to the big guy. "Here Earl, collect all those tears so I can drink 'em while I'm out stuffin' these down some hot bitches' panties!" He laughed, slapping his leg and reveling in the fact that breathers had such fragile egos.
"You playin' again, Juice?" Earl asked, though from the look on his face he wasn't thrilled about that possibility.
"Nah, I'm off to spend muh much anticipated rewards!" he said, shaking his money in front of them and rubbing his sweet victory in their faces, before waving them off and stepping out of the bar.
He counted his cash, greedily stuffing it down the pocket of his Bermuda shorts, while adjusting his shades. He stepped over to an empty beach chair, plunking down and watching breathers play all over the massive, crystalline beach. It was pretty damned nice, and being alive was pretty damned good, though he really didn't know if it was technically the alive that he thought it would be. He still had powers, for fuck's sake, and he still looked a bit pale to put it nicely, and that never changed over the three months he'd spent trying to get some color to that damned skin. The gross, crusty thing was gone, which was awesome, but his eyes were still a bit too dark to pass as a healthy breather, hence wearing shades practically fucking everywhere, even indoors. Yeah, it got him a few funny looks, but it was better than looking like he popped up fresh out of a graveyard.
Beetle eyed the crowd warily, before pretending he was reaching under his beach chair, where he secretly materialized a beer in his hand. He smirked, bringing it up to his lips and knocking it back. Having new and improved powers made things even more subtle, and it saved a hell of a lot on expenses. He'd blatantly lied about the whole blowing his money thing. He'd been hoarding it like nobody's business, and he wasn't about to blow it on some cheap ass. As a matter of fact, he couldn't bring himself to even look at another woman since that day. If just seemed like a shitty thing to do, and he'd done enough shit. Not that he wasn't still a shameless prick. That was basically in the DNA, but he'd toned it down a bit.
He sat there, fiddling with the band on his own finger, licking his lips as he remembered the way she tasted. Suddenly, he was surprised by the ringing of his cell phone. His eyes grew wide as he scrambled to dig it out of his pocket, nearly dropping it in his surprise. There was only one person who knew the number to that phone, and he carried it every day, hoping to hear her voice. He quickly pressed the button, bringing it up to his ear, his chest heaving from the way his heart began to pick up the pace.
"Er...Hello?" he answered, and though it was the voice he'd wanted to hear, it wasn't the voice he expected. The last time he'd heard from her it was a very quick call, and it was reminding him that he'd have to leave the apartment by a certain date, but that had been well over a month ago, and she wouldn't talk to him any further than that.
"BJ?" her voice felt good to hear, though it sounded thin and a bit frail for some reason.
"Yeah, it's me, Babe. Whaddaya need?" he asked, trying his best not to run her off the line again, as she could get pissed and hang up on him at any moment.
"Did you leave your key at my place like I asked?" she inquired, still sounding as cold and formal as ever.
"Yeah. It's back where ya had it." he replied, sucking extra hard on his cigar to ease the pain of not being near her anymore. The last thing he'd seen was that hurt look in her eyes, and that image was practically scorched into his brain.
"Okay, thanks." she said, and he panicked, sensing that she'd hang up on him again.
"HEY! Uh, how've ya been?" he cleared his throat, fiddling with the cigar between his fingers nervously.
"Oh. I'm okay, I guess." she replied, and he shook his head, sighing. Yeah, she wasn't good. That was evident.
"Ya don't sound so good, Babe. You sick 'er somethin'?" he asked, brow furrowed in concern.
"No, just...tired. Other than that, I'm doing well. Are you still in Cancun?" she asked, and he grinned, happy that she was actually staying on the phone with him for more than thirty seconds.
"Yeah." he answered, severely tempted to ask her to come down and hang with him. However, he knew better to than to open his cocksucker and say it. He didn't need any more weeks of silence. There was one thing he did ask about, though. "Ya never told me where ya moved to. Where ya at?"
"I've been traveling." she said, and he rolled his eyes, snarling irritably. She was obviously bullshitting him. "But I have to go back to my place this Friday. I'll be turning everything in, so..." she said awkwardly, and that was the first time he actually knew her location in what felt like forever. That was a mere two days away, and that was enough to send him back north. He damn well had enough cash to do so. Part of himself hoped she was saying that so she could meet up with him again. The other part realized it was probably wishful thinking on his part.
"Uh...Sounds good, Babe." he grunted, trying to sound all nonchalant about it, though he was getting giddy inside like a little schoolgirl. A quick plane ride and he'd be back to her in no time.
"Yeah." she said awkwardly, before going into a bout of coughing. It sounded like she was going to throw up a lung any moment, and that caused a strangely guilty feeling to wash over him.
"Ya sure you don't need a doctor 'er somethin'?" he asked, in between her near-hurling, spastic lung fits.
"No. I'm good." she said, catching her breath. "I guess I'd better go. Take care, BJ."
Once again, she left him hanging. Fortunately for him, he'd snake his way back to her real soon.
"Hey, pal. That your girlfriend?" Earl chuckled, slapping him on the back as he plopped down in the beach chair beside him.
"Nah..." Beetle shrugged, before eyeing the ring on his finger. "It's muh wife."
"Your ass is married? Well, that's a new one on me!" he looked to Beetle, appearing shocked. "Didn't think you were the marrying type."
"Ya thought wrong, pal." Beetle smirked. What Lydia didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Besides, it was technically true.
"You gotta picture of her?" Earl asked him, raising a brow.
"Why? You need more spank bank material?" Beetle snorted, before reaching into his pocket and materializing a fake photo of them together. "That's her."
"Damn, buddy! You did good. What does a pretty young thing like that see in your ass?" he said, obviously giving him hell for the fun of it.
"Eh, that's a good question." Beetle admitted, feeling that trickle of guilt fall over himself again.
"She know how you're spending that money tonight?" Earl asked him, referring to his previous bullshitting concerning strippers.
"Heh. I wasn't serious, pal. I've seen enough strippers in mah day. Don't want no more ah' that shit." he said, flicking his cigar into the ocean.
"Why isn't she here with you, BJ?" he asked another quesiton, which was both parts troubling and annoying as hell.
"Eh, she travels fer work." he muttered, repeating her obvious lie. "I'm goin' up to New York this Friday to see her." he smirked, knowing she'd probably be all pissed, but he'd risk it anyway.
...
Lydia sat on the coast, taking a picture of a flock of seagulls flying in the distance. She slid her phone back into her travel bag, sighing and feeling that sadness linger inside herself once more. She began to cough again, the pain in her chest beginning to worry her. She'd lied to Beetle about the doctor thing - she'd seen five already, and everything came up inconclusive. It was so strange, and she was the only one who even knew about it.
She stood, adjusting her bikini top as she skimmed the horizon for anything to inspire her. L.A. had a sunnier, more relaxed disposition than the cold hustle and bustle of New York, and she found herself happy to set up shop there. She'd flown there the day that he'd nearly wrecked her whole life, and every time she thought about that, she shuddered inside.
He may have seemed remorseful before she'd left, but that wasn't enough. That was tens, possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of art that he'd tried to pin on her. She may have never gotten out of prison until old age, if ever. She could take his man tantrums, his bossiness, and his crazy, but she couldn't take that kind of betrayal. She made sure to put a large distance between them, due to the fact that he proved to be far worse than she'd imagined. Truthfully, she'd been far too lenient on his ass the whole time, and she made sure to remedy that mistake.
She instantly regretted mentioning where she'd be on Friday. It was a moment of misjudgment, and she was used to speaking so freely where she was, with a nice, familiar group of friends, a nice little photography shop, and little to worry about, that she'd temporarily forgotten just who she was talking to.
Either way, she knew that her new husband was practically a stranger in her eyes now, and she was bound and determined to keep it that way.
...
Lydia stood in front of her soon to be former New York apartment, feeling extra drained and nauseous after the flight there, which was becoming a trend. She was growing weaker by the day, and with no explanation whatsoever as to why. She stood, eyeing her surroundings warily, as she opened the door one final time. Good. He wasn't there.
She quietly took a final tour through her apartment, feeling a bit sad by how empty and unoccupied it was. She stepped over to the coffee maker, sliding the key out from under it, while taking the other out of her pocket. Just as she'd placed them side by side on the counter, she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen.
"Oh, god..." she winced hard, before stumbling to the bathroom, where she spewed like the chick from the exorcist into the toilet. What the hell was happening to her? She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and for some reason, it began to slow down by the minute.
...
Beetlejuice stood in the glass elevator, hands in his coat pockets as he froze his ass off on the way up, which was also a new thing to him. Spring in New York was still cold as hell after being on the sunny beach for three months. He stopped on Lydia's floor, feeling full of life and vigor, which was both awesome and weird as hell. As a matter of fact, he felt ten times better than when he first came back to life. It was as if he was growing stronger by the minute. He pulled off his cap, running a hand through his thick, blonde hair, before placing it back on and straightening it for good measure.
Yeah, she'd probably still hate his ass, but cleaning himself up a bit probably didn't hurt his chances. Beetle stepped up to the door, knocking on it and hoping she wouldn't hide. If she did, he'd just let himself in, he shrugged. Yeah, it was douchey, but he figured hey, couldn't a guy spend like five fucking minutes with his wife? It wasn't like he was asking for a honeymoon, though that would be cool as hell. Of course, said hell would freeze over first, but hey, a guy could dream.
"C'mon, Babe..." he muttered under his breath, growing impatient. Strangely enough, his heart began to pound a bit, which was happening quite a lot lately, and he had not one fucking clue why. Sure, Lydia was as good a reason as any to make the old ticker race, but it was happening randomly, and that started to puzzle him.
Finally, he looked warily about himself, before grabbing the door handle and allowing his powers to subtly unlock it. "Babe? It's me! You in here?!" he asked, as he heard a barely audible whimper coming from an unknown area in the apartment.
...
Lydia pried herself up from the toilet, eyeing the contents of said hurling, her eyes growing wide. It was some radioactive looking, glowing green stuff. It didn't even look like something a human would spew out. She quickly flushed the toilet, trying to stand up on wobbly legs.
"Am...I?" she staggered, falling back to her knees, clutching her stomach from the pain searing through her. Outside the door, she heard the voice of none other than Beetlejuice himself. She didn't really want him there, but he couldn't have shown up at a better time. "H-help!" she rasped, though by that moment she could barely breath. As a matter of fact, she felt as if she was suffocating. "H-help..." she whispered, reaching for the door, hoping to push it open and grab his attention before she hit the floor.
Unfortunately, that's just what happened. Lydia tried to rasp a final time, falling against the door with a thud, and into pure, whirling darkness.
...
"What the?!" Beetle jumped back, as the bathroom door flung open, nearly smacking him square in the face. "Babe?" his brows raised in surprise, as he peered inside the bathroom, only to find it completely empty. Okay, something was really fucking off.
He felt a small prick of static in the air, as he searched the place for any signs of life. He stopped dead in his tracks, as his eyes locked on to the pair of keys laying on the countertop - the keys that Lydia should have turned in by now.
"Where the hell is she?" he asked thin air, wondering just what the hell was going on.
...
Lydia's blurry vision began to focus on the figure in front of her, as she coughed, smoke filling her lungs. She wiped her eyes, realizing she was sitting in an office chair in front of a desk.
"Lydia Juice, I presume?" an elderly woman's voice hit her ears, as the fuzziness began to wear off, leaving her staring at a lady with a cigarette dangling from her lips and a hole in her throat, which was also spewing cigarette smoke.
"Y-yeah? Where am I?" she asked, her voice still a bit weak and trembling.
"You're now a resident of the Neitherworld, no thanks to Juice." the woman spat, obviously not happy with the poltergeist.
"Oh my god. Am I dead?" Lydia asked, feeling about her face in an immediate panic. For some reason, it wasn't cold, but that didn't make any sense. Dead people weren't exactly warm.
"No. Not yet, anyway." the woman answered blatantly, before sliding a paper in front of her. "I'm Juno. I'll be your temporary case worker."
Lydia took the paper, eyeing it slowly. "Then...Why am I here?" she asked, swallowing back the surreal feeling she was having, which was a mixture of being on the verge of terror and genuine curiosity.
"Well, apparently you're more or less stuck in limbo due to your marriage with Juice. It's a rare case, so we aren't sure of the details, but we looked into his unique little shitshow of a situation, and it seems that his life didn't come back all at once. He's slowly gaining it, and in turn, you're slowly losing it." Juno flicked her extra-long ashes off her cigarette, before continuing with a look of disgust on her face. "You really should have left the asshole alone this time, Mrs. Juice."
"You mean, I'll die?" Lydia asked, feeling that suffocating dread overcome her once more, as she choked on Juno's thick cloud of smoke.
"I don't know. I've never seen anything like it before. Nobody has. Either you'll stay down here until you bring him back, or you'll die and be stuck down here forever, and I know you don't want that." Juno eyed her, sliding more forms over to her.
"Oh shit." Lydia whimpered, realizing that there was a damned good reason she kept her distance from that prick. "What do I do?"
"You can bring his ass back where he belongs and force him to file for divorce and rightfully return you back to the other side where you should be, but it's doubtful, given he's now on the Neitherworld's most wanted list for breaking out. You'd have a better chance of getting Satan out of hell than talking him into coming back. Believe me. I know him well, and nothing good ever comes from dealing with that troublemaker." she spat, squashing her cigarette down in her ashtray like she no doubt wanted to squash Lydia's newfound husband. "You've really got yourself in a mess dealing with the likes of him."
"Okay, so what can I do? There has to be SOMETHING!" Lydia began to panic, realizing that her life was going too well to end. She should've known her compassion for that idiotic fucker would be her undoing.
"Well, there is one other option, and considering he obviously coerced you into this in some way, since he's in the position of higher power, it's perfectly within your Neitherworld rights to enact." she began, only for Lydia to interject.
"SURE! What is it?!" she asked, feeling her heart sink further into oblivion due to his deceit. He really was her enemy. He wasn't lying all that time about who he really was. He'd shown his true colors, and now he was dragging her, quite literally, to hell because of it.
"It's not that easy, Mrs. Juice, but you may have to do it." Juno remarked somberly. "By bring him back, I don't mean make him juice his way down here. I mean BRING. HIM. BACK." she said, as serious as a loaded cannon.
"You mean..." Lydia began, unable to even say it. She simply drug her index finger across her neck in a slicing motion, feeling horrified. "Death? As in... kill him?" she finally whimpered.
"Yes. If you can't find a better way, then that's exactly what I mean." Juno stated, her eyes glaring a whole through Lydia.
Lydia's heart sank, as she brought her hand up to her mouth, her eyes glazing over with fear. "Oh, boy..."
Part One: The End
