Chapter Text
A week had gone by, and Lydia still felt like a stranger in her own home. Her family had fallen into a rhythm that no longer included her. Every time she tried to join in, it felt like she was intruding on something—more of a nuisance than a daughter. And it hurt like hell.
Occasionally, Barbara would sit with her, chatting about Chris and trying to pry out more details, but the conversation always circled back to that infernal monstrosity in her room—the computer. Apparently, they all had a rotating schedule to use the new novelty, which is why Lydia had been forced out of her own room for a much needed break. Her once sacred space now felt foreign, and she needed something, anything, to occupy her time.
I don't belong in New York. I don't belong here. What the hell is happening?
Even Winter River looked different. Loneliness crept in like an unwelcome guest. She actually found herself hoping her friends would call, but she'd only been gone a week. She hadn’t even seen Chris before she left for Winter River, and he hadn’t bothered to reach out.
It was just fooling around, not like we’re in a relationship or anything. The phone works both ways...
She squashed that thought, not wanting to seem desperate. They’d both had a few drinks that night, and she still wondered what might have happened if Bell hadn’t walked in on them in the darkroom. She shuddered, remembering Chris's hands unbuttoning her jeans. That was the last she had seen of either of them.
It’s only been a week.
Lydia had ventured into town, intending to take her old cameras out for a spin, only to find that all her film had expired. Groaning in frustration, her mood darkened like the storm brewing overhead. She locked up the storage, and just as she slung her camera bag over her shoulder, her pager began to beep. Nearly dropping the bag, she fumbled with the device, yanking it from her jeans pocket.
I wonder if it's Chris, she thought, holding her breath.
But no. The number "343" blinked on the screen—Bell. Call back now? Uh oh.
She tossed her bag over her shoulder and hopped on her old bike. A second beep. This time "423" flashed, followed by "911." *Call me now. Emergency. * Shit! Why did I bring my bike?
The skies opened up as rain poured down. Lydia rummaged through her bike basket, desperate to find something to shield her from the onslaught. After digging through random items, she pulled out an old red poncho covered in spider web patterns.
Well, at least I’m still small enough for this thing.
She threw it over her head and her camera bag, pedaling back home as fast as her legs would let her.
Betelgeuse had been wandering around the Astral Planes for a week, and it was the biggest disappointment of his afterlife so far. Everything had changed. The eerie, twisted streets were barely recognizable, and the worst part? No one recognized him.
After leaving Juno’s office, he went straight to his old stomping grounds. Nothing was left. The souls he’d once called “friends” were long gone.
Left without even giving me a second thought. But that wasn’t true. Juno had passed on their messages, saying they hoped to see him again someday. Fat chance. Betrayed. Forgotten. That never boded well for anyone. He’d been so ecstatic to be out of that grave, but now? He hardly knew what to do with himself. Ungrateful pricks.
Sure, being stuck in the waiting room wasn’t what he’d call “fun,” but at least there were other souls to talk to—even if they were freshly dead, boring assholes. It was better than talking to himself, which, in his solitary confinement, he’d done more often than he liked to admit.
He chuckled, remembering the ridiculous tea parties he’d had with his conjured personalities, which always ended in chaotic fistfights. Then there was that time he’d made out with “Betty”—his female persona. The memory made him shudder.
Yeah, that got real weird, real fast.
He didn’t invite them back after that. Instead, he threw parties for insects that wandered into his grave, squishing, stomping, and devouring them while he voiced their terror himself. It was the only activity he had left, and it became his favorite pastime—along with... other things that did not need mentioning.
Now, free once again, he realized just how close he'd come to losing his ever-loving mind. His only connection to the living had been the reflective surface inside his hat, which served as a window into the Physical Plane.
Knowledge is power, he thought smugly. And it had saved whatever was left of noggin.
Over the centuries, he’d learned a lot, observing the world from the confines of his grave. But now that he was out, he was at a loss. He couldn’t cross into the Physical Plane without someone invoking his name. No one could. It was an art—an exact science, really.
He needed to find the right fool, get close enough to their spirit, and lure them into calling him. It wasn’t easy, dragging his own grave around with him. But hey, if nothing else, Betelgeuse was persistent.
The sups had been clever... but not clever enough.
The moment he got his hands on the file containing his confinement clauses, he destroyed them. He made a spectacle of it, turning the papers into confetti and combusting them in the air. Everyone around him had panicked as he danced with Juno around the office, shouting his name for the first time in centuries. She beat the hell out of him for it, but he didn't care.
"Put me down, you shit for brains!" she had screamed, but he’d won.
Still, they’d hit him where it hurt. Solitary confinement had made him irrelevant. And while Betelgeuse was no stranger to rejection, being forgotten? That was something he couldn’t accept.
He needed to make new connections—and not because he was lonely. Nope, not at all.
He sighed, looking around the unfamiliar streets.
I need a good fuck first.
Lydia raced into the kitchen, leaving a trail of mud in her wake. She fleetingly considered the mess and the fit it would cause Delia, but brushed it off as she grabbed the phone.
“Who's hogging the line?” Adam called from the computer room, sounding annoyed.
“I’m sorry! Gotta make an urgent call!” Lydia dialed quickly, her fingers trembling as the phone rang.
Bell picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Bell? What’s going on?”
“Deetz? Holy shit, dude!”
“Is it really an emergency? You paged me like a hundred times!”
“Uh, yeah, it’s an emergency. You need to get your ass back to New York. Now. ”
“What? Why?”
“Okay, so Cooper’s uncle is a big shot, right? He was visiting Cooper’s family, and Cooper showed him your portfolio.”
“Wait, what? How did he even get my—oh, right.” She remembered leaving her portfolio in the darkroom after their heated makeout session. “Okay, so?”
“Cooper’s uncle showed it to his friend, Annie fucking Leibovitz! ”
Lydia’s knees nearly buckled, her breath hitching as the gravity of the situation hit her. “Oh my god.”
“Yeah! And she wants to meet you. Tonight. ”
“I’m going to throw up.”
“Do that, and then haul ass back here because you might just have a hookup with Rolling Stone magazine! She’s leaving tomorrow, so this is your one shot.”
“Shit!”
“Yup!”
“Okay!”
“Okay!”
Lydia slammed the phone down, her hands trembling, adrenaline surging through her veins. She spun around to sprint out of the kitchen, but her foot slipped on the wet floor, sending her sprawling onto her ass with a loud thud.
"Is that mud on my floor, Lydia Deetz?" Delia’s shrill voice jolted her back to reality.
Lydia looked up at her stepmother and burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“What’s gotten into you?” Delia asked, bewildered.
Lydia took a deep breath, her face suddenly serious. “Delia, I need the keys to the car. Now. ”
“What?”
“Annie Leibovitz, the photographer, wants to meet me. Tonight. ”
Delia blinked, frozen in place. Then, without another word, she dashed out of the kitchen, shouting orders. “All hands on deck! Barbara, pack Lydia’s suitcase! Stat!”
She returned moments later, tossing the car keys at Lydia. “What are you doing on the floor? Get moving!”
Lydia scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding in disbelief. “This is really happening,” she muttered as she grabbed the keys. “This is actually happening!”
Moments later, Lydia was in the car, her suitcase in the backseat, and the rain pouring harder than ever. She hit the gas, grinning ear to ear.
Betelgeuse, meanwhile, stood grinning outside the Stiff Members Gentlemen's Club , his eyes gleaming with mischief as he took in the gaudy neon lights flashing above the doorway. He snickered at the name, shaking his head, then swaggered towards the entrance. The anticipation of the chaos that lay ahead bubbled in his chest like a fizzy drink ready to explode. But before he could step through, an enormous bouncer blocked his way, arms crossed like steel beams.
“Password?” the bouncer grunted, his eyes narrowing at Betelgeuse's wild appearance.
Betelgeuse flashed his yellowed teeth in what he hoped passed for a friendly smile. “I’m meeting some friends. They’re expecting me,” he replied, attempting to push past, but his efforts were immediately thwarted.
The bouncer’s massive hand shoved him back, effortlessly sending him stumbling a few steps. Betelgeuse's grin twisted into an annoyed snarl as he caught his balance.
“Hey! No need to be an asshole!” Betelgeuse growled, glaring up at the giant. His eyes flickered with annoyance, then something darker—a spark of wicked excitement. He backed off, hands held up in mock surrender, but the grin crept back, broader, more dangerous. "You work too hard, boy-yo. Why don't you take an early vacation? I hear Saturn's real nice this time of year. Trust me, you'll love the view."
Lydia was speeding through the storm, her wipers barely keeping up as sheets of rain hammered against the windshield. The wind howled around her, rattling the car as she gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled determination. She turned on her hazard lights, trying desperately to stay visible through the torrential downpour, her heart pounding with each flash of lightning that illuminated the road ahead in blinding bursts.
She should pull over. She really should.
The tires splashed through deepening puddles, and Lydia’s vision blurred momentarily with the relentless water. Every nerve in her body was on high alert, her eyes darting between the road and the mirrors.
Inside the club, Betelgeuse danced wildly in front of the stage, his unrestrained energy drawing the eyes of onlookers, just the way he liked it. He eyed the purple-skinned dancer, her body moving to the beat, her hips swaying with hypnotic precision. She wiggled her ass provocatively in front of him, and Betelgeuse’s eyes narrowed, his crooked grin growing wider. He fought the urge to grope her and then wondered why.
His hand darted out, his fingers grazing her thigh.
“Hey! Who said you could touch me?” she shrieked, her eyes wide with fury as she slapped him hard across the face, the sharp crack echoing through the club. She recoiled, her lips curling in disgust. “Vince! This creep put his hands on me!”
A young, sharp-dressed man with jet-black hair stood up from a nearby table, his gaze locking on Betelgeuse with cold fury. He snapped his fingers sharply, and the bouncer from earlier appeared, disoriented, his clothes dusted with yellow sand and his expression dazed.
“Get him out of here.” The sharp-dressed man barked, pointing at Betelgeuse, his voice a low growl promising consequences.
Betelgeuse could’ve fought them off—if he hadn’t been kicked in the balls first. The pain exploded through him, paralyzing any witty comeback he might have had. As soon as he crumpled to the floor, security swarmed him, fists raining down like a merciless storm, each hit making his vision blur until darkness swallowed him whole.
Lydia didn’t see the truck until it was too late. The massive eighteen-wheeler emerged from the curtain of rain, its blinding headlights piercing the darkness like two glaring suns. Time seemed to slow, her heart pounding in her ears, a single breath frozen in her chest. She wanted to scream, but the impact swallowed her voice, plunging everything into a sudden, merciless blackness.