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River Princess	By : BloodValkyrie Category: 1 through F > Beetlejuice Views: 4287 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Beetlejuice and I don't own Bram Stoker's Dracula. I am making no profit.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Chapter 18

Sadness and Anger

Beetlejuice just assumed Lydia was safe. Yeah, Lydia had been pissed at this Vlad guy lately, but if the queen bee said she's safe, then she's safe. Actually, Beetlejuice thought this was all a little bit funny. He kind of wanted to tell Lydia some important truths, like the facts that her sort of sweetheart was a vampire, and Brunhilde was the queen, and all those friends were her little vampires too. Sadly, Brunhilde wanted to keep that a secret. The fewer mortal humans who knew about vampires, the better. Lydia knew vampires existed, of course, but that didn't mean she needed to know anything right this minutes, and her friends and family certainly didn't need to know at all!

From his seat on his sofa, he gave her a careful look.

Poor little Lydia, who had been throwing her own versions of fits in his home (writing angry poetry and then tearing the paper up), was trying not to fall asleep as she sat on the cute black armchair he had gotten for her. The shifting light from his little television was putting an eerie glow on her face, and Beetlejuice wasn't sure if he liked it. Her eyelids seemed too heavy, and they shut, and her head tilted down a bit. It was pretty late.

She hadn't been visiting him very much lately. Prince Vince had been asking about her. This was rather sad.

Lydia used to be a cute little preteen, with cute eyes that looked bigger, and a cute personality that didn't match her gothic wardrobe. She was bubbly, cheerful, and much more patient. Now, she seemed irritable in general, and confused, and somehow less willing to smile. He wanted to ask her what the hell happened, but he imagined she'd say something like, “I grew the fuck up.” Beetlejuice wasn't sure if that would've made any damn sense.

Lydia was probably his first real friend that had changed so much within a few years. He didn't like it, but he knew this couldn't be helped.

Beetlejuice whispered to himself, “Does It look after her?”

He sighed and looked out his window. The bright lights outside lit up a strange mist that he wasn't used to. He tilted his head and blinked. It was moving kind of like smoke, but more … animated. Then he heard a raspy voice in his mind.

“She's important.”

Beetlejuice gasped. He stood up and ran to the front door. When he was outside, the mist was gone. “Are you there?!” he cried out.

Later on he realized that was a stupid question. It, in a way, was everywhere.

***

There was a forest. It was a lovely bright day, and he was walking in a forest. The forest looked familiar, so it brought back memories. He felt like he was in that time when he would have to go to the forest for privacy with his wife. That was a common thing to do. Privacy was something of a luxury at the time, not that he didn't steal moments in a bedroom.

He found her, under a tree, resting on a thick blanket, and she was nude. Her black hair didn't make her seem too pale, since the lighting was warm upon her skin. She was smiling at him, reaching out with her arms.

He fell onto her, and she only laughed and wrapped her arms around him.

Before he could kiss her glorious mouth, she said to him with the most playful tone, “Claire Brewster va avea de suferit.” Claire Brewster will suffer.

He found that confusing. Now was not the time to say such a thing.

Then Vlad's eyes opened to wooden boards. He realized he was in one of his boxes of earth, from his homeland. Well … that was an interesting dream.

***

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry.”

Bam!

The pistol went off and the bullet went into the pleading man's head. The middle aged mob boss standing in front of his desk didn't even flinch as the blood and some bits of bone flew about, onto him and the walls of his office. The two men who stood outside his door weren't disturbed either.

His right hand man was sitting in a corner, puffing on a cigar. “That was a waste,” he said in a deep and hoarse voice with more than a hint of Italian American.

“He shouldn't have let Bruno get hurt. Bruno was his responsibility. How's Bruno gonna take care of his wife without a foot?”

“Prosthetic foot?” the right hand man suggested. He waved his hand. “I'm not here to say you've gone crazy, Alessio. I'm just saying you might wanna let this go. You got the money. A lot of our boys are either dead or not doing so hot.”

Alessio's dark eyes were pink where white should be. He put his gun down on his desk and sat back into his seat. “I wanna know who the fuck these guys are, where their turf is, and who their friends are!”

The right hand man took a long drag from his cigar.

“And that stupid little pasty bitch!”

The right hand man exhaled, and then he said, “Why you care about that cunt, huh?”

“What the fuck is so special about her?!” Alessio shouted. Who exactly he was shouting at was unknown.

“You got a wife and two whores. Let it go, man,” advised the right hand man.

Alessio turned to throw a wildly angry look at him. “What, you think I want her?!”

The smoking man didn't react much, except to take another puff, not looking at the boss. “You won't shut up about her. I get it. She's pretty, but come on; there are plenty of whores. She's not even that hot, you know?”

“Get outta here!”

The right hand man stood up, walked out of the room, and asked for someone to clean up the mess.

***
- 17
- 18
- 19
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River Princess