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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
- 18
- 19
- 20
Chapter 19

A Game

When Vlad Dalca met Claire Brewster at a not so well known restaurant one evening, she wasn't very pleased with him. She whined, “Next time, I wanna go to that chic place next to the theater! We're too high class for this place.” Vlad had purposely met her at less fashionable places, places her friends and family wouldn't be caught dead at, but still decent and lovely places.

The waitress was friendly, and asked politely asked Vlad what country he was from, since he sounded foreign. Before Vlad could answer, Claire called the waitress a “seven dollar an hour thing” and told her to just take the orders. Vlad made a mental note to give the waitress a generous tip. He silently mouthed to the waitress, “She's a bitch.” The waitress was still insulted, but smiled at Vlad before she left them alone.

Vlad tried very hard to be a doting sort of person that evening. He ignored all of Claire's rude remarks about several women in the room. He pretended to listen when Claire talked about herself. Near the end of the meal, Vlad handed her a long box. She opened it an squealed. Inside the box was a sparkly bracelet of large round and pear shaped diamond-like gems. They were cubic zirconia, but very pretty' it was a very good quality bracelet. Claire didn't know they weren't diamonds, and she cooed over the bracelet. She hopped out of her seat to skip to him and kiss his mouth. Vlad pulled away when she tried to push her tongue inside, but he smiled at her.

That evening she tried to tempt him into her bedroom, or his bedroom, well, anywhere was fine by her. She just wanted somewhere private. She groped at certain body parts of his, even when people could see. Vlad simply told her that she was a fairy tale princess, and he wanted to appear old fashioned because of that. She accepted that very well. Claire was too distracted by her bracelet to care that she wasn't getting any sex from him, besides, she really was vain and would gladly believe she was a perfect little princess of a girl that should get gifts and attention without giving anything in return to a man.

Vlad thought to himself, “O prostituată este mai bine.” A prostitute is better.

***

“Care e planul tău?” Mihai asked him the next day. What's your plan?

“Pentru a aștepta pentru o oportunitate,” Vlad told him. To wait for an opportunity.

If he got impatient, he'd make an opportunity.

***

Two days later, close to sunset, Lydia Deetz was in the kitchen of her home, reading a chapter from a textbook, and pointedly ignoring Vlad Dalca, who was sitting across from her.

Charles Deetz and his wife Delia were standing in the kitchen, sipping hot chocolate. They watched the quiet couple, eyes slightly wide.

Vlad was holding a closed case in his lap, palms rested on the lid, his gray eyes locked onto Lydia's head. His mouth and jaw kept changing from normal to a smile to normal again, over and over.

It was obvious that Lydia had wished Vlad hadn't come to visit, and that Vlad would just go away.

Vlad had a stronger sort of patience than she could handle.

“Do you know what is in this case?” he asked her.

She flipped a page.

“Perhaps more jewelry?” Vlad suggested in a playful tone.

She wrote something down on a piece of paper.

Vlad's smile changed into his favorite wicked smile. He stood up, walked over to Lydia's side, and slammed the case onto the table near her book.

The Deetzes jumped and yelped. Lydia merely winced. She still ignored him, though.

Vlad flicked his wrist, and the case opened, and inside was a simple black leather journal and a simple pen. Lydia's pencil fell from her fingers, and her eyes went to the journal as if there was a special eye-magnet device there.

“You will not speak to me, but will you write?” Vlad bent down a bit to kiss her cheek.

Lydia picked up the pen, the journal, snapped it open, and quickly wrote something down in a messy script. After a moment she dropped the journal back onto the table.

Vlad looked at her writing. It read, “Sa-mi bagi mana-n cur si sa-mi faci laba la cacat.” That means, “Stick your hand in my ass and jerk off with my shit.”

Well … that's just … that … that's not one of his fetishes. One of Vlad's eyebrows quirked. Then he shook his head like a disapproving parent, gently closed the journal, and slid it closer to Lydia. He left the house, wondering if she would keep writing.

***

Just before he was about to retire, in the wee hours of the morning, Brunhilde burst into his bedroom. Vlad had been hoping to enjoy a bed, like a normal person, but that woman simply needed to ruin his dark morning, just as his pants barely touched the mattress.

“Well,” she said with a very perky voice, “It's been long enough now. Whatcha seen in her room, besides her naked ass?”

“Ce?” What? Vlad turned on a lamp and shot her an irritated look. His long hair bounced as he jerked his head in disbelief. “Why are you bothering me about that now?”

Brunhilde put her palm onto her hip and tapped her fingers. “Baby, you should've seen some shit on that camera by now.”

“Dearest B., would you please elaborate?” Vlad gripped a pillow and started tearing the very expensive case with his fingernails, still looking at Brunhilde with flared nostrils and a slowly growing snarl. He was sleepy, damn it!

Her eyes softened only a little. “So … has your footage of Little Lydia been acting weird? Time skips? Weird images?”

Vlad shrugged. “Sometimes cameras malfunction.”

“Well, we're going to check it out,” Brunhilde said, snapping her fingers and walking off, clearly expecting him to follow her.

Some time later a twitchy and irritable Vlad was kneeling on a pillow beside Brunhilde, and the crazy bitch was fast forwarding through his footage on his large TV in the hot-tub room. “Okay,” she said as she paused the screen, “She went into her closet this night, dressed like she wanted to go out, and stayed in there for hours.”

“I assumed she was having fascinating masturbation sessions,” Vlad confessed.

Brunhilde gave him a relaxed look, similar to a stoner's. Slowly she blinked at him, and then she said, “No … just … no. That makes no sense, and you know it.” She refocused on the television and pressed a few more buttons. “Okay, see here, Lydia's holding a snow globe or something, and she stares at it for fifteen fucking minutes, and then the camera stops recording! It's like she freaking disappears, but the clock in the corner skips a few hours ahead, so it's like the camera just doesn't give a fuck!” She pointed at the screen with the remote as she sped through scenes. “She's coming inside her room, from her damn closet. And have you noticed she talks to her mirror a lot, and when she does she's always dressed. When she walks around naked, she even makes a point of covering the mirror with a towel!”

Vlad didn't see the point of all this. He never did. “Lydia might have a mental illness. Is that what you wanted me to admit?”

Brunhilde selected the newest video. “Have you seen this one yet?” He shook his head. Brunhilde shrugged. “Well, we shall see it together, but keep your pants on, literally, my darling.”

Exhaling, Vlad pinched the skin between his eyebrows, and then he paid attention to the screen, while trying to keep his penis flaccid.

This video was fairly average. Brunhilde fast forwarded through the parts where Lydia walked around naked or scantily clad. She pressed play when Lydia started talking to her long mirror. There was no audio. There never really had been, since he had wanted his imagination to apply sounds, to pretend she had been saying certain naughty things.

And suddenly, Lydia stopped.

She looked about in apparent confusion.

Then she appeared to look in the general direction of the camera, a puzzled expression wrinkling her features.

And then some light, sickly looking, messy hair very gradually slid upwards on the screen. Vlad held his breath.

Slowly the hair moved, like a flat paper pressed against the screen and pushed upwards. Soon there was a distinct hairline with pasty, moldy, unpleasant, sore afflicted skin. Then there were stiff eyes, crazy colored eyes, mad eyes, as motionless as a boulder stuck in earth. Then, as the visage slid up even more, there was a nose, and an angular wide grin, dark green teeth with bits of insects stuck in the cracks.

The face stopped. The face was simply frozen on the screen.

“Oh,” Brunhilde simply breathed, as if watching a pretty bird.

Then the eyes moved, around and around, and then dead on the camera.

And then the television went blank.

Vlad thought his hands felt unusually warm and dry, but he didn't react to that feeling.

“You're in trouble,” Brunhilde said in a soft but stern voice, closing her eyes and keeping her neck straight. “That's a reality warping demon from another world. He's been haunting that girl, and he found your camera.” Not changing her facial expression, she threw the remote control to one side. It made a jolting crash sound. Vlad thought she broke the thing, but he wasn't really caring about it. He was staring at the screen.

“Nu înțeleg.,” Vlad whispered. I don't understand.

Brunhilde opened her eyes and tilted her head, making a cracking sound. “By default, all cameras near him don't record him unless he wants them to. When he discovered the camera, he must've wanted to scare the audience.” She pushed herself up to her feet. “I'll do what I can, but if you get your ass kicked, it's your fault.”

Vlad's tired face was suddenly tight, and his eyes were wider than usual. He wasn't the only one haunting Lydia, and he knew that now.

***
- 18
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River Princess