Chapter Text
“Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.”
The cold frigid air breezed through the ebony tresses of the girl who feared nothing. Not death, nor pain, nor spirit. She was but a hollow stone in a sea of living entities who cared only for their precious breath and wealth. Lydia felt nothing but a pit within her being.
“Early I wished the morrow; vanity I had sought to borrow, from my book... surcease of sorrow – Sorrow for the lost Lenore.”
No, she lamented, she was not the lost Lenore. She was Lydia Deetz. Gently she wiped away a stray tear. The only sign of emotion that slipped past her mask as the pallbearers lowered the oak wood casket into the cold, damp earth — snow-flecked, in contrast to the luxurious finish.
“Nevermore,” She said the word with a reverent breath.
The peace of her moment was broken by the obnoxious wailing of the woman beside her. Extravagant in her black mourning dress complete with a fishnet veil over her makeup and tear-stained face was her mother, no - step-mother, as she was often reminding Lydia during the past few months.
The hospital was no place for a family to fall apart in Lydia's opinion, but that is, unfortunately, what had happened as her father failed steadily over the days following his last cardiac arrest. His death was completely unexpected.
At twenty-three she was an orphan, officially.
Her Stepmother, Delia, was doing her part at playing the grief-stricken widow while Lydia tried her best to stay as still as the stone that she envisioned herself to be during the funeral. Unwilling to recognize the woman beside her who blamed - yes blamed - Lydia for this tragic end.
Had the excuse of the young woman's unruly behavior as a teenager and inability to conform to a normal calm lifestyle not been enough to claim her father's last straining nerve, the friendship between Lydia and the handyman would undoubtedly send Charles into a fit of unrest.
Silly, Lydia had thought, that Delia would bring up such an unfounded correlation. Lydia and “Mr. Beetleman” were just friends, and they had indeed toned down their antics for the sake of her father's wellbeing. They were rarely seen together in Peaceful Pines since Lydia was seventeen and over the last six years, they kept their friendship restricted to the Neitherworld to help dissuade any further rumors.
Regardless, Delia insisted that the relationship between the two of them was boarding on inappropriate as the man had spent far too much time around her as a child and swindled money from the family for ages. He was, ultimately, forbidden from attending the funeral.
Lydia was alone.
Utterly alone.
The townsfolk who attended the service paid Delia her dues as a grieving wife. They consoled her and offered their assistance in any matter. Yet Lydia was offered nothing more than a few pats and condolences. Their sentiments were all contrived in her opinion.
The people who knew her in town never saw her as anything more than an odd child. This left her with very few options for companionship, which made it all the more disheartening that her few friends were unable to join her. Lydia had accepted the fact that the living would never truly understand her; as such, she wanted nothing more than to escape from the gawking eyes and wagging tongues of her parents’ colleagues and friends. Even the family gave her space. What little there was left, that is.
Was it asking too much to want a few moments alone to say goodbye to the mortal shell that was once Charles Deetz, loving husband, and adoring father?
Once the tomb was laid to rest in the dark, dank ground, Lydia stepped forward and gazed into the abyss to which the last person from her old life, before Delia, would now reside. He had left her in the world of the living with a woman who did everything in her power to change Lydia.
Neither she nor Beej would ever forgive her for her efforts. The changing of her room and clothing due to “accidental” laundry mishaps became minor annoyances in comparison to the blatant betrayal of hiring a hypnotist to turn her into a “normal girl.” She was nearly lost forever in a world of magazines, and boy crazy gossip had it not been for her ghostly companion.
The pattern hardly changed. Their struggle was legendary, even to the townsfolk. Her father rarely stepped in, determined not to cause any more strife. He loved her, she knew that, but he was also hesitant to upset either of them.
The voices picked up on the wind again while she stood at the precipice of life and death.
“Poor Kid,” spoke a gentle male voice.
“Oh come off it, Danford. Delia should send the girl to an institution before she tries to off herself. That child has been nothing but one slip away from suicide.”
She shivered and not due to the frosty air. The only cold she felt was the ice dripping from her Aunt’s voice.
Her toes grazed the edge of the hole as she contemplated the words, 'off herself.’ Unlikely, she mused. She knew what lay beyond that particular act and had no desire to risk her place in the Neitherworld. Life was but a passing phase she could manage to wait through.
The wind blew again, rustling the fabric of her long skirt against her ankles. She watched the edge with intent, realizing how little space there was between the land of the living and that dark cavern that would one day claim her flesh. She would turn cold, stiffen and then rot over the several decades following her demise.
Lydia raised her hand, one holding a dying rose - free from the pollen that would usually cause her aggravation- and dropped the deep crimson bloom onto the smooth brown wood.
The contrast once again drawing her attention. Dead Rose, Dark. Snow frozen in time, Light. The coffin containing her beloved father, Dark. Could life and death be that simple?
“Oh, Delia.”
Lydia felt her body clench at the breathy feminine voice. Jane Butterfield, her father’s former colleague. Her pleasant and perky tones gave Lydia the creeps and not in a way that she would have enjoyed either.
“Delia!” she called out again, “I am so sorry for your loss. I am absolutely devastated.”
Delia patted her eyes with a handkerchief, smearing her makeup even more. “Oh, Jane. So good of you to be here. Charles… he would be so honored if he knew.”
“Think nothing of it. You two have always been my favorite,” Jane embraced Delia. One would almost think they were the best of friends rather than realtor and client.
“Thank you for being so good to us.” Another mournful sniffle, “I am sure Charles would have loved to take you up on the house in Winter River but...”
Lydia didn't need to look over to know Delia was looking at her. The obvious scapegoat to give the woman who was always after a buck.
“It's quite alright. The previous owners passed a few years back, and I was able to retain the property. I have been renting it until you were able to move in. After all, no one decorates like you do.” Jane gushed.
“That's very sweet of you to say, Jane but I'm afraid the country life is over for me. Without Charles... I just can't stay here anymore.” Delia sniffled again.
This time Lydia did turn around, just in time to witness the wide grin on Jane's face. The fire began to rekindle inside her while she traversed the snow-covered lawn to stand beside Delia, giving her a level look.
“Hello Jane,” She said dryly not bothering to offer any other pleasantries beyond that.
“Lydia dear,” Jane replied with her false sympathy, “I am so so-”
“My father made it clear in his will that our home was in both of our names,” she spoke in a steady voice, “This is not the place to talk about real estate. Father needs his peace and quiet, so if you don't mind....”
She gave Delia another stone-cold look and walked off, floating among the tombs as her skirt swayed in the wind. She paused midway back to the road to nod to a passing spirit.
The gentle older man dressed for much warmer weather gave his condolences for the passing. Lydia smiled, accepting his words. She said nothing, learning that should anyone have witnessed her temporary disruption, her silence would give her the appearance of a woman deep in thought rather than a lunatic.
“My goodness,” Jane was dumbstruck by the way Lydia brushed her off. Had the girl not been so young and the daughter of her most prestigious clients, she would have had words for her. As it were, it was Delia who spoke her mind.
“Don't mind Lydia, Jane. She is going through a lot.” Her flippant tone and wave of the hand distracted Jane from the odd behavior of Lydia seemingly staring off into space before heading to the road.
“There is no need to apologize. She is mourning.” At least she had that much sense to understand that funerals were touchy for some people.
“She is always in mourning. Lydia was never quite right, and I told her father we needed to do something about it when she was a kid. Moving to the country did nothing to help her move on.” Delia sighed and shook her head. Venting about her husband's daughter was a good distraction.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Don't tell me you forgot about Evelyn? Really, Jane. It wasn’t even that long ago.” Delia quirked her lips up in a sardonic smile. “Before Charles started to fade, I tried my best to convince myself that she was my child, but it was only wishful thinking. She is never going to change. Honestly, I don't even know where the girl gets that morbid fascination, but I have tried and tried again to get that kid into something other than black... or red for that matter. She is never going to grow into her artistry at this rate. Have you seen her photography?” Delia made a guttural noise that was unbecoming.
Jane only offered a nod of understanding and sighed at the thought of poor Evelyn Deetz.
“Do you think she remembered what happened to her mother?” Jane asked.
“No. I don't think so. Charles said they both blocked the memory out.” She sighed and faced the grave. “Oh Charles, you sentimental fool. He never wanted to interfere with Lydia's interests, you know. He was always worried that forcing her to change would trigger some reaction.”
“I take it this is why he never took to selling the Peaceful Pine property to take over the Maitland house,” Jane mused.
The two women nodded to passing neighbors and townsfolk as they wandered down to the road to the vehicles parked along the curb. Lydia was long gone, her tacky yellow-green car with the weird bumper that almost made the car look like a grinning character was no longer among the line of automobiles.
“Lydia has made it difficult for us to leave Peaceful Pines,” She admitted. “I'm sure you will find someone to take over the Maitland property. As for this house, let me talk to Lydia and see if I can convince her to come back with me to the city.”
Jane beamed. “You could always encourage the girl to go on a long sabbatical. You deserve to regain your freedom, Delia. There is no reason to take care of her anymore. She is no longer a child.”
“Quite Right.” Delia nodded and sighed dreamily. “New York sounds lovely, but I think a sabbatical sounds just divine. Maybe I will go to Europe instead. That is if you can help me sell a few other of Charles's useless properties. He was such a hoarder, I swear.”
Laughing, Jane held open the car door of the Deetz ancient vehicle for Delia to climb in.
“I will do what I can. Be safe and good luck.”
Delia gave Jane a nod and a smile before the door closed and began her journey to the house she no longer saw as home.
All she had left to do was convince Lydia to grow up and move on. Perhaps she could bribe her with pamphlets of those catacomb tours in France. It's just weird enough to work, she thought.
“Yes, Bertha. Thank you. I appreciate the call. Daddy's funeral went well. How are you two? I hope everything is alright.” Lydia was on the phone in the living room walking around with the cordless phone Delia insisted was chic and a “must-have.”
She missed the old cord phone, where she used to twist her finger into the wire periodically to distract her mind. Not anymore. The technology was changing, and she had to accept it. Pacing across the carpet, Lydia listened as her friend gave her condolences and well wishes.
“Everything is fine, Lydia” Bertha spoke matter of fact; however, Lydia didn’t miss the sardonic tone layered beneath her words. “It was nothing more than a silly domestic disturbance. I swear they could have just sent Allen out. He could have handled it all by himself. I'm so sorry I missed the service. Did Prudence make it?”
Lydia sighed. “No. She called this morning to tell me there was a highway accident and they needed her services in Eagle Hill.”
“Ugh, that's terrible. I hope it wasn't too serious... I mean, well. You know what I mean” Bertha’s voice wavered. She had seen horrible things since her time on the Peaceful Pines police force to which Lydia gladly shared her ear as her friend confided the most atrocious crime scenes in detail. Lydia was surprised the force didn’t offer a better psychological service for their officers.
Strange how the lives of her friends had changed after High School. The things each of them wanted to do were so different from the paths their lives ended up following
Bertha, a cop. Prudence, a medical examiner. Lydia, well.... she was in between jobs.
“She did say there were no kids this time, if that helps,” Lydia remarked. She knew full well how difficult that subject was on her friend. “Speaking of your partner, how is he?”
“Allen? Well, he's fine, I guess. Still dealing with his grandma’s passing. The poor guy. He should get out and start dating to get out of his funk. You know, you should take him out. He likes you. Allen has never looked at a girl the way he looked at you that day in the cafe.”
“I only met him once!” Lydia blushed, shaking her head in protest over yet another set up regardless of the grin that began to surface at the attempt.
“So? Both of you are so stubborn. It’s just a date and if things happen to heat up…”
Lydia laughed. Thankful for her friend's ability to bring a little light into her day. “No thank you, I had enough trouble beating down a dateline when I was fourteen. Besides, Beej would probably give him hell.”
This time it was Bertha's turn to laugh. “Don’t you think Mr. Beetleman is a little too overprotective of you? You are not a kid anymore and your dad.....”
As Bertha’s voice trailed off, Lydia remained silent. The moment was too touchy, too tender. And in that silence, the front door opened and closed. Delia was home.
“Don't worry about it, Bertha. Everything is going to be okay. I will see you and Prudence soon. Maybe we can have coffee tomorrow or something before the crazies decide to give you two more work.”
“Oooo, that was morbid,” Bertha chuckled, and Lydia shrugged knowing her friend wouldn't see. “Alright, Lydia. I'll talk to you later. Bye.”
Lydia hung up and smiled. Despite their different paths, they remained friends. Close as can be. The sisters she never had. She didn’t hold it against them that they couldn’t be at the funeral. As for Beej, he would have been there for her had it not been for Delia.
“Lyyyyyydia!” Delia called out. “Are you cooking something?”
Lydia released a deep breath to calm her agitation and returned to the kitchen. “I was, but Bertha called.”
Her stepmother snorted and called out not realizing Lydia was back into the room. “That girl, honestly. She has to settle down soon and just get over her little problem.”
“Stillbirth isn't a little problem.” Delia jumped when she heard Lydia speak from directly behind her.
“Good Lord, Lydia! You nearly scared me to death,” She cried out.
Promises, promises, Lydia thought as she rolled her eyes. She returned to her cutting board, where she had already sliced tomato and squash. She was preparing one of her favorite comfort foods to get through the night. She began working her knife, sharpened by the block nearby, to cut thin slices of zucchini.
“Bertha was called into a disturbance. She apologized for not being able to make it,” she explained shortly.
“Yes, well, people were not exactly thrilled that you left so quickly. Jane was rather perturbed by your rude-”
“Jane Butterfield is nothing more than a graveyard leech,” Lydia snapped at her. “Mother, she has been taking Daddy for a fool for ages.”
“Don't you dare call your father a fool. He was a good man. A good and trusting man. He put up with your Beetleman,” Delia snapped right back. She put her hands to her face as real tears fell this time. She huffed out and muttered. “You were always so impossible.”
“So you have said,” Lydia muttered in reply.
“Lydia, you are cutting those wrong,” Delia criticized.
The knife stopped when Lydia froze to look incredulously at her. Delia stood tall and averted her gaze with a blink. She was taking the high-handed road while Lydia felt her ire rise slowly.
“I'm cutting them just fine. You weren't planning on staying home anyway. Didn't you have a date?” Lydia dug with her words.
“Excuse me, Young Lady, I just buried my husband. How dare you insinuate that...”
“That you were making plans with the cardiologist to have coffee after the service was over?” she challenged. “I don't care what you do, Delia. You have said it before. You are not my mother.”
There was a silence between the two that turned near aggressive. Lydia did her best to control herself. She could feel the distaste rise with each passing moment.
“Your father would be ashamed of you,” Delia spoke. “You have no respect for anyone. You shunned the entire town except for your two odd friends. You spend time with a creepy old man who NO ONE in this town really knows, and you blatantly go out of your way to be a complete embarrassment to me!”
Delia wailed, and Lydia froze. That first part struck like a dagger. She could feel herself deteriorate with each accusation. Memories began to surface of each time Delia insulted her. Each time she would flippantly disregard Lydia's dreams and fascinations. The unconditional love that she showed a dog, who was nothing more than her best friend stuck in canine form, in comparison to the oppressive parenting she bestowed upon her.
“I have tried and tried again to fix you, Lydia. Nothing helps, and I swear if you hadn't been so damaged after your mother’s death, I would have blamed her supposed accident on your behavior. How can you be so cold at your fathers funeral? He's dead Lydia! Dead! Do you not care? Do you think he will come back for you or something? Do you think he's going to become a ghost and come home? Because I have news for you. Life doesn't work that way.”
Lydia held her knife tighter and turned away from the cutting board to stare at the raving woman. When had she caught up to her in height? Delia didn't seem so big anymore. She was frail with the exception of her hips. Those of a woman who birthed a child... but never did. Did she? Lydia observed the way she paced around the kitchen, standing before Lydia right near the end of that last portion of her rant.
“You don't understand anything, do you?” Delia accused.
Lydia watched the rage in Delia burn brighter. The light of life inflaming her passions as she spoke of a subject only to which Lydia was already an expert. She knew more than the woman before her ever would, she realized.
“I think you need to leave. Grow up, Lydia. Move on. For heaven's sake, date someone and get on with your life.”
Did blood cause the color to flush Delia's face?
“I'm calling Jane in the morning. We are selling this house, and I'm going back to the city. Figure-”
Silence.
Then more silence as Delia began to gurgle... choke... cough...
Then Lydia looked down at her hands.
Blood.
As Delia hit the floor, Lydia realized that the kitchen was covered in the same deep crimson liquid and it began to pool around the woman, pouring from the sickening wound on her neck. Her eyes, wide... fear... then nothing...
Lydia stood there, holding tight to the blade in her hand.
“Aww, Babes.”