Um… Yeah, apparently my brain is almost as good at loopholes as Betelgeuse. I said I wouldn't be writing a sequel for my "Danny Phantom" and "Beetlejuice" crossover story, "Say It Thrice." What my mind apparently interpreted that to mean is that I'll be doing a prequel. Go figure…

So this is set after the events of the "Beetlejuice" movie. And other than some vague references to the Ghost Zone and such, this doesn't really crossover with "Danny Phantom" enough to really count. You don't have to have read "Say It Thrice" before you start this story. This is a prequel, after all. But I do recommend reading it. There's a lot of world-building and such that might be useful, but not necessarily essential to appreciating this story.

One of the big things to keep in mind is that I designed this storyline to work with "Danny Phantom" as a crossover originally. So I first moved the timeline ahead a little, placing the events of the film in more recent days instead of the 80s (so things like cell phones exist, but Lydia doesn't own one). And I decided to kind of mush the film with a few little pieces (like Lydia's apparent age and parts of certain characters' personalities) from the cartoon in order to make something that I thought could work with "Danny Phantom" reasonably.

The best way I can describe it is that the general events of the movie happened, but with some minor differences. Betelgeuse wasn't quite as lecherous, not as likely to kill the people he was trying to scare out of the house in the process, and was a little less creepy towards Lydia, which makes it easier for him to later form a more friendly relationship similar to what he has with her in the cartoon. Over the course of this story, he'll go from "I'll go through a marriage ceremony with the random girl and then run off the second I'm free" to "she's actually a nice kid and pretty fun to hang out with when no one is sending sandworms after me."

Then there's Lydia's age. The girl who played Lydia in the movie was about seventeen at the time. But since she was referred to as "a little girl" at one point, it is pretty obvious that Lydia was meant to be younger than that in the film. The actress certainly looked young for her age anyway. One of the guesses about what her age is meant to be (though certainly not the only guess) is between twelve and fourteen. I aimed for the younger end of the spectrum.

Don't worry too much about it. Just start reading and it'll make sense.

And just in case you hadn't guessed, I don't own "Beetlejuice," the movie characters, or other elements from the film. Any characters that aren't familiar, I probably created them for the story and you're welcome to borrow them.

And with all that in mind, enjoy the show.

Say It Again

He was not in a good mood. After his lovely trip down the gullet of a sandworm thanks to a couple of ungrateful specters and a deal-breaking bride-to-be, he was tossed in the Waiting Room and told to take a number. Then his head was shrunk by a guy who just couldn't take a joke. He read the magazines, flirted with everyone who was even remotely female in the room, and ended up being completely rejected or smacked by them. But he was running out of things to occupy his time with. He could only stay distracted for so long.

The other occupants of the Waiting Room clearly noticed his shifting moods, eventually moving to others seats until his current corner was empty. He'd started out frustrated about the interrupted wedding when Juno dumped him in a chair, but quickly shifted to annoyed sulking and pretending he didn't care about what happened with the impromptu almost-marriage. Then he saw a couple of familiar faces, the Maitlands, walk in the door and get shuffled to the offices before they had a chance to spot him in the corner and before he could give them a piece of his mind. By now, he'd moved on to a nice simmering anger, a hunger for revenge over the broken deal, and a far more dangerous emotion than the rest.

Complete and utter boredom.

He glanced at the number display on the wall. They'd barely reached the triple digits. He quietly cursed in annoyance and frustration with everything. Juno was going to keep him sitting around forever as some kind of punishment. Of course, there was nothing that could actually stop him if he chose to leave early. Especially if he could get someone to let him out.

She owed him. He kept his end of the bargain. She needed to hold up her part of the deal. She was his ticket to freedom and she wouldn't be wiggling her way out of it.

He plunged his hand into the pockets of his maroon tux. He tended to keep a lot of stuff tucked away for future use, regardless of the outfit. The objects hidden away included among other things some business cards with his name, a couple of very entertaining magazines with attractive women, a wad of twine, a small knife, and a few insects that made great snacks (he deeply regretted losing his ring though). And while there weren't really a lot of mirrors in the Netherworld, he'd grabbed one during an earlier visit to haunt the living. With a little searching, he pulled out the long-handled and elaborately decorated hand-mirror he'd snagged at some point in the Edwardian Era.

Scrying with mirrors to see someone back on Earth took some practice, some power, and some focus. And he had all three. As long as he knew who he was looking for and they were near a reflective surface, he could handle it easily. He poured his power into the mirror while thinking about the dark and gothic bride-to-be. With only a little effort, an image began to form.

He saw a bedroom. The walls seemed to be horizontal boards painted white with a purple wallpaper trim near the ceiling, decorated with some lighter plant-shapes scattered across the print. The floors appeared to be green-painted wood. He could spot two small windows in the room with burgundy-colored curtains. One was across from his position and the other was to the right, a radiator tucked underneath that particular window.

Across the room was the bed, jutting out diagonally from the right corner. No headboard or bedposts, but there was a rather comfortable-looking purple bedspread and some nice pillows. There was a small side table on the far side of the bed and under the window. The thing looked like a short elaborate column, though more gothic than Greek in style, and resting on top was a weird plant that probably belonged in a desert. Set behind the bed so that it could dangle above like a spider was a weird modern-style lamp with about three lights attached.

Along the right wall, just past the window and radiator, was a dresser. Made of a light-colored wood, it seemed pretty ordinary. The red skull ornament about the size of a decent pumpkin, however, was a little less ordinary. He seemed to be looking through a mirror on the wall hanging right above a desk made of similar wood to the dresser. But other than a couple of candles and a backless stool, there wasn't much there to hold his interest.

To the far left, almost impossible for him to see at that angle, was the door to the closet. And that's where he quickly turned his focus. Digging through the closet was her. The dark and gloomy figure who promised to marry him in exchange for saving the two saps from an accidental exorcism. He'd known from the instant he saw her that there was something about her that he couldn't ignore. And when he actually spoke to the unusual, intriguing, and unfortunately suicidal mortal, he knew she would be important. And what could be more important than a permanent escape route?

He watched her flinch slightly, making him wonder if she'd somehow noticed his spying with her back turned. But that thought vanished as she roughly yanked a red object out of her closet. Only when she draped it across her bed did he realize she'd pulled out the dress he created for the wedding.

Good. That would make it easier to push her towards the right actions if she was already thinking about the deal.

"I got to admit, Babes, it was a good color on you."

Her reaction felt intensely gratifying. Terror swallowed her expression as she shrieked and spun around, searching for him. She recognized his voice. He wouldn't be surprised if she still heard him in the middle of the night, haunting her dreams. He tended to be good at leaving a memorable impression on people.

He saw the instant she spotted him, lurking in the reflection of her mirror. She somehow managed to get a little paler. Of course, she always looked a little on the pale side and the contrast with her black hair and dark clothes made that even more obvious. She mostly looked similar to the last time he saw her, but there were a few differences. She didn't look quite as gloomy and sad overall. Scared of him, yes. But not miserable and about to knock herself off in an ill-conceived attempt to escape her problems. That was probably for the best. He couldn't marry her and get out for good if she was pushing up daisies herself.

"Get out of here,"" she said, clearly trying to sound brave and forceful. "You can't be here. I didn't call you. No one said your name."

"I know no one said it. That's why I've spent a few months in a waiting room waiting for them to call a number longer than the Great Wall of China. Do you know how hard it was to unshrink my head?" he shouted, letting too much of anger and frustration leak into his voice. "I finally got bored with waiting for Juno to yell at me for the millionth time, so here I am."

Realizing how loud he was growing and that he was getting a few uneasy looks from across the Waiting Room, he forced himself to pull back. He needed her to let him out and continue the wedding. He needed to approach things more calmly than that. Scaring her into having a heart-attack or running out of her room screaming wouldn't be very productive towards that goal.

With a flick of power, he blocked any further sounds from reaching the rest of the Waiting Room occupants and tried to adjust his strategy a little. A wrathful poltergeist wasn't the best way to proceed. He needed to treat it as a sales pitch. He needed to be convincing and charming. He needed to talk her into doing what he wanted, remind her of her obligations.

Quieter and using all the charisma he could scrape together, he said, "So what do you say, my blushing bride? Ready to finish what we started before we were interrupted?"

He smiled the same way he did when coaxing other women to join him for an evening of entertainment. Unfortunately, the expression completely failed with her. She looked at him in disgust.

"Not a chance," she said.

"We had a deal," he growled, his temper rising back up again. "Remember? Save the two blockheads from certain doom and you'd marry me. I held up my end of things, right? The annoying couple upstairs wasn't exorcised."

If she wasn't going to be reasonable, he could always turn back to intimidation. He slammed his hand against the glass hard enough for it to rattle on the other side, making her jump.

"Don't you dare back out," he snarled. "Don't you even think about it. You already tried cheating your way out of it once."

"I didn't do anything," she shouted, not backing down in the face of his anger. "You didn't give me the chance. You tossed me in that tacky dress, borrowed my voice, and dragged me around. Barbara and Adam are the ones who tried to stop the wedding. And you kept trying to get rid of them the whole time, which kind of cancels out the 'saving them' thing."

Tacky? That dress was not tacky. Yeah, it wasn't white, but they'd only started worrying about wedding gowns being white about a century ago. There's nothing wrong with a nice splash of color to liven up the pale bride.

Okay, it was a little tacky. But it wasn't really that bad, right? And she really shouldn't be complaining about his rescue of the two losers.

"Hey, it is easier to survive being shrunk down on a model or taking a trip to Saturn than it is ending up in the Lost Souls Room. They would've been fine. I just wanted them out of the way until we were done. That was no excuse to feed me to a sandworm. Do you have any idea how much that stings? Honestly, that's cruel and unusual punishment. And just because they messed up the ceremony doesn't mean you should turn on me. You agreed, Babes."

"Only because I didn't have any other choice."

"Not my fault you were desperate and easy."

"Trust me, I wouldn't have given you the time of day if you weren't my only chance to save them. You're the creep who almost killed my dad."

He blinked at that statement. Mentally he went back over what he was doing before being eaten by a sandworm. He didn't remember doing anything major to the living during the wedding. He freaked them out a lot and sent a couple of the more annoying people through the ceiling, but that's pretty standard.

Unable to figure out what in the world she was talking about, he flat-out asked, "When did I do that?"

"When you turned into a giant snake and dropped him off the stairs. He could have broken his neck," she yelled.

Oh, that's what she meant.

"Please," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm a professional. Scaring the living to the point of insanity is always more effective than killing them off. Otherwise, not only will Juno and her bosses come down on me like a ton of bricks, but the poor saps who keel over could come back as ghosts themselves and start nagging me. Honestly, it isn't worth the headaches. I'll add exterminations to the sales pitch, but that's just advertisement. Some clients just won't say 'yes' unless they think I'm a full service bio-exorcist. Chuck might've been freaked out, a little battered, but certainly in no danger of joining the deceased."

Not to mention he just wasn't a fan of random murder. It just wasn't his style. If he ever decided to kill someone in the future, he would do because he had a reason. Not because he just felt like it or because he couldn't manage to scare off the living without literally knocking them dead.

"Glad to hear you have a few lines you don't cross, even if you don't do it out of practicality instead of the kindness of your shriveled little heart," she snapped. "Now get out of here before I figure out a way to drown you in soapy water, stuff you in that poofy dress you threw on me, and bury you six feet under again."

"Don't be like that, Babes. You just aren't looking on the bright side of this marriage. You get me," said the ghost, gesturing to himself with a smirk. "And I get out. Everyone wins."

"Drop dead."

"Too late."

He saw her lips twitch at his response, struggling not to break into a smile at the smart-alecky remark. She was trying to hide it, but she thought it was funny. There was a bit more fire and life in her than the first time they properly met. He rather liked it, nearly getting a smile out of her from a quick joke. It certain fit her better than being a suicidal and depressing wraith wandering the attic.

"You have a bit more spirit in you now than before," he said approvingly. "Still a little dark, but definitely more fun and less broody. Nice to see you coming out of your gloomy shell. I knew there was something special about you, Babes. There was something about you that I couldn't ignore. I knew you'd get me."

"If by 'get' you, you mean I know you're a disgusting, self-centered, con-artist who loves messing with the living, doesn't really care about anyone else, and hates any kind of limitations, then yes," she said sharply, arms stiff at her side. "I 'get' you."

"See? It's like you can read my mind, isn't it?" smirked the ghost, definitely enjoying her more spitfire and strong-willed attitude. "We'll be great together. Though I think you should know I am planning to have what they refer to as an 'open marriage.' I don't want anything to cramp my style and that includes a wife."

They both knew this was a business arrangement for the most part, not something based on emotions and junk. At the end of the day, he was only getting married to the first living female he could because he wanted out. He wanted out and she was his ticket to freedom. It was the supernatural equivalent of a Green Card marriage. He didn't plan to change his afterlife just because he slipped a ring on her finger. He still planned to have a good time. And if she found someone with a pulse who caught her eye, she was perfectly welcome to take the guy home.

"Even if I was crazy enough to let you out and continue that wedding," she snapped, "I wouldn't let my husband sneak around on me with other girls. I deserve more respect than that. It took me a while to get people to listen and pay attention to me. I'm not letting that happen again, even in your crazy wedding fantasies."

She stopped suddenly, looking a little flustered with what she just said. It didn't take a genius to figure out she didn't mean to say that last part about people not listening to her. Even with most of her doom and gloom lifting, there were clearly still sore topics. Honestly, he wasn't surprised. Something must have prompted her to think that being dead was a better option than her life.

But he had no intentions of poking around at her personal problems at the moment. He didn't need to get her distracted. He needed her to focus on the important thing.

They needed to finish the wedding.

"Come on, Babes," he urged. "Don't be like that. I'm not leaving until you keep up your end of the bargain. It'll just be easier to do what you promised. Just say my name and we can get the show on the road."

"No," she shouted, turning her back on the mirror. "Besides, not only is it creepy, but it's illegal."

"Not if the minister doesn't add the 'until death do you part' section," he called to her with a smirk.

He'd halfway hoped that she'd find some humor in the remark, but she refused to turn around or show anything resembling amusement.

"I mean, I can't get married without my Dad's permission. It isn't legal for me to do it otherwise. It is barely legal even with his permission."

"What happened to all that feminist 'I'm not property and the men in my life don't make the decisions for me' stuff that was going around? I thought women were doing whatever or whoever they want now. Are you really going to let the 'men folk' arrange your life and barter for your hand in marriage while you keep your mouth shut? At least one of us is supposed to be from this century," he taunted.

This time, he got a better reaction from her. She spun around with a frustrated expression on her face. But any enjoyment he got out of pushing her buttons evaporated almost instantly when she snapped at him.

"Yeah and in this century people don't marry children, jerk."

The sound of shouting died away, but he couldn't respond. Not yet. His mind had slowed to a crawl, trying to unravel what she meant. He didn't understand, though a shadow of a thought started to form.

"What?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What do you mean 'what'?" she said slowly, sounding almost nervous.

He frowned, trying to turn her words around his head a few different ways. Trying to find the meaning behind what she snapped at him. That shadowy thought began to creep towards the front of his mind, bringing doubts and a horrific realization about something he'd missed.

He didn't know for sure, but the idea was taking root. The possibility existed. If she meant what he was starting to think she meant, then he'd messed up. Badly.

"Babes, exactly… how old are you?"

Now she was frowning, confused and surprised by his question. There definitely seemed to be some miscommunication at some point in proceedings. Some of her anger and hatred seemed to be fading from her expression as she dealt with his question.

And that it certainly didn't help reassure him that he didn't do what he was starting to think he did. If there was a good answer to that question, she would have said her age by now. But he held onto that denial for a little longer. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he was beginning to suspect.

Answering his question with a question of her own, she asked, "How old were girls getting married when you died?"

Grimacing as he thought about those distant days, he said, "That would have been around 1352, so some tended to marry the girls off as soon as they could start having kids practically. Especially the rich ones who were handed over as soon as possible for alliances and heirs. Never thought it was smart, but I never had to deal with them. Those with less money, titles, and nobility tended to wait until around nineteen or a little older. That was a long time ago. I tend to pay a little more attention to modern standards than the one of the past."

She looked surprised by the answer. And maybe a little impressed. There weren't a lot of ghosts his age still wandering around. He knew that a couple of ancient Egyptian guys refused to move on because they were promised a very specific afterlife and they weren't going anywhere until they got it, but they were weird anyway. But even if he enjoyed impressing people, alive or dead, he couldn't let the topic drop. He had to know.

"How old are you?" he repeated.

He saw her hesitate and he knew. He'd almost compare his reaction to getting the wind knocked out, but that metaphor didn't work when breathing was optional. Any annoyance and frustration he had towards the entire situation evaporated and left behind a lot of regret. And some fury with himself.

"Twelve," she answered reluctantly. "I'll be thirteen in about a month, but I'm twelve."

A child.

She was a freaking child.

He tried to make a child marry him.

And when people stopped him, he came back and tried to force her to marry him anyway.

He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He… There were no words to describe it. Or there were too many words, all suitably vulgar, insulting, and what he completely deserved. He honestly didn't even know where to start. He tried to marry a freaking little girl against her will just because she was desperate to save a couple of ghosts.

"I just wanted out," he muttered. "But I didn't want that. I'm no saint, but I'm not that bad. There's some lines still… I won't…"

He let his hand drop and he started pulling some of his power back out of the mirror. This was a mistake. He shouldn't have tried to talk to her again. He should have just cut his losses and moved on.

There were lines he didn't cross, even after centuries as a poltergeist. There weren't a lot of lines, but they existed.

He didn't go around murdering people, both because it was more trouble than it was worth and because he personally didn't approve of it. Killing just never appealed to him, in life or death. Besides, murder was the most boring and unimaginative way to make someone suffer.

He didn't force the women, no matter how attractive they were, to sleep with him. He had the power that he could do it if he wanted and they wouldn't be able to stop him. And yes, he did sometimes sneak a feel and he definitely wasn't above looking. He wasn't a saint or a priest or one of those other celibate and super-moral guys. But women always had the option to tell him to get lost and smack him. There were plenty more fish in the sea, after all. And there were plenty of those who were far more willing. So why force someone when they were too stubborn to realize what a catch he was?

And he didn't touch children. Children were supposed to be protected. They couldn't defend themselves. Scaring them a little, sure. But not to the traumatic and emotionally-scarring extent that he might try on adults. And nothing worse than that. Never anything too intense. And he definitely didn't think of going after them like he might a grown woman. There were just some things you didn't do.

But that's almost exactly what he'd almost done.

Quietly, she said, "You didn't know."

He felt like he'd been slapped hard at her words. She'd thought he'd known. His eyes popped open and he stared back at the girl.

"No. I wouldn't have asked if I did. Did you really think at the time…?"

He trailed off, staring at the girl in horror. The innocent little girl he almost forced into marriage. Did she even have any idea what that generally implied? Her parents seemed kind of dull-minded, so he had no clue what they'd told her about growing up and what grown men like him tended to be interested in.

And if she did know and understand, that might make things worse. Because she would have spent all that time thinking that he'd purposefully asked a child to marry him. Because she would have thought that he probably wanted something more than just a way out. He could easily imagine what she thought was happening that night.

"Of course, you did. I asked you to. You probably assumed I knew what I was doing. No wonder your folks and the Maitlands freaked out. I mean, they wouldn't be happy about it anyway, but… No, I figured you were older than that. I haven't tried guessing the age of the living in a few centuries and apparently I'm horribly out of practice." His gaze dropped as he said, "My reputation might not be the best, but I never intended to…"

"I believe you," she said quietly, interrupting him.

While it was nice that she believed him, it didn't change the facts. And the fact was that he'd managed to sink to a new all-time low. The poltergeist didn't think it was even possible for him to be ashamed of his actions. And yet guilt, regret, and disgust were hitting hard.

The child didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve anything that happened to her. He'd chosen her because for some inexplicable reason, he'd been drawn to the dark and gloomy girl the instant he saw her. And she'd been in the perfect position to make a deal he could use. But it wasn't worth it. He could have ruined her life just because he couldn't judge ages anymore when it came so someone alive.

Pulling more power from the mirror, he said, "Don't worry about the deal. That's over. You deserve it. I better go back so Juno can start yelling properly."

The reflection faded further, but he could still see the girl take a step towards her mirror.

"Wait," she called out.

He ignored her. He should let her get on with her life and forget about that night. And he would try to forget about it too. Juno would chew his head off for this entire debacle and he deserved it. Maybe he should use his wait time to do something useful, like brush up on his ability to correctly guess ages.

He was pulling the last of his power from the hand mirror, letting the image of the bedroom and girl fade. He felt pretty resigned to some creative and horribly-annoying punishment whenever Juno got around to seeing him. He deserved almost any punishment she could devise. But as he let the scrying attempt slip away, a surprise hit him hard.

"Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse!"

While he could resist and delay a summons or banishment for a few moments if he wanted, he didn't get the chance. Pure shock meant he was pulled unprepared from the Waiting Room. He almost hit the ground as he went from sitting on a chair to standing. But with minimal stumbling, he managed to regain his balance and a shred of his dignity.

Uncertain why in the world she would summon him, Betelgeuse stared at the girl. She almost looked like she regretted her decision already, rubbing her arm awkwardly and glancing occasionally towards her green floorboards. Doubt lurked in her face and her posture certainly seemed tense. But the girl also possessed a spark of fire in her eyes that he kept glimpsing, something in her refusing to back down from the challenge. She was taking a chance and nothing would stop her, even her own doubts. He just didn't understand what she wanted or why.

Neither of them spoke or moved immediately. They just stood around her room awkwardly. He didn't have a clue why she even yanked him out, so what exactly should he do? He told her the deal was over, the almost-wedding was a mistake, and that she didn't need to worry about him. So what was the problem? What did she want?

He shifted slightly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Betelgeuse possessed many impressive traits, but patience wasn't his strongest one. He got bored relatively quickly and easily, even while his emotions were trying to bug him. And he never handled boredom well. Standing around silently while his regret and disgust at his stupid attempted deal rolled around in his head just didn't work for him.

"So… who talks first? I talk first? You talk first?" he asked.

She shrugged and gestured towards the stool beside him. He glanced towards the offered seat briefly, but he couldn't bring himself to be that cooperative and helpful. Listening to and obeying instructions just wasn't in his nature. So instead of using the stool, Betelgeuse perched himself on the desk. The thing looked a little fragile and skinny, but the desk supported his weight without breaking. The dark-haired girl frowned briefly at his actions. She didn't say a word, though.

Kicking his feet briefly, Betelgeuse remarked, "Well, since no one showed up when we were yelling earlier, I'm guessing you're home alone."

"Yeah, Dad and Delia are running errands in town," she said. "The Maitlands are talking to their caseworker about… everything."

Rather than mention he knew they were visiting Juno, he said, "So you call a bio-exorcist, one who caused you some issues in the past? You call him into your home while no one else is around? No witnesses and no backup in case something happens? You're either very dumb or very brave."

"Or maybe I can just tell you're not in the mood to try anything," she said, effectively shutting him up. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, she continued, "We both know that the almost-wedding was… a mistake. Some misunderstandings and bad decisions from everyone. So let's start over and pretend nothing after you summoned up that ugly maroon tux happened. We can at least be civil, right?"

He raised an eyebrow, trying to look intrigued while hiding most of his surprise at her odd offer. He ignored the insult to his fashion choices once again, his mind trying to figure out an angle. Because there must be some reason for her to try this. Because nothing else made sense. Deals and bargains would explain why she would risk bringing back someone she knows is dangerous. He already tried to drag her into a situation she didn't deserve once. Why else would she risk it a second time?

He was the Ghost With The Most. People with any sense avoided him. They always had. Only when they needed something did they approach him. Otherwise, he went to them. He went after targets for his cons. He went after attractive ladies he wanted to pass the time with. So what would possess the girl to invite him around to try and… be civil?

If he didn't know any better, it almost sounded like she wanted… something. A clean slate? A second chance? Why? What was going on in her head? Why did the little girl who had every reason to stay away from him decide to summon him?

"We never had a proper introduction, right?" she continued awkwardly. "Things were a little too chaotic for that. My name's Lydia Deetz."

By that point, he didn't even know what to think or feel about the situation anymore. He just decided to go with it and maybe figure out what was going on later. Or he could pretend this entire thing was a really freaky dream.

Shrugging, he said, "Fine. Sure. Whatever floats your boat. You already know my name and everything. Nice to meet you and all that."

She actually smiled a little at that. She didn't really look relaxed, but some of the tension in her posture had eased. She definitely was a strange member of the living. Her smile was kind of nice, though. Especially compared to her original doom and gloom mood.

"Look, I know you did help Barbara and Adam like you said you would," she said, glancing briefly towards her dresser. "And I really don't want to marry you."

"I'm not marrying a kid," said Betelgeuse sharply. "That's over, remember?"

Standing up, she went to her dresser and started rummaging around in it. He watched her curiously until she pulled her fist out again, hiding something from view. The girl then took a few steps forward until she was within arm's reach of him. He could see some nervousness, but that spark of stubborn determination clearly won out.

"Well, my point is that you did something for us and you didn't get what I promised. So… maybe I can make it up to you a little," she said, holding out her hand and opening it.

Lying on the palm of her hand was his ring. Betelgeuse forced himself not to react. The ring had changed its appearance over the century, the poltergeist using his power to keep it up to date with the changing taste in what a wedding ring should look like. But it was the same ring, the one his mother once wore. Over six hundred years, he'd kept that ring safe. In life and in death. It was a ring meant for a wife, something he'd never had. Something with that much sentimental meaning, even to a relatively unsentimental poltergeist, possessed a lot of power over him in the wrong hands.

The child had the ring. And she was offering it back.

"It's yours," she said. "I didn't think you'd want the dress back, but I thought the ring might be different. And you'll probably try to convince someone else to marry you someday, so you'll need it."

He wanted to snatch the ring back up and stuff into his pockets, ensuring that it was safe. He should pick up the ring casually and put it away, acting like he didn't care one way or another. He needed to get it back. It wasn't wise to leave important trinkets lying around where he couldn't keep track of them. And he certainly wasn't marrying the girl, so the ring should go back into his pockets.

But he didn't. That same instinct that told him the dark-haired daughter lurking in the household was important for some reason told him that he didn't need it right now. And that it was safe where it was. After all, who would look for his personal junk in the sock drawer of a child? And he… wanted her to hold on to it.

Maybe it would somehow make up for nearly dragging her down the aisle a little.

"Nah, you can keep it for now," he said, trying to sound casual about it. "If I need it, I know where to look."

A surprised expression crossed her face, but she withdrew her offered hand. Then, shifting her weight nervously as she clearly considered an idea, she took a few steps to the right side of her room and opened the window.

"You wanted out, right?" she said, not facing him. "When it comes down to it, that's what the wedding was about. You wanted out. I know it isn't the permanent escape you wanted, but… I won't put you back for at least a couple of days. And I won't tell anyone that I let you out. So you'll have at least two days hopefully."

He stared at her suspiciously, but she didn't turn and look back. She just stared down at the radiator. He couldn't believe she was serious. She was just… turning him loose on the world? For two days with no one realizing he was running amuck? There had to be a catch.

Betelgeuse stared a little longer and realized she meant it. She suspected it was a bad idea, but she meant what she was saying. The girl was trying to make up for not marrying him like she promised, even after he said the deal was essentially null and void. Two days of running loose away from the Netherworld wasn't much in comparison to complete freedom from his annoying name problem and an all-access pass to the land of the living, but it was more than he expected. How was he supposed to react to that?

Any further pondering on the strange child, her offer, and the horrible things he almost did to her out of ignorance were shoved aside as he heard the sound of an approaching car. And from his time hanging out on the model, he knew that the house far enough away from the rest of the locals that it was probably her parents returning. So unless he wanted to hang around to explain that his forced marriage to their daughter was due to a miscalculation of her age, it was probably time to get moving.

"I guess I better make the best use of that time then," he said, moving towards the window.

Though a little small for comfort, he could slip out easily enough. Aiming a little power to compress the surrounding walls and make the radiator flatten down, he turned the opening into something nearly the size of a door. Her eyes widened in shock at the trick. He responded with a smirk. She'd seen him do a few similar stunts, but the novelty still hadn't apparently worn off.

"See you around, Lyds," Betelgeuse said, stepping through the altered window before shifting it back and leaving her behind.

First, I want to let you know I spent way too much time trying to figure out the layout of Lydia's room. You see it at two points in the film (when the Maitlands are trying their sheets trick and when Lydia is writing her suicide note). And for a while, it seemed like they didn't match because the walls were completely different. But then I figured out that the wall with the door and mirror on it is an accent wall and is completely covered in wallpaper while the other three walls have the horizontal white boards across them and a (matching) wallpaper trim near the ceiling. The fact I spent so long working everything out for what her room looks like is definitely proof I'm insane.

Remember, reviews are nice and I always appreciate them. I love hearing feedback on this and all stories I write. Thanks.