Piquancy and Phantasm @bdz_fanfics
Passionate Love Is Still Divine

"For passionate love is still divine / I lov'd her as an angel might / With ray of the all living light / Which blazes upon Edis' shrine." - Edgar Allan Poe

Spring break had come and gone, and most of the girls who attended Miss Shannon's School for Girls had gone on one trip or another. They came back, bragging and poking fun at those who ended up staying behind. The nerds, weirdos, and freaks of the school often preferred to stay in the dismal town of Peaceful Pines.

Little Jane Butterfield, however, hated that she had to spend all of her free time and vacations (weekends included) at her mother's real estate office. Of course, Jane Butterfield Senior was nowhere to be found since she rudely woke her daughter and demanded she spend the day answering phones. As if she had nothing better to do.

Their relationship was not what one would call mutually supportive.

The teenager would much rather talk on her brand new cellphone with her friends rather than pay attention to the local weirdo who just walked into the office. The woman, dressed as strange and unusual as always, came bursting through the door in a rage.

The woman regarded her with a frustrated roll of the eyes and fake - yes, fake- smile.

"Hold on a sec, Rachel. One of mom's clients just walked in." The girl said with an annoyed air about her. "Can I help you?"

"I didn't know you were working today, Jane. I'm sorry, but is your mother around?"

With a scoff, the teenager rolled her eyes, "Janie, I don't like it when people call me Jane. It makes me sound like a frigid hag."

The crazy woman gave her a deadpanned and utterly, irritated look. She seemed to want to spit something out, but Janie was already picking her phone pack to her ear.

"Mom's out with the Brewster's." She said before returning to Rachel and their latest boy gossip.

The woman didn't seem to get the hint as she walked around the office. Whatever the hell she was looking for didn't concern Janie. It only served to irritate her as the weirdo stopped dead in her tracks in front of the stupid 'Inspiration board' her mother put together.

"Um… Janie.."

It speaks…

Janie let out an exasperated scoff, rolling those eyes once again for good measure. She brushed her long ash brown hair back, god she needed to put some color in that ugly mess, maybe people would stop comparing her to her mother if she went with something more drastic.

"Yeah?" She acknowledged the wacko.

"These houses…"

"Not for sale yet. Mom is waiting for the loser owners to drop dead or some crap like that…"

Back to her important conversation, Janie threw a look at the unwanted visitor to let her know she wasn't in the mood.

Like mother like daughter, Lydia thought to herself. Janie has grown into a real bitch, just like her crook of a mother. Not that she could blame the kid.

Being the daughter of Jane Butterfield was a thousand times worse than being the stepdaughter of Delia Deetz. As far as Lydia was concerned, she was doing little Janie a favor.

If she could just convince BJ to let her take that woman's life...

As she walked around the space, Lydia had realized very quickly that this wouldn't do for a good crime scene. The security cameras and open floor plan left little privacy. Not to mention the gigantic windows.

That was when her eyes came across a familiar sight.

Upon a large corkboard was several photos of various properties pinned with thumbtacks. Among the various photos, standing tall and majestic upon a hill, was her house. The photo of it looked like something out of a Better Homes and Gardens dream.

Turning her attention to the distracted teenager, she queried about the photo only to be cut off and dismissed.

She's lucky that she's just a kid…

Her ire multiplied tenfold as she absorbed the words that the girl spoke. Perhaps she was merely a melodramatic snot, but Lydia had a strong feeling that the girl was more in tune with her mother's activities than she had carried on.

Lydia was in no mood for niceties after what she had learned earlier from Beetlejuice. As she was about to say something to the little brat, she held herself in check when her eyes spotted another oddity on the board. There, not far from the photo of her house, was another house, in front of it was a police cruiser and… Allen's blue SUV. It was the very same vehicle that he had driven to New York City.

Pressing her lips together, Lydia didn't give little Janie another glance as she stormed out of the office and headed straight for the nearest payphone.

Her anger was getting the best of her, and she knew it. She had to talk to someone. She had to find a way to get this aggression to die down somehow.

Once she found the freestanding phone, Lydia tapped her finger against the coin slot, tricking the machine into thinking it was fed the correct amount of change. Then she dialed the number that would connect her to Bertha.

After no more than two rings in, the click of the receiver sounded.


"Bertha, I need a favor."

"Lydia, is that you?" Surprised, Bertha's voice cracked. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah, it's me. I'm not sure, but I was kinda hoping you could give me Allen's home number… and maybe..."

"Maybe..?" Bertha's voice grew thick and sultry, knowing full well that Lydia would pick up on the teasing. "I could have sworn he gave you his number. Unless you went out or something, did you lose it? Oh! You know what, he took the cruiser home like he always does. Maybe he's there."

"That's… kinda what I wanted to find out. Where he lives, I mean."

"Uh-huh. I'll tell you, but you know that I want that juice."

Lydia, startled by the turn of phrase, looked around to see if she could sense signs of her ghost.

"What do you mean?" She asked, hoping that she was indeed talking to the right person.

"Details, the gloriously juicy details. My goodness, Lydia, you should know by now that he has some sort of crush on you. Jump him already. Sheesh."

Lydia's cheeks flushed a brilliant red as she tried to form her words of protest.

"Alright, alright, I'm only teasing. Here, you got a pen?"

At that request, Lydia used her power to manifest a pen and paper to take down the directions to Allen's home. She thanked Bertha and realized after hanging up that she forgot to get the number.

Control over the uncontrollable and those unattainable dreams and aspirations plagued Allen in such a way that he could hardly allow to let himself to have hope. Unfortunately, there was no room in his life for something more than living life in a placid state, pretending, no not pretending, knowing that the world could so easily forget about him like he was never there, to begin with.

Case in point, it would be about as easy as it had been for the beautiful woman, who somehow sparked a desire within him, to vanish without so much as a phone call ever since they had returned from New York City. He couldn't help but worry about her, and if it weren't for his partner's and her friend's need for sharing gossip about her a little too loudly around him, he would have been up to the Deetz's house on the hill ages ago.

No, it wasn't like he had expected that she would call him anyways. After all, she was involved with someone else, and Allen accepted this. Granted, not fully content with the situation, but he respected the distance that Lydia had clearly put up between them. He would continue to be her friend. Anything if it would keep that spark of humanity, she seemed to instill inside him.

Until then, he had other methods of taking control of his life and the chaos that raged within his mind and soul. Albeit they were small in the grand scheme of things, they helped him immensely.

Within the basement of his bungalow in the country, Allen began to focus his energy on just one of the things that he could currently control as he steadied his body under the barrack. Firmly planting his legs and settling back into a proper stance, he lifted the hefty bar off the hooks and began to count off his squats.

His workout had been going on for longer than he usually would, but he felt the need to do more today. He had to press himself further. He wanted to lose all track of time. He needed to find some peace in the chaos as sweat trickled down his back from the strenuous repetition. Focused and breathing steady, he raised the bar, jerking it above his head in a smooth motion before finally letting the bar drop in front of him.

His mind wandered back to the case at hand, wondering just how the hell the team had gotten so far off track. Bath wasn't wrong with his assessment of Bertha's reports.

His partner was a brilliant police officer with the potential to grow as time went on. Allen could sense Bertha's unease when they talked about their leads and the potential damage that could ensue if they didn't catch the culprit soon.

Bertha refuses to make eye contact with him when he mentioned his concern for Lydia and the potential that she might be harboring the killer. She quickly changed the subject to her own suspicions of the Butterfield woman and, for some reason, started mumbling nonsense about out of town visitors and vagrants who could possibly be committing these crimes as independent acts of violence.

Allen was annoyed with her deflection, but he refrained from focusing on Beetleman while around her.

Then there were the inconclusive reports of Dr. Miller. The cause of death and examinations of the body were on par with the crime scene analysis, but there wasn't a single shred of DNA evidence to pinpoint a suspect.

Returning to his present state of mind, Allen took a fighting stance in front of his hanging punching bag after binding his hands, protecting them from being split as he prepared to dispel all his unpleasant feeling. Over the years, he had worked hard to hone his body into an effective tool for his field of work. Building stamina, defense, coordination, toning his muscles, and keeping sharp on his martial arts were all ways for him to take control. To him, it holds importance in a way that nary a soul could understand. Ever since the academy, it was also effective at keeping him busy in the lonely monotony that he called his life.

Swaying back and forth in rhythm, he swung his fist into the worn leather. Repeatedly, he beat on the bag as he mixed up his attacks between his arms and legs until he felt his body reach that euphoric high of a decent workout. He gave the bag one last slug for good measure before using his hands to steady his passive opponent.

Sweaty and at the point of exertion, Allen set the private gym back into order before heading back upstairs. Upon taking that last step, he heard a rapping on the front door.

He briefly wondered who his visitor could be before that thought turned into one of confusion. He never had visitors. At least not since Oma's death.

Allen picked up a towel and began drying off the sweat that dripped down his body.

Only when he answers the door did he wish that he had the foresight to put on a T-shirt.

"Lydia!" His heart began to beat as fast as it had while he worked out only this time the adrenaline came with a companion he rarely encountered—a swarm of butterflies that flapped deep within his gut.

"We need to talk," she said quickly. Her short hair swished while she took her surroundings in as if she were assuring herself that she wasn't followed.

"Um…" Allen chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "You… ahem…. Do you want to come in?"

Lydia made direct eye contact with him and smiled. Her sweet expression caused those damned nerves of his to stir those butterflies into a frenzy.

"I would have called, but…" she raised her arms and shoulders in a shrug.

Allen shook his head with a smile. He could feel his face flush, tingling in response to her gaze upon him.

"Here.." he moved out of the way, inviting her into his home. "Do.. do you mind if I take a quick shower? We can talk right after."

Lydia smirked and gave him a flirtatious leer in assessment before giggling, "Go on. I didn't mean to interrupt whatever you were doing."

"Ah..," With a smile, he turned away from her gaze. An attempt to hide the fact he was unable to respond to the comment. "I could get you something if you like before I go, I mean. I could make some tea."

Lydia shook her head, "I'll be fine. It's not like you knew I was coming over. Go on. I can wait."

"If you are sure…" Allen gestured to the living room, inviting her further into his home. "Zorg je thuis."

Lydia's bemused smile returned, causing him to experience yet one more round of flapping wings.

"I'll be right back. Please, make yourself at home."

As Lydia watched Allen leave the room, he ascended the stairs at a much faster pace than she expected. She would almost consider it a shame that he had to move so quickly. She had never seen this side of the man before, and not only due to his lack of clothing.

Being in the home of someone she hardly knew, Lydia had always been polite enough to keep her own business. That was until now. She found it difficult to ignore the urge to explore the police officer's home, to get a feel for the kind of person who would willingly put up with Bertha's over-exuberance and maintain enough patience to meet and befriend the rest of them.

Who was Allen? Aside from his incredible patience and polite mannerisms, she didn't know. What she did know, would never have been discovered had Lydia been unaware of the energy that surrounded people with sensitive abilities. That hardly meant anything.

At that thought, Lydia chose to do some investigation of her own the moment she heard the water turn on.

Taking a gentle hand across the furnishings and various surfaces around the spotless and dust-free house, Lydia felt for the vibrations and memories that clung to the environment. A laugh, and warm hug…. the faces of an elderly couple, images invaded her mind's eye. As her hand touched a frame of a young couple from a wedding in ages past, she felt a devastating heartache rip through her body. The energy left behind felt feminine and wise. Almost motherly but with a sense of pride and strength that neither of Lydia's mother figures possessed.

She pulled her hand away from the image and took in her surroundings with a keen eye. Photos of an elderly couple, the same couple from the wedding photo, decorated the mantel place, and hung on the walls along with photos of a young boy. Allen, as a child, had the same haunted look upon him, his face just as stoic as it was now.

"What happened to you?" Lydia whispered to the child in the photo. Her fingers touched the image, granting her a vision of flashing red and blue lights, a child being carried by a police officer out of a home. Then a body bag being loaded into an ambulance.

Startled Lydia pulled back, wide-eyed with confusion at the jumbled mess of images that assuaged her sense.

Before she could place her hands back upon the photo, she heard the rumbling of the water in the pipes. The boy in the image stared back, placid, taunting her with his blank stare for her to keep trying, testing her to piece together the chaos that had raged under the tight veil of the cops auric shield.

Lydia returned to her seat in the living room before once again, sweeping her eyes around a home that, quite honestly, looked more like a home for an elderly couple than a young bachelor.

Footsteps defending the stairs drew her attention to Allen returning. Fully dressed, perhaps more casual in sweats than she had ever seen him dress before, he approached, choosing a seat beside her.

Might as well get this over with quickly, she thought, twisting in her seat to face her friend.

The shower had only succeeded in cleaning off the sweat from his body. It did nothing for the concern that reared it's head the moment Lydia appeared at his door.

It was obvious something happened. After all, why would Lydia be at his home of all places? There couldn't possibly be any reason that would lead to such an outcome. Especially since there had been so little contact between them since New York.

He could only conclude that perhaps something had happened between the girl and her lover. It would explain the uncomfortable energy that came off her body in waves though there was also the possibility that she was nervous about being so far away from home, alone.

The thought crossed him as rather odd. Lydia may have taken a taxi but hadn't heard one pull up the gravel. Nor did he hear it leave.

Once dried and dressed, Allen returned to his unusual guest, finding her exactly where he left her. Her eyes shot in his direction, causing a thrill to run up his spine and disturb those damned butterflies again. He suppressed his emotions in an attempt to keep from projecting.

"So," he began once he sat down on the sofa next to her. "Was there something you wanted to talk about? I can still get that tea for you if you want."

With a sweet smile and a shake of her head, Lydia turned him down again. "It would probably be better to pull out a bottle of liquor with the day I've been having."

"What do you mean?" Allen clasped his hands together, letting them fall between his knees as he leaned forward.

"Bj and I…" Lydia trailed off, but Allen could feel her anguished emotions over whatever had transpired. "You see, we sorta have this… thing."

"You are sleeping with him," Allen stated flatly, causing Lydia to let out a rather unladylike scoff.

"That's one way to put it." She tugged at the hem of her skirt. "It's pretty complicated."

Lydia's eyes wandered away from him as if she was unable to meet his eye. He felt the urge to reach out. To take her hand in his and tell her that everything would be alright. That she would be safe with him, and he wouldn't judge her no matter what she told him.

But he refrained, curling his fingers firmly around his own clasped hands, he waited for her to continue.

"This morning, I made a pretty big mistake, and he… changed. I don't know if I can explain this." She sighed. "I have never been afraid of him before."

"Did he hurt you?" He asked, feeling a dark dread start to surface. Tapping down the unpleasant feeling, he urged her to continue.

"Well, yes, but I think I was just more afraid. He wasn't himself."

Allen swore under his breath and sat up straighter. This time he offered his hand to her, waiting for her to take it.

"We got into a fight, but that's sorta normal for us."

"I might be out of line for saying so, but I don't think a fight should be something to be considered as normal in any relationship."

Lydia reached out and clasped her hand in his and surprising him.

"Well, it's common for a person in a habitually violent relationship to never see the signs," She attempted to joke following the statement with a laugh. Still, Allen didn't seem to find that statement funny at all.

"What happened after the fight? Did you come straight here?"

Lydia's soft fingers curled around his. "That's not exactly the case. Gods, this is going to be a mess.."

Allen clasped his other hand on top of hers, comforting her as she struggled for the right words.

"Beej told me something that the idiot should have told me a long time ago. He would have said something before we left on the trip, but no. He didn't. Like always, he was a complete space case and neglected to tell me that Jane Butterfield was sniffing around my house. My house! On the night, we came back and nearly went off the bridge!"

Stunned Allen straightened his posture.

"Are you sure that's what he saw?"

Lydia released Allen's hand and stood to her feet. She paced back and forth in front of Allen. He could sense her agitation like a typhoon barreling closer to the shore.

"Yes! He saw her, and he was driving down with Doo— our car to investigate. Then when we started to slide, he…"

"He what?" His eyes narrowed while that subtle shift from her earlier confession of being hurt pushed its way forward. "Lydia, tell me what happened."

"That's just it. I can't tell you the facts because none of that would make any sense." Lydia threw her arms up in surrender. "So after he tells me Jane was there, all I wanted to do was…. ugh. But no! He told me I couldn't. I need to leave her alone."

Allen stood up, the dark aura thickening around him as Lydia began to fall apart before his eyes.

"What couldn't you do?"

She's evading you, lover boy. His inner voice said to him. Allen closed his eyes to shove that voice back, but it only laughed at the futile attempt.

"It doesn't matter. I left. I went to town, but her kid was there."

Told ya.

" Pretty sure her daughter has a work permit." He offered, ignoring the voice.

"It's not that, Allen. I couldn't care less if Little Jane was there but that mother of hers… she had a photo of my house on her wall." Lydia presses her hands to her face, whipping away her next groan.

Allen nodded in understanding, though he wasn't exactly sure why she was in his house. She could have told Bertha or called him instead of storming off to the town.

It's not the whole story. Go on. Ask her.

"Lydia, it's alright. I can understand you being upset and I'll be bringing Jane in for questioning but-"

"Your house was on that board too."

Startled, Allen stopped talking and stared at her.

Getting the picture now? The voice mocked him while Lydia moved passed him, sitting back on the couch.

"Jane wasn't just after me, Allen. She was after you too, and to be honest, and I'm pretty sure she has done this before."

The aura thickened around him, compressing his rational thought as a burning desire to bring Jane Butterfield in raged inside.

You want justice. You know how to get it.

" Shut up," Allen growled at the voice. The sound was low, but he knew Lydia heard it as she lifted her big brown eyes up to him. "She… can't do this. She has no right."

Lydia nodded, dropping her gaze though she flicked her eyes up every so often to observe him.

Come on, Allen, let me take care of it. You know it's not so bad. Just let me-

"Stop!" He yelled, but the voice only laughed. Deep and menacing.

"I… didn't…" Lydia began.

"No, no. Not you. Ack…. I'm sorry - I just - Can you give me a moment?"


Allen stepped out of the living room and into the kitchen. Putting some space between the two of them. He didn't want her to see this side of himself.

Aww, that's not fair. I bet she would like me. Come on, Al, let me out.

"I can't," He told the voice . "I am an officer of the law. I serve and protect. I just can't."

The bitch was gonna take your house. She wants to kill you and take Oma's precious home and destroy their memory. She'd sell it to some yuppie. Oh, and you know how they like to rip down walls.

"You need to stop. You can't do this" .

I can. I will. Let go.

With one last attempt to shove the voice back, Allen collapsed against a wall, barely able to keep standing.

"Allen?" Lydia called to him before rounding the corner and entering the kitchen. He was surprised that she had enough strength to help him stand. "Hey. You don't look too good."

"I'm fine," he snapped, letting out a breath that would normally help to stabilize him. Normally but not this time. "Kut… "

"You are not fine. Come on. You need to sit." She used that unnatural strength to guide him back out to the couch. "Here."

She handed him a glass of water, further confusing him how she was able to do that. When did she go to the kitchen?

Open your eyes, Fucker.

"Thanks," He said, taking the water and drinking down some of the cool liquid as if the stream could wash away the chaos and bring him back into balance.

Lydia sat down next to him, her hands curled around his knee, no… not his knee, his lower thigh.

"I pretty much had the same reaction. Except without tipping over." Lydia's attempt at humor took several moments to sink in, but when it did, he looked right at her.

She squeezed his thigh in response to his direct eye contact. Her soft pale skin, tinting a slight pink, as she dropped her gaze.

"I had to come over, so I called Bertha. She gave me the address, of course. I can't remember if I mentioned that."

"You came all the way here. Just to tell me that Butterfield tried to kill us. All of us. You didn't say anything to Bertha?"

Embarrassment radiated off the woman accompanied by nerves and … another emotion.

"I didn't think of it."

"Why?" He asked. His mask was firmly in place, giving Lydia pause to think of a reasonable excuse. He could tell she found none because she shook her head, offering an apology with her raised hands.

"I guess. I mean," Lydia adjusted herself, inching her body forward, closing the gap between them. "There was something else."

Allen could feel her hand return to his thigh; only now, it was a little higher.

"You see, after I left, I got to thinking that maybe… maybe I do need to slow things down with Beej." The pain of her words, her pain, hit him.

Whatever that person did to her had broke something inside of her. He could feel the change as she said his damned name.

"If he hurt you…"

He didn't get to finish that statement because the woman beside him had moved in. Closing any space between them as her lips had taken a leap of faith and connected with his own.

Stunned Allen, could feel the rumble of the other voice inside of him. My turn, it had said before he could protest. However, he didn't want to protest. Not with Lydia pushing him back into the sofa as she straddled his legs. Not once breaking the kiss.

He was shattered, blown away by her adept fingers as they began working on the fastening of his pants. Lydia worked the elastic down before sliding her hands up his abs, lifting his shirt up and over his head. Allen took her face into his hands, bringing her closer to him if that were even possible.

The sensual sound of her moan against his mouth spurred him into action. He released her face and hoisted her into his arms.

With a gasp, Lydia pulled away from the kiss and smirked when she realized he had somehow lifted her and stood up at the same time.

"You can back out now," his voice rumbled, different from his usual tone as it was now breathless and lust-filled.

"Not a chance." She replied, while narrowing her determined eyes.

Now that's what I'm talking about.

Lydia was in total disbelief of her actions. Shocked was probably a mild way of putting it, but still, she didn't relent. No, the force that was propelling her was beyond her control.

It scared her that she could so easily fall into such a lustful state with the cop that she still hardly knew. With quick steps, he held her with his strong hands as he carried up the staircase, down a small hallway, and through a door. She could only assume that this was his room, but she didn't think more on it.

Once he settled her down, she took action. Pulling her dress off her body and removing her leggings and under clothes. She then knelt on the edge of the bed, pulling Allen down into another kiss. She didn't want to think.

She couldn't because if she did, then guilt would hit her, and she just wouldn't allow that to happen. Desire urged her to finish what she started in removing Allen's clothing and pulled him down into the bed.

Lydia could feel his hesitation and lust as they battled inside his core, just the same as it was inside her own body, but she somehow managed to push that away as she straddled the man. She grasped his length, not taking time to marvel at the sheer differences between the man below her and the man she had been fucking for the past few months.

Easing him to her entrance, Lydia sank down upon him, relishing the strain in Allen's voice while she did so. She hitched a breath when she realized he was longer than she expected, though not as thick as she had grown accustomed.

"Oh, gods…" she gasped but let him in, all the way until her body couldn't stand the torture much longer. She had to move—something to ease the ache that was building inside her.

Under her breath, she cursed, her guilt began to fade as her body started the climb to orgasm. She wouldn't think about it. She couldn't think about him. No, he wasn't part of her right now.

Taking control of her body and her mind, Lydia rode out the first of her spasms, nearly collapsing on the man below her. He had somehow realized she was losing control of her body and managed to rotate her to be below him. Allen took control, expanding upon her pleasure as he continued to rock against her.

He hadn't come; she realized when her eyes opened up and saw the dark essence behind his blue eyes. Lydia felt her senses beyond the external and touched his essence with her own. Raw, uncontrolled… it matched her twisted energy. It wanted, craved, burned inside of the casing in which the man had held it silent for who knows how long.

Not long, no, not long at all, Allen began to reach his breaking point and had the moment Lydia's body shot into another glorious contraction.

She cried out, low and guttural. Her ears didn't even pick up or register that Allen had also made a similar sound. Exhaustion…. That's what she felt.

Complete and utterly spent, Lydia Deetz was her own person. She took back her identity in that moment, but come morning; she knew it wouldn't last. Guilt would return.

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