Hi guys! I'm back, with a different fandom and universe to work with. I was very dissatisfied with the ending to The Wolfman (2010), but I LOVED the movie, and thus have reworked it to suit my tastes! Please read, review, share, enjoy! - Bon
Death was filling the entirety of Gwen Conliffe's vision, embodied by a massive set of snarling fangs, claws ready to rip and rend flesh, and eyes glowing with malice. The beast had followed her from the burning wreckage of the Talbot mansion; the smell of musk and smoke had heralded its arrival in the darkness, though the feeble warning could not have done her any good. The creature was inescapable, even if she hadn't been backed against a cliff, beyond which was a raging waterfall, her surroundings cloaked in darkness when the full moon was enshrouded momentarily by cloud cover. Her senses, speed, everything was inadequate against this nefarious being.
It had stalked out of the darkness, forming a murky shape in the gloom that meant only certain death for the young woman, whose only crime was love for the man whom the wolfish thing had been, only moments before. All that currently remained of the human's existence were the torn and bloodstained garments – shredded shirtsleeves, ripped trousers - that hung from the monster's frame, a sadistic reminder that Lawrence Talbot shared a shell, somehow, with the epitome of this moon-influenced curse.
As it lumbered towards Gwen, she gave a strangled sob, shuffling backwards until her booted foot snagged on a stone, bringing her down on her back with a jarring thud, the pistol she had held skittering away from her reach.
Immediately the creature was fully upon her, straddling her like a lover, pinning her by her lower body as she supported herself on scraped palms. Glistening fangs, led by a snuffling muzzle, moved towards her face, as the creature sniffed her deeply, growling slightly all the while.
Gwen swallowed thickly, trying to keep calm and still, avoiding alarming the being that could, she knew, remove her head from her shoulders with a weak swipe of its clawed digits. She settled for raising, very slowly, a pleading hand, the quaking appendage moving towards the wolfman's features.
At last her fingers gained purchase, in the coarse fur covering its neck, and the wolf snarled in alarm, recoiling slightly before settling back into her touch, yellow eyes analyzing her hand before determining she wasn't a threat. The thing's entire body seemed to calm, growls diminishing, the malice in the yellow gaze muted before her very eyes.
Gasping in another shuddering breath, not daring to hope she would live, that he would, Gwen tried to speak. "L-lawrence…?"
A gleam of recognition shone in the beast's features, as the gruesome head cocked to one side, nostrils wiggling in an attempt to locate her in the deep recesses of the man's mind. Claws retracted to its side, though it remained pinning her by the hips to the rough ground, where jagged stones still gouged into her other palm.
The uneasy silence, which had elicited a shred, a spark, a tiny ray of hope in Gwen's chest, was broken by the distant baying of hounds and muffled shouts by what had to be policemen, joining Aberline in his pursuit of Gwen and the monster. Panic shot through Gwen's entire consciousness, as the monster above her froze, head turning slowly, eerily, to face the direction of the intruding noises. Would it kill her now?
It did not flee before the policemen, neither did it lurch forward to eviscerate any in his path. The wolfman stayed in its odd position, crouched over Gwen's quivering form, she closing her eyes tightly and muttering some scarcely-remembered childhood prayer as the officers entered the clearing that ended at the ledge. The waterfall raged on, cascading waters uninterrupted by the potential life and death struggle occurring on the cliffs that formed its banks.
The beast shifted on its haunches, a claw moving back to brush against Gwen's shoulder, as if reassuring itself she was there; the contact sent a bolt through her, and as she opened her eyes, the claw retreated, ghastly digits curling into fists at the wolf's side, a single, elongated snarl escaping its curled lips, which displayed those wickedly curved fangs, shining like beacons in the momentary moonlight, to the policemen who were unsteadily walking towards the being that had plagued London and Blackmoor for far too long.
Aberline was in front, favoring his bitten arm, but still maintaining a steady grip on the pistol he had aimed at the monster as he advanced, staggering ever so slightly. "Don't make a move, Talbot."
The beast growled in response, obviously comprehending the tone of voice and implied threat the pistol represented. At this point, the other four policemen had formed a semi-circle cutting off the beast, and moved forward in sync, all a single step behind Aberline's bloody form.
With an abrupt movement, the wolfman lurched to its feet, stretching to its full height and howling agitatedly towards the moon, casting a silvery glow that encompassed the entire clearing. As the wolf rose, Gwen struggled to her feet, free from its weight, and the movement alarmed one of the officers, whose jerk of surprise triggered his gun; his action in turn spurred the others on to fire as well, and a hail of bullets flew past Aberline, towards the beast.
None of his underlings' guns held silver bullets, Aberline mused, warily watching the monster to see its reaction. There wasn't much, other than the dull thud of bullets hitting flesh resounding around the clearing. Except…
When a small female whimper sounded, Aberline's blood ran cold, his body stiffening as his eyes closed in anguish. There was a soft thump as Gwen Conliffe crumpled onto the bruising terrain comprising the waterfall's high banks, her slender form sprawling across the moss-covered stones just as the men, horrified, lowered their guns.
The already-enraged creature turned, in what seemed like slow motion, letting out a canine sort of gasp, and a soft whine, when it saw the young woman crumpled on the ground. The men were doubly-astounded by the humanoid reaction, and all but Aberline cried out in panic when the beast let loose a furious howl, a horrific shrieking noise; the emission was followed by the clattering of dropped pistols and unsteady footfalls as they all took several paces back from the commanding officer and the scene before them.
Aberline could only watch, helpless, as the moon, freshly-emerged from another clump of clouds, illuminated a spreading red stain across Miss Conliffe's pale gray dress.
The beast, now completely disregarding the humans, crouched over her motionless form, a tentative claw touching her shoulder gently.
Another keening wail escaped its lungs when there was no visible response, and of course, none of the men were close enough to see if she still breathed, still lived, if they hadn't mortally wounded the only innocent among them. As they watched silently, the creature gathered her limp body to its chest, cradling Gwen even as the men groaned at the sight of a pale arm hanging apparently-lifeless at her side.
When it lifted her completely from the ground, deadly nails wrapped around her waist and legs, the men seemed to snap out of a trance, moving ahead to again flank Aberline. The inspector in question was already rapidly compiling a story to tell Miss Conliffe's family, considering funeral arrangements and final respects and laying the body to rest, set against letting this beast take it away to be devoured, for surely they all knew its motives in clutching her.
With a gruff command, he ordered the men to retrieve their arms if they could, and do all possible to retrieve the girl from the beast. They complied shakily, damning themselves for not thinking more clearly, starting towards the monster with loud shouts and menacing gestures; for it had nowhere to go, backed up to the cliff's edge and burdened as it was.
It shocked them anew when it gave a growl that echoed around the clearing, backing closer to the cliff's edge with its precious charge, holding the men at bay with its fierce yellow gaze. When it reached the edge, it glanced over the side, into the turmoil of the waterfall, where it led, and other sodden ledges that could provide a ladder downward. Descent would be deadly, absolutely; to any other being.
With a small huffing noise, the wolfman leapt over the side of the cliff, Gwen still cushioned against its broad chest in a powerful grip.
The remaining humans in the clearing could only stare, slack-jawed, at the spot where the beast had stood not a moment before, dazedly moving forward to peer cautiously over the edge into the raging waters. No trace was left of the creature, and as for Gwen, only a small patch of crimson, staining the stone that had lain beneath her, was any evidence she had been there also.
Aberline gave a gusty, weary sigh, dropping to his knees and grimacing, his good hand moving to support his wounded arm and shoulder. "We're going to assume she's still alive, and that it won't kill her. We're going to look, and hard. I wouldn't be that creature's prisoner for all the wealth in the world, and that's the position the poor girl's in, because of us."
Birds chirped, morning dew saturated much of the forest, and a root was digging painfully into Gwen's side. That was all she knew as she groggily came to, at least partway; she could scarcely open her eyes, her limbs felt heavy, and pain shot through her left shoulder when she tried to raise her arm.
At her whimper of pain, she heard a rustling noise, and, panicking, tried to frantically turn her gaze from the tree trunk a few steps away to see what it was.
Suddenly, strong fingers encircled her forearm, effectively halting her movements; a thumb began to trace circles against the fabric covering her wrist, and a familiar voice hushed her as the sensations soothed her.
"Lawrence…?" She mumbled, realizing who knelt before her when she rolled back to her original position. The fog suddenly left her mind, and she gasped, sitting upright in a flash, wavering when dizziness struck her. She spotted a large bandage covering her left shoulder, where the fabric of her dress had been cut away to provide access to a flesh wound, which, by the throbbing, had begun to bleed anew at her motion.
"Shh, it's me," the man crooned, in a soft tone unexpected of his formidable form. Both of his arms caged her waist as he steadied her, gently moving her to sit against the base of the tree next to them. "You've been hurt."
She bit back a joking reply that she could see as well as feel that, instead raising her eyes and scanning the forest surrounding the small clearing they were in. "What happened?"
At the sight of her trying to subtly rub her hands together for warmth, Lawrence, somehow fully clothed, moved forward to drape his jacket over her shoulders, with the utmost care, like she was a breakable doll. Though, she'd proven she was anything but that.
"I changed…again," he began in a ragged whisper. "I killed – destroyed – ended my father and the beast he had been all these years, and then I came after you…" He was cut off by the furious shaking of her head. "No, Lawrence, it wasn't you at that point, don't you understand?"
He stayed silent, swiping dirt solemnly from her skirts with trembling fingertips.
"I'm still here," Gwen insisted, laying a pale hand on his forearm, shaking it slightly. "Do you know what we should do next?"
"You'll…probably be labeled as missing, presumed dead…" He began in a dull murmur, "So we should probably leave the area…Pay our final respects to Ben maybe, and then somehow get some horses…But you need to be well enough."
"I'm perfectly fine Lawrence, I've endured devastating fevers and horseback injuries in my lifetime," Gwen assured him, reaching her good arm behind her for leverage as she rose, leaning back against the tree. "Food and water, though…"
Lawrence fidgeted sheepishly, bringing a grin to her face. "What've you done?"
He produced a flask filled with cool water, and unwrapped a partial loaf of bread. "I may have visited the nearest farm earlier this morning, once I'd changed back…I'm sure they would understand."
Her infectious smile curved his own lips, and she took a few mouthfuls of bread, sipping the water gingerly as her eyes roamed the lightening sky. "I would like to visit Ben, it will likely be a long absence, if we ever do return."
They had hit a lucky break, being able to sneak into Gwen's rented lodgings at the inn in Blackmoor to retrieve some clothing and effects before making their way to the churchyard. Gwen wore her darkest dress and a black veil left over from Ben's funeral, not altogether lying as she posed as a mourning widow at the cemetery, Lawrence standing close behind with a fedora pulled low over his eyes and a black scarf wrapped about his throat.
Gwen crouched and laid a few wildflowers she'd gathered at the foot of the mausoleum, not wanting to enter. She waited a moment, eyes reading and rereading the names inscribed on the outside of the mausoleum; Lawrence and Ben's mother, Ben, soon, the remains of their father…And perhaps, one day, Lawrence.
Suppressing a shiver, Gwen returned her gaze to the flowers she'd lain, rearranging them as tastefully as she could manage. When she rose and dusted off her gloved hands, a shred of white, flailing in the wind, caught her eye.
She quickly mounted the steps to the mausoleum door, where a piece of parchment was hastily pinned with a nail into part of the wooden frame. "Lawrence…"
Her words snapped him out of his solemn reverie, and he stepped to Gwen's side as she retrieved the paper, reading just a few words, looking as though they were scrawled quickly, the letters misshapen, as if unfamiliar to the writer. It simply read "Maleva help. Our people go to Scotland. Follow, watch moon."
A delicate brow was elevated as she read the scrap over and over, but Gwen's expression soon morphed to a quiet hopefulness. "Do you think…They'll really help us? She said there was nothing to be done before, but…"
Lawrence pulled the paper gently from her grasp, rereading it himself. "It's our only chance. Gypsies are notoriously mysterious, but they would know more than anyone about this, I think. Fancy a holiday in Scotland, m'lady?" He joked lightly, adopting a pompous accent that gave Gwen a glance at the actor, the Lawrence Talbot most knew and revered. She smiled, shivering in the cutting breeze that had arisen. "Yes, we've got to try."
She knelt at the base of the mausoleum again, pressing chilled lips against gloved fingertips in a kiss, transferring them to the frigid stone steps in a final affectionate goodbye to Ben, before backing away briskly, linking arms with Lawrence. He shouldered a heavy pack he'd put together, though it didn't seem to bother him, and led her into the lane running behind the graveyard, illuminated by light of the early dawn.
Thank you! ~xoxo Bon