I felt like doing a bit more with these characters, since they're quite interesting to write. I considered adding this onto Voices and retitling that story to collect them, but for the moment they stand well enough as separate, and relatively self-contained.
Warning note though, the incestuous subtext is a little more overt-text at this point.
As before, let me know what you think and whether you'd like to see more of these.
Brigitte wound the rubber strap around her arm, with one end gritted between her teeth, and pulled the other end through, into a loose knot. She retrieved the syringe, then placed that between her teeth and tightened the strap as much as she could.
"The people, they love her
And still they are the most cruel,"
The only sound in the room was an old radio churning out some old Fleetwood Mac like something Henry or Pamela used to listen to.
"She asked me
Be my sister, sister of the moon,"
Someone had a sick fucking sense of humour, she mused.
She felt the creaking old bed shift from beside her. Ginger was fidgeting again.
"Srght strrl." She grumbled, around the syringe.
"I can feel it, B." Ginger muttered, sounding tense.
"Uh nrrgh." She finished with the strap, confident it was tight enough, since she'd already started to lose the feeling in her arm.
The full moon was almost on them, and Ginger was getting tetchy.
She glanced sidelong at her older sister. Her hair was already showing white streaks. The tips of her ears were pointed, showing through her growing hair, and her face had begun to alter slightly…stretch. Her eyes were dark, probing, and her teeth were more pointed.
Brigitte herself didn't show as much. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was all the monkshood, maybe it was that Ginger had accepted the change more readily, and far more often, maybe it was the fact she hadn't been bitten like Ginger, maybe…
She only had ideas. Theories. Nothing solid.
She swallowed, then plunged the needle into her wrist.
"Brigitte…" Ginger crawled closer, so she was leaning against her on the bed.
"I know." Brigitte replied, as patiently as she could, trying not to look at her.
They were an odd enough pair as it was, dressed in their second hand, ill-fitting tracksuit pants and faded tops.
She pushed, and the monkshood extract flooded into her veins. She could feel it, flowing, spreading inside her. Like a kind of bitter chill, icy cold, but trapped inside her.
The pain would come soon. But she had to get Ginger ready first.
It had only been a matter of time. They'd left Ghost's house…more or less amicably. Ginger had wanted to…get creative with the younger girl. Brigitte had settled for some well-chosen, salty language, a few threats, and then locked the troubled teen in her bedroom before calling the cops.
Then she and Ginger had 'borrowed' some clothes and beat it as fast as their legs would carry them.
Which found them here, sharing what could have been one of any of the dreary motel rooms Brigitte had bounced to and from in the last few years.
"I'd have killed her, B."
"I know." Brigitte replied.
Taking the rubber strap from her arm and rolled down the sleeve of her top. She turned to face her sister, pulling her legs up and crossed them, mirroring Ginger's position. Then she extended a hand. Ginger hesitantly proffered her right arm, allowing Brigitte to tightly apply the tourniquet.
"She deserved it." Ginger pressed.
"I won't kill anybody." Brigitte replied, finishing the knot.
"I c-" Ginger began.
"No. No more. Or this…" Brigitte stared hard at her sister, through strands of her hair that had fallen across her face. "…this is over. Is that understood?"
Ginger held her gaze for a moment, then looked away.
Ginger was trying to distract herself, Brigitte could tell. She just wished her sister could have picked a topic that wasn't murder to talk about. What happened in Ghost's house was still too fresh, like an open wound.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"You lied to me! You betrayed me! You wanted me to kill for you!" Brigitte snarled, pinning Ghost up against the wall. "Like some kind of mindless animal!"
"Finish her, B." Ginger sneered, leaning over her shoulder.
"I'm sorry!" Ghost wailed again, eyes wide.
"Tyler was a piece of shit, he fucking deserved to die for a lot of things, but not for you, not like that!" Brigitte leaned close, glaring. "I let him die, me." She spat through gritted teeth.
"We were supposed to be together, make the world pay for what it did to us!" Ghost tried to bury herself further back into the wall.
"Let me have a few minutes with her." Ginger tried to push forward.
Ghost was shaking like mad, eyes flitting between the two sisters as if trying to work out which she was more afraid of. Ginger let out something like a growl and tried to push between them again. Brigitte wrestled with her fury and her reason.
Brigitte snarled, grabbing Ghost by the collar and swung her bodily across the hall, dragging her through the house and up the stairs. She ignored Ghost's fearful blabbering, and Gingers goading and egging her on.
Brigitte threw open the door to what she recalled as Ghost's room and all-but hurled the frightened girl inside. Ghost scrabbled backwards, towards her bed, facing the door. She looked hesitantly up at Brigitte.
"I'm sorry."
"I won't kill for you." Brigitte said, quietly. Already she felt drained. "I won't kill for anybody." She shot Ginger a look too, as her sister caught up.
Ginger looked back, troubled.
"Are you listening?" Ginger poked her forehead. "Don't leave me hanging now." She laughed, nervously.
"Sorry." Brigitte frowned, trying to focus.
She picked up a second syringe and took Ginger's arm into her hands. The monkshood was already beginning to have an effect, she could feel it under her skin, washing through her body.
It probably hadn't helped that she'd upped the dose. But knowing what she knew now, about the full moon, it made sense. It meant she had a different way to think about how everything worked. She could try to prepare more for the worst nights. Toy with the dosages, concentrate the monkshood extract, or use more of it.
And knowing that for most of the month the change came slower, she could try and pace the dosages differently. Maybe use less of it. She'd have to restart her records on her healing process. Rethink it for the new timeline.
"This is going to hurt, isn't it." Ginger whispered, as Brigitte held the needlepoint over her skin. "You're using more than you did before."
"Yeah." Brigitte replied.
Ever since their break, Brigitte had worked hard to get themselves set up. She'd found work at a local diner. Paid cash in hand, always useful. Found the motel room. Bought the gear for extracting and making the monkshood doses. It had taken a few weeks, longer than she'd have liked, knowing how fast time was slipping away.
She'd dosed herself and Ginger twice a week for the past two weeks, not sure yet about how little they could get away with, and preferring to play it safe. She needed more time to work things out.
Ginger had found it hard. She'd never taken the monkshood. It wasn't a cure. And calling it treatment was a stretch. It was a poison. There'd been some shouting, yelling.
Tonight was going to be worse.
Brigitte knew she could get through it. Three years of painful, crushing loneliness and inner-torment backed her up on this. But Ginger…
"Hold still." Brigitte instructed, then pushed the needle in.
It wasn't that Ginger was weak, but she'd given herself over to the curse for so long. Brigitte couldn't be sure, there was nothing exact about this as a science, but something told her that she was going to have to carry them both tonight.
Ginger squirmed as the monkshood flooded into her system. She didn't have it in her to tell her sister she'd actually increased the dose for them tonight, more than she'd said she would.
"You're too good with this." Ginger winced, glancing at her.
"Had to be." Brigitte shrugged, gathering up all the equipment and storing it away in a battered old case she'd scavenged. "No room for mistakes."
"Gathered that, B, considering what you've done with the door."
Brigitte half-turned to the door of their room, which she'd blocked with nearly every bit of furniture that wasn't nailed down. Just in case.
"Couldn't hurt." She shrugged again, meeting Ginger's eyes.
At least this dump didn't even have any windows. Being able to stare up at a full moon after utterly failing to notice its regular significance after three years would have been one twist of the knife too far.
Brigitte was beginning to feel the first twinges of pain now, sparking up, little spikes of it here and there around her body, but she tried not to let it show.
"I was so stupid." She said, suddenly, still thinking about the full moon. "It was obvious."
"Werewolves, full moons, silver bullets…come on, B." Ginger tilted her head, sympathetically. "It's all just stories, how were you supposed to know which ones were real and which ones were bullshit?"
"Should've checked. I recorded everything else. Dose strengths, effectiveness, how fast wounds healed, physical changes…" She shuddered involuntarily, remembering the lengths she'd gone in the rehab clinic.
"So, this is it?" Ginger asked, after a moment. "This was your life, this is all we have to look forward to?"
"Don't you think it's enough to deal with, for now?" Brigitte snapped. Her body tensed as her gut suddenly felt like it had been hit with a truck.
"Brigitte?" Ginger reached out to touch her shoulder.
"I'm fine." Brigitte pushed herself off the bed. "It's just starting." She tried not to double over as she crossed to a table on the other side of the room, with a couple of bags sat on it.
She rummaged around in one and pulled out a couple of wooden rods. Looked like rungs from the back of an old chair or something. She tossed one to Ginger, who looked at her questioningly.
"You bit through the toothbrush last time." Brigitte replied, making her way slowly back to the bed. The pain was spreading. "Got something…sturdier." She groaned.
Ginger suddenly looked even less optimistic.
Brigitte eased herself onto the bed and laid down on her back. Beside her, Ginger did the same. She could feel her sister watching her. She could tell Ginger was starting to feel the monkshood working its way through her system too.
Little tells. A wince. A flinch. Brow furrowed slightly as she struggled not to let Brigitte see she was in pain.
"It's going to hurt, Ginger." She said.
"I'm not sure about this anymore."
Brigitte rolled onto her side, facing her sister. Ginger did the same. Face to face. Close enough to hear each other's breathing, to feel it.
Ginger hadn't seemed ever seemed sure about this, to Brigitte. But she'd committed to try, and that was enough for now.
They'd both walked two very different roads for the past three years, they were both different people, but Brigitte had a chance to get her sister back, and didn't want to lose her again. It was still hard grappling with the fact that she hadn't killed her.
All that pain, that grief. The gut-wrenching agony, crushing depression, the anger and guilt. The loneliness, the sense of isolation…
The fact Ginger was here, in front of her, that she could touch her, really speak to her…it didn't make those scars just go away.
"You're looking at me like that again."
"Like what?" Brigitte asked.
"Like I'm not here." Ginger replied. Her face scrunched up momentarily, the monkshood again. "Talk to me, B."
"What about?" Brigitte replied, inwardly grateful for the change of topic.
"Tell me what I was like, your own personal 'Ginger', was I really so bad?" Her sister asked, grinning weakly. "What did your imagination see me up to?"
Brigitte wrapped her arms around herself and found herself curling up as the poison worked through her.
She couldn't decide if this was a worse topic than the last. Ginger was looking at her expectantly, though, she clearly wanted something to occupy her mind.
What should she say? The image of what she thought of as her long-dead sister had become her personal demon? The face of the werewolf, clawing and biting at her heels, demanding she let go, let the curse take hold, let Brigitte…slip away?
Or even how her Ginger had taunted her, preyed on her, fuelled and acted as an outlet for her pent-up aggression, sexual frustrations? What had happened at the clinic, during that group exercise session, when she'd…relieved some tension…well, it wasn't the first time.
Brigitte went for broke.
"Tormentor. Accuser. Nnrrghh." She groaned. "Se…seducer. Always at my shoulder, at my weakest, most desperate." Her breath hitched as her blood felt as if it was suddenly afire.
"Don't hold back or nothin', why don't you tell me how you…really…f-fee…fuck, B, what the hell have you done to us?" Ginger growled, tensing all over and curling up too.
"Means…its…working." Brigitte muttered through gritted teeth. "Your turn. Was it you, or…nnggh…Jason, who attacked the clinic?" Her eyes found Ginger's.
"Jason." Ginger replied, holding her gaze.
"The motel?"
Ginger fidgeted, uncomfortably.
"Me." She replied, eventually.
"You said before about…what you…it wanted with me." Brigitte asked, tentatively.
"My turn." Ginger smirked, seeing Brigitte's expression, but it quickly turned into pained look and she gasped, her body starting to shake. "Brigitte!"
"Hold on, Ginger." Brigitte reached out toward her sister, edging closer. The space between them disappearing.
"Fuck, Brigitte!" Ginger's face took on an agonised twist and she hunched up fully, curling into a ball.
Brigitte was in agony too, but she fought harder not to show it. It felt like every limb, every cell of her body, every fibre of her being was trying to pull itself apart.
She managed to find Ginger's hands, gripping them in her own.
"Look at me." She said, trying to get Ginger's attention.
"Jesus fucking-" Ginger swore, loudly, but creased up as another wave of pain seemed to rack her body.
"Look at me." Brigitte snapped, again. She picked up the wooden rod. "Bite this."
Her sister took it between her teeth, which were looking more like fangs. Brigitte wasn't feeling too good herself, but she had to keep it together. If she went to pieces, she was worried Ginger would follow suit.
"Just keep looking at me." Brigitte repeated, adamantly. "You can…do this." She tensed as her body started to shake, too.
Brigitte couldn't handle it anymore, and chewed down hard on her own wooden bit. You could prepare, try and mentally ready yourself for it, but you never just 'got used' to it. It hurt. It always hurt.
Ginger was breathing heavily, her chest was heaving. Brigitte found her thoughts straying.
She ground her teeth into the wood, trying to think of anything else. When it was just her, alone, it didn't matter. She could rage, cry, rant, weep, rail at the unfairness of it all, but Ginger was back now. And her sister was already further gone than Brigitte.
If she couldn't ride it out tonight, Brigitte was scared she wouldn't try again.
"Rrrrggghhh." Ginger growled. Her eyes momentarily flashed yellow.
Brigitte tried to focus through the pain. She spat out the wooden bit.
"Don't you fucking dare, Ginger." She hissed.
Her hands were hot and sweaty where she was holding Ginger's so tightly, but she squeezed them again, trying to keep her sister's attention.
"Brhhgte." She moaned.
"Hold on. With me." Brigitte insisted.
Brigitte wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere, every instinct was pulling her away. Hide. Wait it out. Scream. Ride it out.
She could do it alone. She'd done it alone. She'd been alone.
There was the sound of splintering wood. Brigitte looked up as Ginger chewed clean through the rod.
"B…" She whimpered, eyes imploring her to do something. "I…nngghh…can't…"
Brigitte panicked. She opened her mouth, but had no idea what to say, or do.
Ginger's hands were shaking so hard. Her nails were stretching, lengthening, they were digging into Brigitte's skin. She was bleeding, but she could barely feel it.
It was like before. It was like losing her all over again. Her mind drew a blank. Her heart was pounding, whether mostly from fear or the monkshood coursing through her veins, she wasn't sure.
"Ginger." She managed, helplessly.
Ginger looked back at her, the internal conflict plainly visible on her face. Her sister was literally being torn in two. She had to do…something.
Brigitte swallowed, her throat dry as a bone.
Then she leaned forward, closing the space between them and pressed her lips hard against Ginger's.
She tasted cold, and fear, and bitter dryness.
A thought struggled its way through the confusing mess of fear, guilt, anger and frustration she was wrestling with.
What the fuck was she doing.
She pulled back, abruptly.
The first thing she noticed was that Ginger's eyes were the right colour, her colour.
The second was that Ginger had calmed, somehow. Settled. She was looking at her with a somewhat dazed expression, peaceful, almost. Still panting heavily, out of breath, but calmer. Her grip on Brigitte's hands wasn't even piercing her skin now.
"…Ginger?" Brigitte managed, hesitantly.
Ginger, either disinclined or unable, Brigitte couldn't say, didn't reply. She held her gaze for a moment longer, then closed her eyes and exhaled, long and drawn out. Her head fell forward, and her hands went limp.
For a brief second, Brigitte was terrified she'd killed her for a third time.
Then Ginger started snoring.
Brigitte flopped back on the bed, releasing all the stress, panic, tension and fear in one enormous rush of air.
She still ached all over, but the worst of the pain had passed, the monkshood extract disseminating into her bloodstream and stifling the change for another month. At least.
Another month to work things out. Tinker with the doses. Start recording the effects of the curse again. Work to do. Things to focus on.
She glanced sideways at her unconscious sister. Her hair, spread messily across her face, was starting to shift back to its normal colour too.
She felt something she hadn't in a long time. She was proud of her sister.
Conflicting emotions swirled around inside her, like a building storm, clashing images of her sister. Who she used to be, what she became, what she might be now, or in the future. Her closest friend, a monster, a killer, a nightmare that had plagued her fragile sanity, day and night for three years, or the one she loved more than anything in the world.
She'd done it. They'd done it.
Somehow.
Her stomach churned.
"Shit." Brigitte groaned, clutching her gut.
She rolled off the bed unsteadily and ambled on shaky legs to the bathroom. Flinging open the door and slamming it shut behind her she half-fell onto the toilet and threw up.
There were a few stray hairs on the back of her hands, she noted as she pulled back, but they looked to be dropping off, if the dark hairs scattered around were any clue.
Brigitte slid back against the wall, gingerly. She actually felt a little better.
Well, she felt weak, hollow, fragile as glass and brittle as old bone…but comparatively speaking…
And at least she wouldn't have to talk to Ginger about that kiss thing for a while. Maybe she would even forget. Write it off as delusion.
Maybe.
Things had definitely changed between them. She thought things about Ginger, felt things that a sister probably shouldn't. But she'd thought Ginger was dead. Her ghost a cobbled-together nightmare of her fears and worries, guilt and anger, with her sister's face and shades of her personality. Her sister had been dead, to her.
Like that made it any better, really.
Brigitte felt tense. Pent-up.
She glanced guiltily at the door of the bathroom. Ginger was sleeping out there.
Her hand found its way down the front of her pants, into her underwear, and she started to play with herself. Working herself up. She bit her lip, keeping one eye nervously on the door, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps as she went on.
She closed her eyes and pressed herself hard against the wall.
Her imagination conjured up images of Ginger, lying beside her. Or standing with her. Pressing up against her. Sometimes she looked normal. Sometimes her hair was streaked white, her eyes lupine, intense and dark.
She was so fucked up.
She gasped, louder than she'd meant to and bit down on her free hand.
Ginger was taking her hand. Ginger was watching her masturbate. Ginger was touching her face, softly. Ginger was…
"Nnnnggghhh." She groaned, biting down on her hand again, as she finished.
Brigitte knocked her head back against the wall several times, trying to clear her head.
She was so, so fucked up.
Brigitte haphazardly made her way to the sink to clean up, hesitantly meeting her reflection in the mirror.
She'd never much liked what they'd shown her in the past, which mostly involved her own face. And more recently the still-troubling images of wolf-like, long ears, or pointed fangs, dark, animalistic eyes…
Right now the face looking back was pale, sickly. Shadowy, sunken, tired eyes. Half obscured by tangled, matted strands of long dark hair.
She wanted a shower, but she was exhausted. She didn't know what the time even was now. Carefully, she slipped out of the bathroom and awkwardly dropped onto the bed beside her sister, but keeping a very definite space between them.
She lay there, listening to the sound of Ginger's steady breathing, trying not to linger on what she'd just done.
Trying to think about her sister as her sister, like before. Before everything. Before Ghost, before the clinic, before struggling against the curse, before killing Ginger, before Sam and Jason and the Beast of Bailey Downs.
The last time her life had made any bit of sense.
Brigitte glanced out of the corner of her eye at Ginger sleeping, quietly.
And she couldn't.
She sighed, staring up at the filthy ceiling.
Maybe she could just ride this out too.
But probably not.