I know some people like songs to go with their fics, so for the ending of this one I'd recommend its namesake, Take It All Away by Red. Stirring stuff.
And yeah, we're pretty firmly in the run up to the finale now.
"The Indians say the curse began in the time of the Ancients and was passed down through the blood of generations."
Brigitte couldn't move. She couldn't see, or touch, or smell. It was dark, everywhere. There was only the voice.
"There are legends of the Wendigo and the coming of the Red and the Black. Legends of the Day of Reckoning, when Death would consume the land, and good would face evil; of the day the curse would be broken forever - or grow stronger, and live on to plague generations to come."
No, it was more than that. It was her voice. Hers.
Admittedly a bit more certain, less frail than hers had sounded lately. But it was her voice. Unmistakably.
"But ours was a story of survival; of two sisters bound by blood."
Two figures appeared in the dark, wearing black. Standing close together, holding hands. Their faces pale and stern. Red hair and black.
Their clothes were old, very old. The style of their hair too, reminded her of things she'd seen in books, or on TV, in a few dramas, or documentaries.
She was dreaming. That much seemed obvious, she supposed. But it was…different. There was a clarity, a sense of self she'd never felt or remembered having during dreams…or nightmares, before.
The two figures came closer. It was…her. Brigitte. And Ginger. But…not.
Brigitte stepped slightly forward, without letting go of her sister. Their eyes met.
"A bond that would not be broken. That was our promise above all: above men, above God, above Fate."
The voice, her voice continued. Though the other Brigitte made no movement, no sound.
She couldn't believe this. Ginger was right about…well…some of it. The dreams. The two of them. It seemed impossible.
Even on top of lycanthropy, werewolves, full moons…
But unless Ginger was getting to her even more than usual, the odds of sharing this…dream or whatever were…
Brigitte was suddenly in front of her. She flinched at the intensity of her mirror-self's stare.
"It was in our blood: together forever."
The other Brigitte smiled sadly, turning back to her Ginger.
Brigitte watched them share a look, and felt something had passed between them. Something she thought she recognised, she'd seen it before.
It was the way she looked at Ginger, sometimes. And maybe even the way Ginger looked at her.
The other Ginger glanced past her Brigitte, toward herself.
"Wake up."
Brigitte frowned. Tried to talk. But no sound came out.
"Wake up." Ginger's voice again, but louder.
It was all well and good just saying that, but-
"WAKE U-
…
"-p, Brigitte, c'mon!"
She lashed out on instinct, but Ginger caught her arms firmly. She was straddling her, trying to hold her down.
"What the fuck." Brigitte gasped, blinking and looking around frantically, as things came into focus.
Namely, the dump they called home.
"Chill out B, it's me."
"Isn't that bad enough?" She groaned, pulling her hands free and clutching her head. It was pounding.
"Screw you." Ginger scoffed, sliding off of her and sitting beside her. "Seriously though, I was getting worried."
"Why, it's only been like, a few hours, right?" Brigitte grunted, trying to sit up. She felt totally drained, sapped of everything. And she was hungry as hell.
Felt like most of whatever shit she'd been smoking, eating and jabbing herself with was still floating around in her system, but she could think clearer than she had for weeks.
Ginger winced briefly, then tried to cover it up.
Brigitte scowled.
"Okay, Ginger." She swallowed. "How long has it really been?"
"Few days." Ginger replied.
"Shit." Brigitte muttered.
"I've been trying to keep you fed, you've been kinda…delirious. Kept saying my name." She frowned slightly. "…and yours."
Brigitte wondered whether she should mention that she might have shared one of Ginger's dreams…visions…whatever. She hadn't been taking the monkshood lately, and they were close to the full moon. Ginger had said that was when she seemed most prone to getting them.
How many days was a few days anyway? She didn't want to know.
"It's tomorrow, B."
"Shit." She struggled up. The covers fell away. It barely registered that she was half-dressed.
"Stay down." Ginger pushed her back, carefully as she could.
"There isn't time for this!" Brigitte argued. "I need to get the monkshood shots ready, and then we need to pack what we can and get moving."
"…that's…going to be tricky."
Brigitte slumped back, exhaling slowly.
"Okay, what now."
"I've seen Mike and some of the guys we saw him with prowling around, looking for you I think." Ginger explained.
"Alright, well-"
"Been a few cops around too. Cars driving about."
"Shit."
Ginger bit her lip.
Brigitte had a bad feeling. But she had to ask.
"What else?"
"Something attacked Hoskins' place last night." Ginger grimaced. "McCardy, probably."
"Is he-" Brigitte started.
"He wasn't in." Ginger shrugged. "Lucky for him."
"It was me. Jason was looking for me." Brigitte moaned, quietly. "We really, really need to get the fuck out of town."
"Any suggestions?"
"Nope."
"How much do you trust that old hag who owns this place not to sell us out as soon as someone asks, or flashes five bucks?" Ginger asked, sarcastically.
"We might be screwed." Something else tugged at her memory. "What happened to Ghost?"
"Oh, she's gone." Ginger smiled.
"…gone." Brigitte glowered.
"I didn't do anything, B, I swear." Her sister whined.
"Nothing?" Brigitte shot her a look.
Ginger huffed, rolling her eyes.
"I punched her in the face and left with you, alright?"
That sounded more like Ginger.
"Okay, I still feel like I'm made of broken glass. I need your help." Brigitte grumbled. "We need the…monkshood before we go, or we're fucked."
"B, if we inject that shit we won't be going anywhere."
"Not we, you." Brigitte replied, slowly.
This wasn't going to be easy.
"What?" Ginger asked, in disbelief.
"I survived three years doing this shit…entirely wrong." Brigitte grinned, sitting up again, then winced when her body rebelled. "I have to make sure you're okay."
"B, you look fucking dead."
"I've looked worse, trust me." Brigitte replied, trying to grin.
She'd meant it as partly a joke, but Ginger gave her this…look, and she regretted saying it.
She had looked worse. She'd been through worse, when she was on her own. There weren't exactly any rules or guides to this being a werewolf thing. She'd learned things the hard way. And it was all the hard way, all the time.
"It's not been a walk in the park for me either, y'know." Ginger shuffled back against the headboard, looking down at her.
"I know." Brigitte replied, looking up and meeting her gaze.
Ginger leaned closer, sliding her arm behind Brigitte's head and began toying with strands of her hair.
For a moment, Brigitte saw something in her sister's face. An echo…or a flash or something…from her dream. The way the Ginger in her dream had looked at the other Brigitte. She thought about telling Ginger about the dream again.
"Ginger," She started, unsure how to explain. ", I had this d-"
There was the sound of a car screeching to a halt outside. Ginger rolled hurriedly off the bed and rushed to the door.
Brigitte tried to pull herself upright again while Ginger opened the door slightly, peering outside. Brigitte couldn't see past her sister, to her frustration.
"What is it?" She asked.
"Nothing." Ginger replied, shaking her head and closing the door. "Just some drunk pricks. I'll get the monkshood."
Ginger grabbed the beaten case from the desk and dropped it on the bed in front of Brigitte. Brigitte opened it and picked up a syringe and one of the bigger vials, tipping it onto the needle and filling it. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Ginger fidgeting. She seemed distracted.
"What's up?" She asked, trying not to sound overly suspicious.
"Where d'you wanna start, B?" Ginger scoffed, pacing back and forth.
"Sit down." Brigitte ordered, watching her with one eye while she finished with the syringe.
Ginger sat down.
Maybe it was because she'd known Ginger all her life, maybe it was some…offshoot of the infection, but despite sitting still, Ginger still looked distractingly…mobile. She was tense. Her eyes flitted about the room. She looked poised to jump at any moment.
"Give me your arm." Brigitte held out her hand. "And would you try and relax for a minute."
"Sorry." Ginger replied, quickly. "I just…want this over with." She looked at the door briefly.
Brigitte poised the syringe over her sister's wrist and eased it in, then pressed. The monkshood extract flooded into her bloodstream. Ginger grimaced.
"It's Christmas soon. Can't remember the last time I…we…did anything for it."
"Four years ago. We got in trouble for setting fire to that tree at school." Brigitte recalled. "We were trying to take the holiday back to its pagan roots…or something."
"Oh yeah." Ginger chuckled. "That fuckin' rocke-…ow." She gripped her arm, suddenly.
"Feeling okay?" Brigitte asked.
"Just the monkshood, I guess. I'll get our shit together." Ginger said, pulling her arm away and getting up suddenly. "You just worry about getting dressed."
"I'm not an invalid, Ginge." Brigitte frowned slightly, but Ginger ignored her.
Brigitte shrugged off the covers, reaching for the jeans left on the side of the bed and awkwardly, pulled them on, then grabbed her trainers and tugged them on too. Her body ached and tensed in protest at her movements, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to her feet.
As she picked up and pulled on the black hoodie Ginger had left out for her, she noticed the case with the monkshood left out and started to clear it up. She then noticed one of the needles was missing.
"Ginger?" She started, turning to face her sister.
"Sorry, Brigitte." Ginger was suddenly in front of her. "Don't scream."
"Wha-mmmpph?" She mumbled as Ginger pressed her hand over her mouth and pushed her back into the wall. Her other arm brought up the missing needle and she quickly jabbed it into her arm. "FFFMMPPH." Brigitte swore, loudly.
She shoved Ginger backward, about to swear again, when her arm went completely numb.
"What the…" She managed, haltingly.
Then her body began to sort of…tingle all over. And her legs started to wobble.
"What did…you do?" She muttered, glaring at Ginger.
Her head started to spin. She started to fall over, but before she could, Ginger caught her.
"It's a sedative. Not…entirely sure what, I'll admit. Wasn't much for science, B." Ginger smiled weakly, carefully setting her down on the floor. "Mixed it in with one of the monkshood vials. Prepped it while you were out of it."
"Ginger…" She grabbed her wrist, struggling against whatever her sister had doped her with.
"Mike's crew're outside. There wasn't time." Ginger took her flailing hands. "They'll be here in a minute."
"Ginger!" She cried, but her arms fell as limp as the rest of her.
Her sister pulled a roll of tape from somewhere and tore the end, then started winding it around her wrists.
Brigitte couldn't even move anyway. But she could feel the monkshood working its way through her veins too, even diluted by the sedative. She wanted to sleep, her brain, her body wanted her to go to sleep.
Brigitte wanted to stay awake.
Ginger's hand caressed her cheek, but she couldn't feel it. She looked worried.
There was a knock at the door.
Ginger pulled up a blanket and made her as comfortable as she could, gently pushing her beneath the low, aging bed. Her sister laid beside her for a moment. Ginger looked like she was in a lot of pain, her own dose of monkshood going to work.
Brigitte couldn't even speak. The muscles in her mouth wouldn't work.
"I know you still don't really trust me, B." Ginger whispered. "I can't bring Sam back. I can't take back that I…tried to kill you that night. But I can save you now."
That look again. The one from her dream.
"Ginger." She mumbled, practically unable to form any other words.
"I trust you, B." Ginger said, softly. "Together forever."
Brigitte could only stare at her angrily, conflicted, imploringly. She had to stop this.
Ginger gripped her bound hands.
"Love you, Brigitte."
She leaned forward, kissing her on the forehead.
Brigitte watched as she pulled back, frowned slightly and leaned forward again, this time pressing her lips against hers.
Another knock at the door.
Ginger rolled out from under the bed and threw down the covers, obscuring most of her view.
"Alright you fuckers…" She heard Ginger mutter under her breath.
She could only see Ginger's shoes, but she saw her sister put herself behind the door.
The room fell silent. Brigitte could just make out voices outside. Arguing.
Her eyes were so heavy. She couldn't let herself sleep.
The door shook, violently, as someone rammed into it. It shook again, and again, then stopped.
More hushed arguing outside.
Something rattled and scraped in the lock. It clicked.
Brigitte bit down on her tongue as hard as she could. She didn't have much muscle control, but the dull pain was just enough to keep…her…awake.
The door swung inward, letting in a rush of cool air. A group entered.
There was a dull thud, followed by a cry of pain.
"Fuck!" Someone yelled.
A series of grunts, curses, and the sounds of a confusing fight followed.
"Get the bat!"
"Look out, she has a cha-"
The smash of splintering wood.
"One of you idiots grab her!" Mike's voice.
"Try it, kids." Ginger laughed.
The brawl moved across the room. Somebody started to cry out, but was cut off suddenly, and then Brigitte heard the desk smash, as if someone had been thrown bodily into it.
"For fucks sake." Mike groaned.
Then a new sound. A series of clicks. Metallic. Brigitte's blood froze.
The fighting stopped.
"That's cheating." She heard Ginger mutter.
"Where's your wreck of a sister?" Mike snapped. "The bitch owes me. Big."
"I don't know." Ginger replied, casually. "How's your dick?"
"Where the fuck is Brigitte?" Mike growled.
"She didn't come back." Ginger replied, sounding disinterested.
"Fuck this, get her in the van and let's go."
"..uh…Mike? Haven't you seen the news? The cops are looking for her, and her sister." One of the others argued. "They're those girls that went missing a few years ago."
"I don't fucking care!" Mike yelled. "These fucking wasters owe me, and I'm going to collect."
"You're gonna drag the cops down on us!"
"If it bothers you so much then fuck off!" Mike roared.
There was some muttering, and Brigitte saw a few pairs of shoes walk out the door.
"Now get her in the fucking van and let's move." Mike ordered.
"No need to push." Ginger complained.
"Shut up." Mike hissed.
"Hey, Mike?"
They were all nearly out the door, from what Brigitte could tell.
"Wha-yyaarrghhh!" He screeched suddenly.
There was another brief scuffle, followed by Ginger laughing as they left.
Suddenly, Brigitte could smell it. More than that, she could…could almost taste it. In the air.
Blood.
"The bitch fucking bit me!" Mike whined, as the door slammed shut behind him.
She heard the van screech away, outside.
Brigitte frowned.
She had to move.
She had to go after them.
She had to find Ginger.
The blood was still in the air, thin, fading. She fixated on it, latched onto it with every sense she had like an anchor.
It took every ounce of her focus, but she managed to crawl out, painstakingly slowly, from under the bed.
There was the knife, in the bathroom. She needed it.
The smell, taste of the blood was fading quickly, but it was enough to cut through the dull weight of the sedative. She needed more though.
"I can give you what you want, B."
Ginger stood over her, looking unimpressed. She looked more sexually charged each time she appeared. This time she was downright..
Brigitte focused on the blood. This was all she fucking needed, right now.
Brigitte dragged herself across the floor, noting the ruin of their room. Broken chair, smashed desk, dents in the walls.
They didn't know Ginger like she did.
"Let me win this one time, I'll fuck up every one of them. I'll ruin every last person who ever screwed you over, B. You know I can."
I know, Brigitte thought. That was the problem.
She grabbed onto the doorframe of the bathroom and, against every protest of her body, pulled herself unsteadily to her feet. She lurched forward, grabbing onto the sink and using it to hold herself up.
"You can fight the monkshood. It wasn't strong enough anyway." Ginger sniggered, from behind her. "She got it wrong."
Brigitte forced herself to look into the mirror. Ginger was at her shoulder, grinning.
Her body felt wrong. Like having pins and needles everywhere. But her hallucination was right.
Ginger hadn't used enough monkshood. Or maybe the sedative had muted its effect, or…
Her jaw wasn't quite the same shape. And her ears poked through her tumbling, messy hair. Her eyes were darker, more orb-like.
She could inject herself again, but…
"You need me, Brigitte." Ginger leaned closer, resting her head on her shoulder. "If you want to save her, you need me."
Brigitte glared at her reflection. At the fake Ginger.
She fumbled for the drawer, and pulled out the knife, awkwardly using it to hack the tape from her wrists.
Her heart was thumping in her chest as she gripped the knife tightly in her hand, lowering it over her right arm. She turned on the taps.
Blood could pull her out of this drugged stupor. Blood would also feed the beast. But she needed it. To save her sister, she needed the thing, the curse, the infection which had ruined whatever life she might have had.
Dimly she wondered whether Ginger had known exactly what she was doing. The sedative, the diluted monkshood, keeping her out of Mike's way…
"I trust you, B. Together forever."
Brigitte gripped the knife so hard her knuckles were white.
She needed it to salvage whatever life she might still have a chance at, with Ginger.
"Together forever." She whispered.
"You can't control this, B." Ginger whispered into her ear. "But you need me."
Brigitte glared at Ginger again.
"You need me too." She spat, through gritted teeth, and sliced into her arm.
It was like taking a cold shower. She could smell it, taste it. God, she hungered for it.
"More." Ginger shivered, sliding her arms around her shoulders.
She cut in again. Blood poured down her arm. The pain made her…feel…
"…alive?" Ginger smirked, hugging her from behind now. "More, go on."
Brigitte stopped.
She grabbed the sink again, feeling lightheaded.
"I can't let go." She said, slowly, measured.
"No, you can't control this! You can't control me!" Ginger snarled, stepping back.
"I can't. But I can use you. I need…parts of you." She looked at her hand. Her skin had darkened, felt coarser. And her nails had grown into claws.
She swallowed, fighting down the urge to vomit and eat the nearest edible object at the same time. The smell of the blood was…overpowering. But it was…working.
"You can't walk that line." Ginger laughed, cruelly. "You're not strong enough. One misstep and you're gone, Brigitte. One fuck up and you're mine again. And this time, we're not locked in some loony girl's cellar."
"Watch me." Brigitte glowered, tightening her grip on the sink.
"I'm going to enjoy this, B." Ginger smirked. "I'm going to enjoy you."
Brigitte gritted her teeth. The taste of it, it was in the air. She snarled, involuntarily and lurched forward. When she looked up at the mirror again her eyes were fully dark and her teeth had grown into fangs.
"Fffffrrrrkkk." She groaned, feeling like she was being torn in two.
The sink shattered in her hands, scattering water and ceramic shards all over the floor. She stumbled back into the wall, flailing for purchase.
"You can do-" Ginger was in her face, screaming.
"Fuck off!" Brigitte shouted.
She lashed out at Ginger, but she wasn't there. She wound up putting her fist through the mirror.
Brigitte panted heavily, uncurling her bloodied hand and flexing it. Water continued to drain onto the floor, mingling with her blood.
Ginger, or whatever part of her, or the beast that wore her sister's face, was gone.
The shattered mirror showed her a hundred part-reflections of a face she didn't recognise, but felt she knew. Part Brigitte, part…something else. Something animal.
She felt strong. She felt powerful. She felt energised.
She felt hungry.
Brigitte left the bathroom and grabbed her rucksack. She threw all the monkshood extract she still had prepared into it, along with a few other things she knew they'd need. She grabbed a light jacket and yanked it on, then pulled her hood up, hoping it'd mask her face a bit.
"What the hell have you done to my motel?!"
Brigitte spun around. Mrs Gleden stood in the doorway, torn between shock and fury.
"You?" Mrs Gleden balked. "But I thought-…I…I…" She trailed off, really seeing Brigitte for the first time, her face twisted in alarm.
"You thought Mike had taken care of both of us?" Brigitte snarled, baring her teeth.
"What…what are you?!" The older woman gasped, stepping backward.
Brigitte was faster. She closed the gap, pushing the woman into a wall and leaning close. Close enough to smell her fear, hear her pulse…shit, she could almost taste her already…
"I should fucking kill you." Brigitte growled, through gritted teeth.
Her blood felt hot, her heartbeat quickened at the thought. She was so…hungry…
"P-please…" Mrs Gleden moaned.
Brigitte breathed in, and out slowly, quashing the yearning, the desire to tear the woman to fucking pieces, as best she could. She grabbed Mrs Gleden around the throat and squeezed.
"I don't know where you've been." Brigitte hissed, then threw the woman easily aside.
She tumbled into the ruin of the desk with a cry and lay there, wide-eyed, too afraid to move.
Hefting the rucksack over her shoulder, she headed for the door, leaving their wrecked room behind.
Brigitte was going back for Ginger, and then they were going to get out of town, together.
But first she had a few stops to make.