Chapter 11:

FINDING PURPOSE

June stood at Brigitte's door. Ginger, no longer behind her, was apparently already inside. June knocked.

There was no answer.

"Brigitte?"

"Go away," said a low, rasping voice from within. June could hardly recognize it as Brigitte's.

With a swirl of dizziness, Ginger appeared next to her.

"I was calling you!" Ginger screamed. "Didn't you hear me?" June shook her head.

Ginger continued, "She needs help now! Go in."

June opened the door. Light glaring in from the window dazzled her. Brigitte slouched forward on the near side of the bed with her tangled, wild hair totally hiding her face. Her hands dangled between her thighs near the floor. Something was under her feet. June closed the door before the girls in the hall could see Brigitte. The confusing sensory storm June always experienced with Brigitte impaired her from adjusting to the glare.

"I told you to go away," said Brigitte, her voice sobbing.

"Bee, I told her to come in," said Ginger. "You need help."

Brigitte looked up; June could not see her eyes, but just empty black holes. "Fucking too many people trying to be fucking helpful!" Brigitte said, bitterly.

June's eyes adjusted. She began to discern, to her horror and nausea, that Brigitte was naked and was covered in blood. It also covered her bed, and at her feet, her gown and robe lay drenched in a pool of it.

June's mind began to race. Oh n . . .

Before June could finish that thought, Brigitte moved with unreal speed, grabbed her by the wrist and pinned her to the wall. Brigitte's body was pressed against her. June's hands tingled from the pressure on her wrists; she saw Brigitte was drooling blood as well, and had bloodshot, desperately tearful eyes, which to June's relief were still quite human and held no hostility toward her, only confusion and terror. The sensory storm almost overwhelmed June at this intimate range, and tuneless, arrhythmic music continued in June's head. confusing her even more. Worse, Brigitte's body exuded an odor that horrified June. Not a stench, no, quite the opposite. It took everything June had just to keep from becoming unhinged.

"You were going to run and tell them! You can't do that!" croaked Brigitte, almost hysterically.

"Don't hurt her, Bee!" cried Ginger, helplessly.

June now gazed at deep gash marks, partially healed, on Brigitte's right breast and more across her abdomen. It's all Brigitte's blood! With relief, she knew Brigitte had at least not hurt anybody else and was no longer bleeding. June's terror lessened as she began to feel pity.

"Maybe I was for a second," whispered June. "But I won't now, I promise you, Brigitte. Please, let me go, you're hurting me."

As the grip on June's wrists began to loosen, she could see that Brigitte's body had a thin coat of inhuman hair; it was growing everywhere on her, except her face, top of her neck, hands and breasts. The hairs were lightly colored. There were more streaks in Brigitte's hair, brown and red. Her muscle tone was remarkable, and her jaw line had changed slightly. Most striking to June: Brigitte had grown taller by a few inches at least. The change in her face and height probably would not be noticed by anyone who was not as familiar with her as June, but the streaks would get attention.

Brigitte let her go and stepped away. Now June could see chew marks on both of Brigitte's wrists. Suicide attempt. She could hardly believe anybody could do that.

Distance from Brigitte calmed June's senses, and also removed the effect of Brigitte's scent. For June, the sexual arousal it evoked felt horrendous, too much like rape. She almost sank to the floor in relief, but instead leaned against the wall, while the feeling came back to her hands. She averted her gaze from Brigitte to regain her control.

Brigitte had felt aroused and had smelled June's arousal as well. This had blindsided her. Another dreadful and confusing aspect to all the changes going on in her.

For June, it was enough to make her want to run again, when suddenly the music-like noise resolved itself into an actual song, with a male voice, and not one June could remember ever hearing:

A moment of your life for purpose,

To save the suffering, birth the child

Stop the dire beast in its hunger-

Has begun. A weapon only you can find . . .

Then to her frustration, the music stopped in mid-lyric. All that noise and that's the message? But it immediately changed June's mind. She would stay.

"Bee, what happened? More nightmares?" asked Ginger.

"I don't want to talk about it," said Brigitte, in anguish.

June's mind raced. The staff also had a standard procedure with suicide attempts, and June could see Brigitte killing three or four people if they tried to apply it. Also by procedure they check on patients every half-hour. Likely, Brigitte was due for a check any time now.

June, still averting her eyes, said: "They're going to be checking on you soon, Brigitte. They can't find you like this."

June ran to the bathroom, started the water, wet a wash cloth and then quickly scrubbed the blood off her wrists and arms. "Come on!" she said. "Clean up your face and arms first! Move!"

Brigitte moved not with supernatural speed, but like a depressed person.

"Brigitte, hurry!" June urged.

Brigitte was, in fact, recovering. Having company of two people she trusted helped. Being isolated with depression, loneliness and fear had been the worst. As soon as Brigitte got close to the bathroom, June got out. She absolutely could not stand to be in close quarters with Brigitte again.

Ginger, standing next to June said, "Those fucking medications have done this to her!"

"Yeah, but they keep her from killing somebody, too," said June, who checked herself. She noticed her sweater was bloody. "Fuck!"

She took it off and thoughtlessly threw it on the floor. Separating her breasts with her hands, she checked her pants. To her chagrin, they also had blood on them, but it was not nearly as obvious. With a little distraction, nobody will see it. She looked back at Brigitte, who was using a wet towel to clean her face.

June said, "Concentrate on anything that's visible when you get dressed. Leave anything else for showering. I'll be right back!"

June left the room. In the hall, she spotted a nurse, Cleo, giving out the morning medications right next door to Brigitte. June calmly went toward the linen carts across the hall, and picked up more towels, linens, a gown, and a robe. She timed it so she would intercept Cleo going toward Brigitte's door.

"Good morning, Cleo! Good to have you back!" June said in her high, sweet voice.

"June!" said Cleo. "I'm surprised you're still in; you look so much better now!"

Yeah, you glance right at my nipples as you say that!

"Just one second, here," said Cleo, "while I get your medications."

"Okay. Your kids over that flu?"

"Yes, couldn't believe how it went through the house. The shots this year were useless."

Cleo opened June's medications and put them one by one in the tiny paper cup as they talked. She then poured water from a dispenser into a separate cup, and handed the pills to June, who checked them carefully before taking them, and then chased them with the water.

"I hope you get out soon. You've made such great progress. Everybody says it," said Cleo, who began to push the cart toward Brigitte's room.

June chimed in, "Oh, Brigitte was down in my room until a couple minutes ago, and she was on her way to the showers."

"Oh," said Cleo. "I guess I'll just have to catch her when she gets out."

Brigitte's being the final room in this hall, Cleo began to turn the cart around.

"Hey, have a good morn," said June.

"Hey, gooday June!"

June decided she had to make a show of it and went toward the bathroom. Cleo would not have have noticed exactly what she was carrying. She went into the bathroom, which was empty, counted to thirty, then re-emerged.

When she did, she was aghast to see that Mandy, a medical tech, was at Brigitte's door ready to knock, holding a clipboard for the bi-hourly check.

Lewis stood in the alley next to Larry Murray, the grocer who had found the frozen girl. Murray in his late forties, wore a gray jacket and a black aviator's cap. Lewis perceived him as a hard-working man and harried husband.

Luckily, it was just eight degrees below zero Celsius (eighteen degrees Fahrenheit), sunny and with a light wind. Weather you could actually stand in, even if it was a little uncomfortable. The snow in the alley lay barely more than ankle-deep, but much more of it had been plowed to the sides where there were deep piles and drifts.

"I found her right there," said Murray, pointing to the spot on a snow pile about fifteen feet from a dumpster and ten feet into the alley. It was directly across from the back door to Murray's store. "I thought for sure she was dead. I never seen anybody look that blue. She had a lot of frostbite on her face, too."

"Yes, I saw the picture," said Lewis bending over, putting his finger on the exact spot on a snow pile. "Right here?"

"Yah, under there about two feet," Murray said. Lewis took a weighted, yellow flag out of his pocket and put it down on the spot.

"You say she was almost totally buried in the snow?" said Lewis.

"Yah, except for her face and arm," said Murray.

"What about this knapsack?"

"Just like an army bag, really. But it wasn't closed. Things fell out of it when I picked it up. Did she live?"

"I don't know, yet. I'm looking for her. Was there anything else at all unusual?"

Murray shrugged. "There was that mangled dog."

That jolted Lewis. "What? Mangled dog?"

"Yah, over there," Murray pointed to a spot a little closer to the dumpster, not that far away from the flag.

Lewis walked to the spot and pointed. "Here?" he said, still incredulous.

"Yah."

"My God! Not even six feet away from her?" said Lewis outraged. "The report didn't even mention it!" He was stunned at the level of inattention. How do I bring this up to Arthur?

Lewis took another weighted yellow flag out of his pocket and put it on the spot.

"What kind of dog?" asked Lewis.

"It was pretty badly tore up to tell for sure," said Murray, "but I think it was a collie mix."

Not a small dog- to carry. "And did the police ask you anything about it?"

"They didn't ask me anything. I think they assumed it was hit by car," he said. "But when the animal people took it away later they said what I already knew: it was killed by an animal, not hit. They said there been a lot of dogs getting killed like by, like, feral dogs."

Did they? "Was it buried in the snow like her?"

"Well, it wasn't covered with snow. Neither were its parts."

"Parts," repeated Lewis. "How badly was it mangled?"

"A few legs and the head were missing. It was opened and all torned up- like mutilated."

"Did you notice any of its blood?" asked Lewis.

"No, it hadn't bled out here," he said. "That would've been obvious."

Lewis paused to consider what it meant. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Murray. That's all the questions I have right now, but I might have more questions later."

"You're welcome. Ya know where I'll be."

Murray walked back to the door of his shop, while Lewis walked out of the alley and back to his car. He went to the trunk and took out a shovel, a broom, a small hand-broom and a gardening spade. He returned to the first yellow flag marking where Brigitte had lain. Lewis now felt complete certainty it had been Brigitte Fitzgerald.

He began to carefully move the snow aside with the shovel. As he got deeper into the pile, he switched to the broom and began to sweep. Further down, he switched to the hand broom, his hands were about numb when he finally found something: an ampule. The liquid inside had not frozen. He managed with some effort to pick it up. With more difficulty, he put it in a small zip-lock pouch, which he sealed. He took it back to the car, along with his implements, which he put back in the trunk.

Getting in in the car, he started it up, turned on the heat and poured some coffee from a thermos. He took a drink of the warming liquid, cupped his hands and blew into them to reduce the numbness. He turned on the stereo and switched it from Frank Sinatra to Depeche Mode drinking his coffee as the car warmed up. When his hands regained their sensation, he turned off the stereo and took the ampule out from the pouch. It contained purple-colored fluid. He unstopped it and smelled it. It gave off an ammonia like smell that numbed the tips of his nostrils. As he expected: monkshood. He put the stopper back, and put it back into the pouch. Then he marked the bag with a number, and made a note in his journal about it, before he carefully put the pouch in his briefcase.

Monkshood: the first thing the team had tried to rescue the infected. Yes, it would stop and roll back the changes, but as the person became less animalized, the side-effects would become torturous. When injected into someone infected but not yet intermediate, it caused acute nausea, diarrhea, chilling numbness, chest pains, accelerated heartbeat, palpitations everywhere, biting of one's tongue and lips, disorientation, hallucinations, and usually a feeling like one was going to die. None of the people treated with it had been able to take it for more than two months. He marveled at Brigitte Fitzgerald self-medicating with it for more than two years. This was a young lady who wanted to remain human at all cost. This made Lewis feel all the more guilty for assuming she had animalized.

He took out his cellphone and said "Home office." In a few seconds, Hiram answered.

"Hiram?" said Lewis.

"Hello, Lewis," Hiram said, with his voice raspy. "How goes it?"

"Sounds like you have a cold."

"Not at all," said Hiram, clearing his throat. He said emphatically: "Now, how is it going?"

"Not good, Hiram. We're probably too late for her."

There was a pause. "Define 'too late,'" said Hiram.

"She is most definitely infected and was fighting it off with monkshood- all this time. But she had an accident that knocked her off her regimen. By Monday, she disappeared from the hospital. Probably she is intermediate now, which might explain why she has disappeared."

"You know that intermediate-stage werewolves always disappear," said Hiram.

"Until the final change, yes. The sole exception was Brigitte's sister, Ginger. And Brigitte strikes me as also being unusual. She fought it off for two years with monkshood: two years, Hiram! So, I'm keeping my mind open about her disappearance, but I have to presume she's intermediate now. You know: psychotic, strong, fast, murderous and well-armed? "

"I see. Lewis, you must find her no later than Saturday at dusk. So, you and your expensive partner must keep digging as fast as you can."

"There is some other bad news, Hiram. We have a fully animalized werewolf stalking her."

There was a pause. "Who is it? Her sister, Ginger?"

"No, a male waiting for her to fully transform. Jason McCarty is likely. We have never accounted for him. He would have followed her scent all the way from Bailey Downs.

"How do you know this, Lewis?"

"For one thing, he left her a nuptial gift. We run the risk of having a mated pair again. I have to insist that Ben keep his distance from this case. The danger here has now grown considerably."

"Not to add to this bad news, Lewis," said Hiram, "but I remind you that the new peak AMEO phase is predicted to begin on Friday approximately one p.m. At that time, the disease can be spread again. It will last for approximately thirteen days."

"Yes, that has been on my mind, too," said Lewis.

"She must be found or we have the possibility of an outbreak."

"I'll pick up her trail again. I'll keep you informed, of course."

"Now is there any other bad news?" asked Hiram. They both paused. "If that's all, Goodbye for now, Lewis."

"Goodbye Hiram."

Lewis then pressed the speed-dial and raised Frank.

"Hello Frank. I need you to drop what you're doing. We have to canvass an area."

Lewis knew Brigitte had packed and left hastily, did not use a car, and had not been in any condition to go very far. She had been staying somewhere close.

June tried to reach Mandy and interrupt her in time, but Mandy had already knocked on the door before June could take a step. "Brigitte?" she said. She was about to slide the plastic shade open.

June called, making her voice higher and as irritatingly friendly as possible, "Hi, Mandy!"

It did startle Mandy, who looked back at her. "June! Well, good morning."

June tried to rush up and start a conversation, but before she could get there, Mandy had lifted the shade. Brigitte's face, cleansed of blood, was right up to the window.

"Would you mind?" cried Brigitte, irritably. She was holding a towel to her chest and over her shoulders, "I'm getting dressed!"

"Just need to see you," said Mandy, who marked her clipboard. "You missed breakfast, Brigitte. Hurry or you might miss lunch, too."

"Yeah, I know!" yelled Brigitte into Mandy's face. Mandy put the shade back down and scowled before heading back up the hall.

June felt relief and went in as soon as Mandy was far enough away.

She closed the door and leaned on it. Brigitte was in there, and she was sitting on the bed still nude. Her face and arms were clean, but she was crying again. Ginger sat next to her and to June's amazement, actually touched Brigitte lightly on the shoulder. June went to the window sill and put the linens down, as she said. "Good thinking there Brigitte. Get up! We have to clean up this mess, somehow."

June came back around the bed, and neither of them had moved. They both looked at her dumb. She tossed a towel to Brigitte. "Quit looking at my boobs! Dry off all the wet blood and get dressed in your own clothes. Then get to the shower. I'll clean this up and change the sheets before housekeeping gets here."

June turned toward the bathroom, but Brigitte beat her there and faced her.

"Don't you talk that way to me," said Brigitte, suddenly angry. "You think I'm disgus . . . ?"

She hadn't finished the sentence before Ginger was between them, facing toward Brigitte.

"Bee, no. She's doing her best to help you."

Where had this come from? Thought June.

"Why is she talking to me that way?" asked Brigitte.

June moved aside from Ginger, who wasn't going to block Brigitte anyway, and said, "Brigitte, look, if they find this mess, they'll put you under twenty-four hour surveillance in a padded room with a camera on you all the time."

Brigitte's eyes widened.

"Don't worry. We can get this cleaned up! I know you're not thinking straight right now, but do as I say and it won't happen. Just dry off, get dressed and get to the shower."

"Why are you doing all this for me?" asked Brigitte, suspiciously

"Because like your sister, I'm with you for a purpose."

"You are?" said Brigitte.

"I am?" said Ginger, simultaneously.

"Yes, I'm certain of that now," said June.

"What is the purpose then?" said Brigitte.

June sighed, "That's the problem. I might not know it till I blow it."