Act 3
Inside Roskoff's penthouse, by the door to the bedroom, Long Sideburns stands by the door, his face still pale. Another bodyguard approaches.
"You don't want to look in there," Long Sideburns says. "Trust me, my friend."
"Mr. Roskoff is acting…peculiar," the other bodyguard says. "He just got a call on his cell phone and…he is very happy."
We hear Roskoff whoop.
"Excellent!" Roskoff yells. "This is a great day! Cigars and drinks for everyone!"
"And yet," the other bodyguard says. "His robe is coated with blood, it is starting to stink, and he doesn't even seem to be aware of it."
The other bodyguard then sniffs the air.
"Speaking of stink," he whispers, gesturing towards the door. "What?"
"You don't want to know," Long Sideburns repeats.
Suddenly, as if appearing out of thin air, Roskoff is standing among them.
"What does my good friend Mirov not want to know?" he asks Long Sideburns. Roskoff is positively bouncing on the balls of his feet, as if unable to contain his energy.
Mirov's gaze, in response to Roskoff's question, travels to the bedroom door.
"Oh," Roskoff says, now speaking in a whisper. "You are right, my friend. We need to send the rest of the service staff out of here. They will not understand."
"Understand?" Mirov says. Long Sideburns frantically shakes his head.
"This!" Roskoff says, throwing open the bedroom door.
"Информация по слову отсутствует!" Mirov says. "(Son of a bitch!)"
Roskoff leans forward conspiratorially towards the other two men.
"I want you two and the other bodyguards to clean this mess up," Roskoff says. "I think you will need lots of bleach, plastic bags for the incinerator, and oh yes! Buckets! Several buckets!!"
Long Sideburns looks at Roskoff.
"But, sir," he says. "A sniper just took some shots at you. Just minutes ago!"
"Yes!" Roskoff says. "Yes, they did!"
He pulls out his cell phone and flips it open. The bandaged hand he holds the phone with is now covered with hair, and the nails of the hand are black and claw like. Mirov and Long Sideburns stare at the hand until Roskoff shakes the phone up and down. Long Sideburns elbows Mirov and points at the phone. Our perspective changes so that we see the image on the phone, cradled in Roskoff's furry hand.
The image is grainy, but it clearly depicts Ginger and Brigitte with bullet holes in the middle of their foreheads. Their eyes are wide and glazed, and the brick behind their heads is smeared with red.
"A present from the Hunter!" Roskoff says. "The crisis is over!"
There is the sound of an opening wooden box. Roskoff's face immediately shifts expression from ebullient joy to guarded annoyance. He turns and walks rapidly away, further into the living room.
"No, no!" we hear Roskoff say. "You may have cigars, but not the Cubans!!!"
Mirov looks at Long Sideburns and jerks his head towards the bedroom.
"Who?" he asks.
"The head maid," Long Sideburns replies.
"Lovely little Angel?" Mirov says sadly. "Such a waste."
Now we are back on the other rooftop, looking at Ginger and Brigitte lying with their eyes wide and glazed. A small wind blows their hair.
"That," says the Hunter. "That is incredibly convincing. It's almost like I did shoot you."
Ginger blinks and reaches up and peels the bullet hole off of her forehead. Brigitte does the same thing.
"We had to do something to overcome these lame joke bullet holes," Ginger says. "Fortunately, the fake blood you got washes out of hair easily."
The Hunter shrugs.
"Hey," the Hunter says. "I got them at Spencers. I've never actually faked killing people before."
"Yeah," Brigitte says. "But we have lots of experience playing dead."
"Just like fucking high school," Ginger mutters.
The Hunter is still holding his gun on Brigitte and Ginger, particularly on Ginger. He stands a respectable distance away.
"So you wanna tell us why you haven't killed us?" Ginger says. "Yet, at least?"
"Long before I made any promise to Peter Roskoff, I made another promise," the Hunter says. "A blood oath, in fact."
"And what do we have to do with that?" Brigitte asks as she rolls over and sticks her right index finger in one of the two bullet holes in the brick wall.
The Hunter shrugs.
"Maybe nothing," he says. "So what are your names, your real names?"
"Red and Black," Ginger says.
"As in 'the Red and the Black'?" the Hunter says.
Ginger and Brigitte exchange looks.
"'The Red and the Black'?" Brigitte repeats, looking at Ginger. "Don't we sound special?"
The Hunter sighs.
"Come on," he says. "I spared your lives and faked your deaths so that Roskoff will call off the open contract. I've just made your lives a lot easier, not to mention longer. The least you can do is tell me your names."
"Sure, why not?" says Ginger.
"No, Ginger, don't tell him anything!" Brigitte says. She then pauses with a very peculiar look.
"Fuck!" Brigitte says as she squeezes her eyes shut. "I really am an idiot. James and the others are right about me. I suck at clandestine shit!"
The Hunter's eyes go wide. He takes a couple of steps back, probably without being aware of it.
"Hey, B," Ginger says. "Check out the Indian man!"
Ginger starts to get up, and the Hunter immediately recovers and points the gun back towards Ginger. Ginger shrugs and sits back down.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, Indian man," Ginger says.
The Hunter shakes his head.
"Just heard one, maybe," he says. He turns towards Brigitte.
"Please tell me your name isn't Brigitte!" he says.
Brigitte and Ginger look at one another.
"Good guess," Ginger says. "Huh, B?"
"Holy shit," the Hunter says. "I'll take that as a yes."
Brigitte looks at Ginger. Ginger shrugs.
"Yes," Brigitte says. "I'm Brigitte."
The Hunter sits cross legged on the roof, but he keeps his gun pointed at Ginger.
"Look," he says to the Fitzgerald sisters. "I'd like to make a deal with you."
Rowlands is in the laboratory when his cell phone rings to the tune of Mack the Knife. He pulls out his cell phone while continuing to look through a microscope. Then he looks up and looks at his phone and pushes a button.
He looks at his phone and drops it. His face turns red, and a very deep, inhuman growl comes from behind his lips. He stands up and walks out, leaving his cell phone on the floor.
We pan down to look at the picture on Rowlands' cell phone, and see the Hunter's picture of Ginger and Brigitte's "death".
"Roskoff needs to die," says Brigitte. "If you know we're werewolves, you've got to know that Roskoff is infected, and you have to know he's likely to spread the infection.
"You have to let us kill him."
"No," the Hunter says. "I can't let you do that. Roskoff hired me to keep you from killing him."
"But you said that you made a promise, no, a blood oath, that came before the promises you made to Roskoff," Ginger says.
"Yeah, I did," the Hunter says. "And killing you two would break that blood oath. However, keeping you from killing Roskoff would not be breaking that blood oath."
"Forget the fucking blood oath," Brigitte says.
"No," Ginger says. "Let's not forget the fucking blood oath, B. It's what's keeping us alive."
"We can't let Roskoff continue," Brigitte says. "It looks like he already killed somebody werewolf style, and for all we know he's on the verge of infecting someone else, if he hasn't already, and it will be my fucking fault if he does."
"There is a solution," the Hunter says. "But there is a price."
"What's the solution?" Ginger asks.
"I kill Roskoff," the Hunter says.
"Uhm," Ginger says. "Didn't you make a promise to him? Isn't that why you aren't letting us kill him?"
"Well, yeah," the Hunter says. "But believe it or not, I haven't made a promise regarding me not killing him. Roskoff never saw a reason to ask for one, and honestly neither did I, at least until I saw you two at the club."
Yeah, how's the hair?" Ginger asks.
"Ok," the Hunter says. "I have strong roots."
"Sorry about that."
"Hey, no problem. I hit you in the head with a gun first."
"Wait a minute," Ginger says. "You were about to shoot my sister then."
"Actually, you yanked right after the moment that I knew who you were," the Hunter says. "I wasn't about to shoot your sister."
"And who are we?" Brigitte says.
"Well, that's related to the deal I'm wanting to make," the Hunter says. "I kill Roskoff…"
He looks at Brigitte.
"…and dispose of his body so that there is no chance of accidental spread of infection. Then, you let me take you to the person who can answer that question."
"And who's that?" Ginger asks.
"It's a surprise," the Hunter says.
"B," Ginger says, turning to Brigitte. "I think we can still do this ourselves. We run to the door and then find another way to kill Roskoff."
Brigitte looks at the Hunter.
"You have a deal," Brigitte says.
"B, this is fucking crazy!" Ginger says. "I'm going now."
Ginger starts to get up but Brigitte grabs her arm.
"Don't be a fool, Ginger," Brigitte says. "He can shoot us both in the legs, load us in the trunk of his car, and still keep his oath. Besides which, no way are we ever going to have the kind of access to Roskoff that he does. It doesn't matter who pulls the fucking trigger, Ginger. It just matters that it gets done."
"But, B," Ginger says, her voice now quiet and scared. "If we go with him and don't get back to the pack, we don't get the treatment. If we don't get the treatment…"
Tears start to run down Ginger's face.
"I'm a killer, B, just like him," she says, jerking her head towards the Hunter. "I'm bad, really bad. But that doesn't mean that I ever want to go back to being the kind of psycho killer I was before. The kind of killer who killed Trina and Sam and Mr. Wayne and the janitor and enjoyed it."
"You won't, Ginger," Brigitte says.
"I will, B," Ginger says. "I don't have your kind of strength."
"For safety's sake," the Hunter says. "I'm going to have to insist that I have verbal acceptance from both of you on this deal. I have it from Brigitte. Ginger?"
"If we go and visit this person you want us to talk to," Ginger says. "You have to agree to let us go afterwards. There's a treatment that keeps us human."
"Ginger, don't tell him that," Brigitte says. "He'll think he can get the treatment for Roskoff."
"No worries," the Hunter says. "I already know about the treatment."
He looks at Brigitte.
"You're right," the Hunter says. "You don't want Roskoff running around even as a treated werewolf."
"So what now?" Ginger asks.
"You stay here and watch the penthouse with the scope," the Hunter says. "Once you see proof that I've held up my end of the bargain, you follow the escape plan you set up with Finn. Then you meet me tonight at this address, and I'll take you to go see the person who can answer the question 'who are you?' better than you can."
The Hunter pulls an envelope out of the pocket of his plaid flannel shirt and tosses it in front of Ginger and Brigitte. Ginger and Brigitte both look at the envelope. Ginger reaches out and picks it up, then both sisters look up.
The Hunter is gone.
"How the fuck does he do that?" Ginger asks.
Two maids and a couple of men in black slacks, white coats and black bow ties are being herded to the elevator by three of Roskoff's bodyguards. The elevator door opens, and the Hunter strides out. The staff then board the elevator.
"You should go too," the Hunter says to one of the bodyguards.
The bodyguards all look at one another. They are all clearly ill at ease. One of them nods and gets in the elevator. Once he does so, the other two follow.
The elevator door closes, and the Hunter starts towards the living room. Coming around the corner are Mirov and Long Sideburns with sponges and plastic bags.
"What are you doing?" the Hunter asks.
Long Sideburns jerks his head in the direction of the bedroom. The Hunter looks in. Then he looks at Long Sideburns.
"Have you started the clean up?" he asks.
"No," Long Sideburns says. "We need more buckets."
"Good," the Hunter says with a nod. "Don't worry about it. You and Mirov leave, start going down the stairs. When you come across a fire alarm, pull it."
Long Sideburns and Mirov look at one another.
"You really want to stay here?" the Hunter asks. "Do you really want to come between Roskoff and me?"
Long Sideburns and Mirov both pale at the Hunter's words. Without a word, they put down the sponges and bags and walk away. The Hunter turns and walks into the living room. Roskoff is smoking a cigar, still clad in his blood drenched robe. He is seated in an easy chair, but he gets up easily as the Hunter enters.
"Well done, my friend," Roskoff says. "But perhaps you will tell me why you are sending my bodyguards away."
"Peter, you do many things that most people would find reprehensible," the Hunter says. "You do things that I find reprehensible. But you always keep your word, and your promises."
"Yes, I do," Roskoff says. "As do you."
"So a man makes two promises to two different people," the Hunter says. "When he makes the second promise, he doesn't think it has any relation to the first, but the day comes when he can't keep one promise without breaking the other. What, as an honorable man, should he do in such a situation?"
"Keep the first promise, of course," Roskoff says. Then, in an astonishing act of agility, speed, and strength, he picks up his easy chair and throws it at the Hunter. The Hunter sidesteps the throw easily, but Roskoff is no longer in the room.
"I tell you my friend," we hear Roskoff's voice say. "If this is dying, every man should die like this. The increased strength, the enhanced senses, and the new and improved appetites, they are wonderful!"
Suddenly, Roskoff is there, picking up the Hunter and slamming him against the nearest wall. His left, human hand has captured the Hunter's gun hand, and his right arm with the fur covered hand is across the Hunter's throat. Roskoff growls, then smiles. His teeth, particularly his canines, are noticeably larger.
"So who is this other person you made a promise to?" Roskoff asks.
As if out of nowhere, the Hunter raises his knee into Roskoff's face. Roskoff gives a surprised cry of pain and backs away, raising his right hand to his face. The Hunter lands on his feet. Roskoff's hand comes down and we see that his nose is broken. He is having trouble breathing, and we soon realize that this is not just because of a broken nose. It's something in the lungs. Roskoff falls to his knees.
"My grandmother," the Hunter answers. "When I was 7 years old."
Roskoff tries to reply, but doesn't seem able to summon up the air. He coughs blood, then falls to his hands and knees, and we now see a large hunting knife stuck hilt deep in his back.
"Goodbye, Peter," the Hunter says.
Pfft!
The Hunter puts his gun into the holster on his belt, hidden under the oversized paid flannel shirt he wears. He goes into a supply closet and comes out with two sets of latex gloves. With some difficulty, he puts both pairs on, one on top of the other. Then he reaches down and grabs Roskoff's hands and starts to pull him towards the office.
Ginger is watching through the scope.
"There he is," she says to Brigitte. "It looks like he's pulling Roskoff's body. It's got a big hairy knife in the back and, yeah, looks like blood and brains on the back of his head."
Brigitte makes a face.
"Thanks for the detailed play by play," she says.
"Looks like he's keeping his end of the bargain," Ginger says.
"The first half anyway," Brigitte says.
Suddenly, both Brigitte and Ginger raise their heads.
"Hear that?" Ginger says.
"Yeah," Brigitte says. "The building's fire alarm."
Then, Ginger and Brigitte both tilt their heads, canine fashion.
"Now alarms are going off in the fire stations," Brigitte says.
Ginger puts the scope back to her eye.
"He's taking something out of his shirt pocket," Ginger says. "It looks a small incendiary with a remote activator."
Brigitte stands up and walks to the edge of the building and looks down. We now hear multiple fire sirens.
"People are running out of the building," Brigitte says.
"The Hunter's run off," Ginger says, putting down the scope. The sirens are getting louder, reaching a crescendo and then, one by one, going off. "I think we can go now."
"Not until I see it," Brigitte says.
"B," Ginger says. "I think it's a done deal."
"I'm waiting, Ginger," Brigitte says. Then suddenly, Brigitte's face is bathed in orange light, and a second later there is a wooshing sound, and the distant sound of breaking glass.
"OK," Brigitte says. "Now we can go."
Ginger and Brigitte are walking along the street, weaving between the gawkers all standing and watching and pointing to the burning building.
"You don't have to do this, Ginger," Brigitte says.
"Do what, B?" Ginger asks. We hear a fire truck honking its horn, and more sirens in the distance.
"Go with me to meet the Hunter," Brigitte says. "I don't want to keep you from the pack."
"Together forever, B," Ginger says.
Brigitte stops walking and looks at Ginger. Ginger looks at Brigitte. People are running back and forth around them.
"Ginger, I meant it," Brigitte says. "I'm not going back there, ever."
"But B, it's OK now," Ginger says. "You've proven yourself. We can both go back. Forget the Hunter."
"No," Brigitte says. "I gave him my word."
"So did I," Ginger says.
"You were pressured into it," Brigitte says.
"Then I'm staying with you, B," Ginger says. "At least until we talk to the Hunter's friend, whoever that is. But then you come back with me. Things will be different there, you'll see."
"It doesn't matter, Ginger," Brigitte says. "It doesn't matter if we go back and I am proclaimed Queen High Alpha of the pack, I want no part of it. It's nothing but a cage, Ginger, an elaborate cage. And the only thing they let us out for is killing people. I won't live that way, Ginger!"
Ginger looks hard at Brigitte.
"I can force you to go back," Ginger says.
"No," Brigitte says, her voice and gaze duplicating the intensity she showed in the diner. "You can't. Not without killing me anyway."
Tears start to run down Ginger's face again.
"B, please," Ginger pleads. "Please don't make me choose between you and the pack."
"You don't have to, Ginger," Brigitte says. "I won't love you any less if you go back to the pack. You've got things good there. I understand."
Ginger shakes her head.
"No, you don't," she says. "You don't understand at all."
"Ginger," Brigitte says. "You were doing well with the pack. You moved up to the top, you got your GED, and you started on college, all before I got there."
"I was trying to please Rowlands!" Ginger says. "I remembered when you exposed yourself to my blood, when you infected yourself. Then while I was under you ran away. When I came out of my chrysalis, you were long gone. Rowlands told me that the monkshood you were taking would only delay the progression of the disease, not end it.
"You're my sister, Brigitte! I love you for that, but I love you for more than that. The only decent impulses I've ever had in my life came from wanting to protect you. Rowlands said that we would find you when you started to kill. The last thing I wanted was for you to become the kind of monster I was. You're better than that, B! You've always been better than that!! So I tried to be a good girl, a good student and eventually a good little killer. So that Rowlands would like me more, so that he would go and find you. And when we finally did find you, I made the vow again. Together forever, Brigitte. Where you go, I go! You're the best part of me, the only good part of me!"
As Ginger sobs lightly, Brigitte reaches up a hand and gently brushes away one of Ginger's tears.
"See, that's where you're stupid, Ginger," Brigitte says. "The desire to have decent impulses is a decent impulse in and of itself."
"I'm not leaving you, B," Ginger says. "If I have to, I choose you over the pack any day."
The two sisters touch foreheads, and Brigitte smiles through her own tears.
"Good," she says. "Because I was scared to death to do this without you."
We see James, Danielle, and Claude all sitting facing us on a couch. The lights are low and we see the flickering of a television on their faces. Then, we hear an anchor woman's voice.
"Our top story tonight," the voice says. "A suspected major figure in Russian organized crime was believed to have been killed today when a firebomb went off in his penthouse in downtown Toronto. We go live to our correspondent Owen Jarrett for more."
"Thank you, Jane," a male voice says. "Piotr Roskoff is believed to have been in his penthouse when the bomb went off. The remains of one other person may have been found in the smoking ruins as well. Interestingly, however, the fire alarm went off before the bomb did, and it is believed that the building was successfully evacuated before the explosion. Fire fighters also were given sufficient notice by the alarms to control the blaze before it did much damage to the lower floors. Among the evacuees are most of Roskoff's known associates. This has led police to speculate that this killing may have been an inside job"
"Damn," James says. "Ginger did it, she really did it. What a clever bitch."
"Maybe it was Brigitte," Claude says. When James and Danielle both give him looks that declare him an idiot, Claude simply smiles.
"Ginger wouldn't be so careful about bystanders," Claude points out. "Brigitte would."
A door opens behind the couch and Rowlands stands in it.
"James," Rowlands says. "Come with me."
Our view shifts to Rowlands and James entering Rowlands' office.
"You've got to admit," James says. "Ginger really came through on this one."
"It wasn't Ginger," Rowlands says.
"You think it was the other one?" James says with a snort.
"No, her neither," Rowlands says. "Someone is mocking us."
James' face loses its amused expression.
"What are you talking about, Wallace?" James asks.
"This," Rowlands says, holding out his cell phone. James takes it away from him and looks at it intently.
"What the fuck?" James says.
"That picture was sent to my cell phone before the explosion in Roskoff's penthouse," Rowlands says. "Thus, it is apparent that whoever killed Roskoff first killed the Fitzgerald sisters."
"Wait a minute," James says. Then he starts to laugh. The laugh becomes a guffaw, and tears start to roll down his face.
Rowlands looks at James as if he has gone mad. His right hand reaches swiftly down to James left shoulder, and he starts to squeeze. James stops laughing and makes a pained face.
"Do you mind telling me what the fuck you think is so funny about this?" Rowlands asks, his voice icy.
James winces, but still smiles in response to the question.
"Look at the picture," James says. "The quality isn't very good, but does anything strike you as off?"
Rowlands looks at the picture intently, then looks at James.
"Look at the bullet holes in their foreheads," James says. "They look exactly alike. You ever see two bullet holes look exactly alike before?"
Rowlands relaxes slightly. He sits on his desk.
"You're right," Rowlands says.
"You remember what the Fitzgerald sisters' hobby was before Ginger went and got herself bit?" James asks.
Rowlands looks up at him. He narrows his eyes.
James chuckles.
"Their hobby was playing dead for the camera," James says.
Rowlands looks at the cell phone picture again.
"They were pushing your buttons," James says. "I'm betting Ginger killed Roskoff, then they set off an incendiary after getting out and setting up their little photography stunt."
"That makes sense," Rowlands says. "But I have to wonder, just who took the picture?"
James shrugs.
Rowlands closes his eyes and shakes his head.
"That will be all, James," he says.
James gets up and leaves. Rowlands looks at the cell phone. Then he closes it and goes to his desk phone. He dials a number.
"Send me all of the intel on Roskoff's known associates, will you, Greta?" he says. "Thank you."
He sits at his desk and rolls and clicks the mouse on his computer.
"Business partners…bodyguards…middle management…contract workers…" Rowlands says, talking to himself. Then he stops. His face turns red and angry. He stands up. Then he picks up the computer monitor and throws it into one of his walls. The computer and keyboard are yanked along with it. The plaster on the wall breaks, and the monitor shatters. Underneath the plaster we see a surface that looks like a steel bulkhead.
"God damn it I am a fool!!" Rowlands yells. It is the last coherent thing he yells. His next utterance is a human scream of frustration that turns into an inhuman, deep snarl. Rowlands bends his knees, reaches down, and lifts the right side of his desk with his left hand and arm. As he stands back up, he topples the desk lengthwise onto its side so that it brushes up against the ceiling, knocking plaster off of it, and revealing the same kind of steel bulkhead surface underneath. Then the desk continues over until it is completely upended. Many of the objects, pictures, etc, on Rowlands' desk fall off as he topples his desk, and several of them are presumably crushed underneath it when the top smashes down into the floor. As the sound of the crash dies down in his office, Rowlands throws his head back and, with canine teeth now elongated, howls.
As the sound of Rowlands' howl still echoes in our heads, the scene suddenly shifts to the interior of a small barroom, specifically the front door. Coming through the door are Ginger and Brigitte Fitzgerald. Brigitte is back in her blue jeans, grey sweatshirt, and white Nikes. Ginger is dressed as she was earlier, light blue jeans, white tee shirt, tan jacket, and white Nikes.
The bar is small and crowded. Everyone in the bar is a Canadian Aboriginal, many wearing western outfits. To the sisters' left is a small bar, and to their right are several cheap Formica and chrome tables, also all occupied.
The nearest man sitting at the bar, with long hair and a cowboy hat, inquires firmly but politely:
"Are you two lost?"
Ginger and Brigitte look at one another.
"No," Brigitte starts to say. "We're meeting some-"
"They're with me," the Hunter says, walking up from the back of the barroom.
The man with the cowboy hat looks at the Hunter.
"And who are you?" he asks.
"He's with me, Louis," another voice says.
Louis nods and resumes his seat. Our perspective moves around until we now see the back of the barroom, which doesn't go very far beyond the bar itself. However, cramped in the back between where the bar stops and the back wall, there is a small round table, and seated in a chair facing the front door is an old woman in a worn wool jacket, blue jeans, and black cowboy boots.
Upon seeing the old woman, Brigitte and Ginger look at each other.
"Holy shit!" Ginger says.
Flashback 4
We are inside what looks like an indoor flea market. Woodchips cover what looks to be a dirt floor, and in the distance we can see prefab metal walls. Tables, covered with varied wares, antiques, and artwork, are all around. Walking an aisle between rows of tables are two small girls. The taller, older girl appears to be about 7 or 8, the other girl a year younger. The older girl has red hair, the younger girl has honey blond hair.
"Ginger," we hear a maternal voice say. The voice is recognizable as Pamela Fitzgerald's to anyone who has seen the original Ginger Snaps. "Keep an eye on your sister. You know how she likes to wander."
In response, young Ginger playfully gives young Brigitte a push with her shoulder.
"Yeah, B," she says. "Don't fucking wander."
An older woman at the table nearest to them, who is selling red and yellow wooden and fabric chickens obviously designed to be hung in a kitchen, makes a face at young Ginger.
"Language, children!" the woman says.
"English," young Brigitte replies. "None of that French crap for us."
Young Ginger snorts and the woman, who had indeed spoken with a light French accent, sniffs and starts to pay closer attention to her chickens.
"Good one, B!" Young Ginger says.
Young Brigitte, however, has apparently already forgotten her rude witticism.
"Oooooh, Ginger, look!" young Brigitte says, intently looking at something. She starts running towards whatever she is looking at.
"Hey!" young Ginger says crossly. "Pamela said no wandering!"
Young Ginger then runs after her sister. Young Brigitte has stopped and is standing and staring at the objects hanging around and off of a table. Seated at the table is the old woman from the bar. She doesn't look any younger.
"What are these?" young Brigitte asks, her eyes wide. "They look so cool."
Young Ginger walks up next to her sister.
"They look lame to me," she says as she looks at the old Aborignal woman. "What are they?"
"Spirit catchers," the old woman says. As young Ginger takes young Brigitte's hand, the old woman says:
"I see you are sisters. Are you close sisters?"
"What do you mean, 'close'?" Ginger replies irritably. "I'm holding her hand aren't I?"
The old woman chuckles.
"Good answer," she says. "I had a sister once, a long time ago. We too were very close."
The old woman reaches under her table and pulls out two necklaces, made from thick black string. Hanging from each necklace is a bird skull and a couple of feathers.
"Now those are cool," young Ginger says.
Young Brigitte says nothing at all, but she is clearly fascinated by the necklaces.
"These two necklaces were left by their original owners to my sister and me," the old woman says. "Now, I would like to give them to you."
Young Brigitte looks very seriously at the old woman, her eyes wide.
"We don't have any money," young Brigitte says.
"Hence my use of the verb, give," says the old woman.
"We can't take those," young Brigitte says. "Don't you have granddaughters or something you want to give those to?"
"I have granddaughters, but I don't want to give these to them," the old woman says. ""I want to give them to you."
"Don't be such a fucking spoilsport, B," young Ginger says. "They look really cool and she wants to give 'em to us. Let her!"
"Yes, B," the old woman says with a chuckle. "Don't be such a…(ahem!)…spoilsport."
The old woman holds the necklaces out. Young Brigitte takes hers reverently. Young Ginger yanks her necklace out of the woman's hand and puts it on immediately.
"C'mon, B," Ginger says. "Let's give Pamela a heart attack with these things!"
"No!" young Brigitte says forcefully. "What do we say to the nice lady, Ginger?"
"Huh?" young Ginger says. "Oh, sorry. Thank you lady."
"Thank you," young Brigitte says. "We'll treasure these always."
"You're welcome," the old woman says. As young Brigitte puts on her necklace, the old woman reaches out and gently runs her hand along Brigitte's hair.
"Your hair," the old woman says to young Brigitte. "It's getting darker isn't it?"
"Yeah," young Brigitte says. "My mom wants to dye it back blond again, but I want it to turn darker."
"Of course you do," the old woman says. "My hair used to be dark, and it is getting lighter. It is right that your hair, which used to be light, turns darker, don't you think?"
Young Brigitte nods solemnly at the old woman's words.
The old woman lets go of young Brigitte's hair.
"Soon you and your sister will indeed be 'the Red and the Black'," she says.
"Come on, B," young Ginger says, running back to young Brigitte's side. "Let's show these to Pamela, she'll freak."
…………………………………………………………………………………………….
The scene shifts as we see young Brigitte and young Ginger, both wearing their new necklaces, both being pulled by the hand by their mother Pamela.
"Where is she?" Pamela asks in a demanding tone.
"She was there," young Ginger says, pointing to an empty table. There are no signs of spirit catchers or the old woman.
"Blast it!" Pamela says. "Well, give me your necklaces. They're hideous."
"NO!!!!" young Brigitte yells forcefully. "You can't take them because they're ours! The old woman gave them to us because we're close. We're close sisters and she wanted us to have them and they're ours and not yours so you can't have them!!!!"
Young Ginger looks at young Brigitte with wide eyes. Pamela looks shocked at her younger daughter's outburst, then she smiles slightly.
"I've never seen you so forceful about anything, Brigitte," Pamela says. "Your sister yes, but never you. And you've never seemed to really care about much of anything before."
Tears roll down young Brigitte's cheeks, but her expression is resolute.
"Are they really that important to you?" Pamela asks young Brigitte.
Young Brigitte nods.
"And to you?" Pamela asks, turning to young Ginger. Young Ginger looks at young Brigitte. Young Brigitte nods. Young Ginger looks back at her mother and nods too.
"All right, then," Pamela says. "You can keep them. But you can only wear them in the house."
"So, where are the necklaces I gave you?" the old woman asks.
Brigitte looks mortified.
"We wore them for years," she says. "We did. Everywhere. But some really awful things have happened."
The old woman nods.
"I imagine they did," the old woman says. "And now that we are all here together, we can go and talk about them."
"Go where?" Ginger asks.
"My place," the old woman says. "Where I will explain the answers to all the questions you didn't even know to ask."
It is night. We follow a red Ford Escape as it moves through a long, wooded driveway. The Escape finally stops before a large, wooden cabin. The doors open, and the old woman gets out of the driver's side door. The front passenger side door opens and the Hunter gets out. Ginger and Brigitte come out of through the back doors.
"Well, here we are," says the old woman.
Our view shifts to inside the cabin as the front door opens. We are in a living room, and the living room is full of spirit catchers hanging from every beam and every lamp and every piece of furniture that is well off the floor. On the inn and coffee tables, of which there are several, and on the couches, again of which there are several, are multitudes of technical journals such as Science, Nature, Genetics, and many others. The furniture that is not covered with journals is dust covered.
"Sorry," the old woman says. "The maid retired twenty years ago and I haven't replaced myself."
Ginger and Brigitte look at each other.
"Can I get you something, like a beer?" the old woman says.
"Sure," says Ginger.
"Ginger," Brigitte says. "You're eighteen."
"I'm a fucking assassin, B," Ginger says. "And you're worried about my drinking age?"
"So a beer for Ginger," the old woman says. "And you, Brigitte?"
"Water," says Brigitte.
"Water," says the old woman. "You're so austere."
The old woman turns to the Hunter.
"Entertain our guests, grandson," she says.
Ginger smirks.
"Grandson?" Ginger says.
The Hunter clears his throat. It is obvious that he is uncomfortable with having to figure out how to entertain his guests. While Ginger snickers slightly at his discomfort, Brigitte touches the spirit catchers.
"Your grandmother made all of these?" she asks.
"Yeah," the Hunter says, obviously relieved at Brigitte's ice breaker. "She's been doing it for years."
"Is she some kind of holy woman or something?" Ginger asks.
"…or something," the old woman says as she reenters the room, throwing a Samuel Adams to Ginger. Ginger catches it easily. She throws another to the Hunter.
"You have good taste…what's your name again?" Ginger asks.
"My given name is Sara Ravenwolf," the old woman says. "Pretentious, eh? I always thought I should just stick with Ravenwolf."
Ginger turns to Brigitte.
"I like her," she says.
Ravenwolf hands Brigitte a bottle of water.
"It's from the tap," Ravenwolf says. "I drank the original long ago. But I washed the bottle out thoroughly. It's safe. I'm an evolutionary epidemiologist, so you can trust me."
"Uhm, thanks," Brigitte says.
"You're a what?" Ginger says.
"She studies the evolution of diseases," Brigitte says.
Ravenwolf shrugs.
"Close enough," she says. Ravenwolf bends down and shoves a number of journals off of one of the couches and onto the floor.
"Sit down, sit down," Ravenwolf says. "We need to talk."
Ginger and Brigitte sit.
"I…I like your spirit catchers," Brigitte says.
"Thanks," Ravenwolf says. "They sell well and they fund my research, such as it is now. But that's not what I want to talk to you about."
Ravenwolf takes a drink from her own beer.
"So," she says. "I take it you know Wallace Rowlands and John Murphy."
Brigitte and Ginger look at one another.
"Yeah," Brigitte says. "We do."
"They're my students," Ravenwolf says. "Well, my former students anyway. No way do I endorse what those two fools have been doing recently."
"So you know about the lycanthropy pathogen?" Brigitte asks.
"My dear," Ravenwolf says. "I know more about the lycanthropy pathogen than anyone human, including Rowlands and Murphy."
Ginger looks at Brigitte, then back at Ravenwolf, her face excited.
"So, do you have the treatment?" Ginger asks anxiously.
Ravenwolf laughs briefly.
"Colonel Rowlands is funded by the Department of Defense," Ravenwolf says. "I sell spirit catchers. The treatment costs 120,000 dollars per injection, so what do you think?"
"Oh," says Ginger.
"But I still think I can be of considerable help to you," Ravenwolf says as she clears off some more journals from a coffee table and sits on it, facing the sisters. The Hunter sits cross legged on the floor between them.
"How is that?" Ginger says.
"Shhhh," says Brigitte. "Let's just listen."
"When I first saw the two of you, I told you I used to have a sister," Ravenwolf said. "What I didn't tell you is that she was killed right in front of me by a werewolf in chrysalis form. I was 19 at the time. She was 15."
"I'm sorry," Brigitte says. "That must have been awful."
"It was," Ravenwolf says. "Later, the werewolf came back for me, but by then I had a shotgun, and I let the werewolf have both barrels in the mouth. Blew out the back of his skull."
"All right, Ravenwolf!" Ginger says. She turns to Brigitte. "I like her."
"You've said that already," Brigitte says.
"But that wasn't the weird part," Ravenwolf says. "The weird part happened when the chest and the stomach of the werewolf burst outward as a blood covered wolf tore his way out of the carcass. I thought he was going to tear out my throat, but then when he looked at me he looked almost…sorry. Then he turned and ran into the woods."
Ravenwolf takes a swig of her beer.
"It made an impression on me," she says. "It was, after all, more than 30 years before Alien came out."
Ravenwolf looks at her beer bottle and sighs.
"Grief stricken over the loss of my little sister, I went to my mother, who was naturally grieving herself, and told her about what had happened. I knew my mother sometimes talked with wolves using ravens as intermediaries. I thought maybe she would understand what had happened."
"Wait a minute," Ginger says. "Your mother talked with birds who talked with wolves? We're supposed to believe that?"
"So says the werewolf," Ravenwolf says, her voice amused.
"Shut up, Ginger," Brigitte says. "I want to hear this."
"Well then, at the request of Miss Brigitte, moving on," Ravenwolf says. "My mother gave me a potion to drink. She then told me a story. A story her mother told her as it was told to her by her mother: The story of the Red and the Black."
Ravenwolf takes another drink from her beer.
"And sure enough, after I drink the potion and she tells me the story, I have a vision. A vision of both the future and the past."
"I thought you were a scientist," Ginger says. "Do scientists do visions?"
"This one does," Ravenwolf says. "And I am also kind of a mystic, in a materialistic sort of way, anyway."
"Whahuh?" Ginger says.
"Quit interrupting her, Ginger," Brigitte says. "I want to hear this."
"Oh, that's OK," Ravenwolf says. "Long story short, space and time, and therefore history itself, is a physical entity. You can run it back to watch what happened, and you can run it forward to watch what is probably going to happen, if you get yourself into the right state, have the right sort of training, and probably the right sort of neural architecture."
"That doesn't help me to understand what you are saying at all," Ginger says. "And on pain of headache, I promise I won't interrupt again."
"Very good," Ravenwolf says. "So I have a vision about the Red and the Black. A vision I didn't particularly understand at the time. But, I was determined to learn to understand it, and to understand what I saw. So I went into the world outside my reservation, worked my way through University, and eventually became an expert on biology and genetics and diseases. Then I started to research werewolves. And since werewolves were starting to re-emerge in the forests north of Bailey Downs, I had subjects to study, at least indirectly. Mostly in remote areas, hikers would occasionally vanish. Others would come back traumatized and then vanish, but not before I collected tissue samples from them."
"So is that when you figured out how to treat lycanthropy?" Brigitte asks.
"Oh no," says Ravenwolf. "This was the 1950's, Brigitte. Gene therapy was decades away. But in my own stumbling way, I was able to learn a lot about lycanthropy. Still, in order to pay the bills I had to take paying jobs more in the scientific mainstream, and the paying jobs back then involved working for white men who weren't used to working with women, much less young Indian women. They tended to be patronizing, and being young and idealistic, I did not take to that treatment very well. So I ended up quitting my day job, returning to the reservation and marrying the chief's son. Then I had children, then I became the chief's wife, then I had grandchildren, and then I became the chief's widow."
Ravenwolf looks into her beer bottle, squinting one eye, and sighs at its emptiness. She looks at the Hunter and holds it out, cocking an eyebrow. The Hunter, without a word, gets up and takes the empty bottle. We hear a refrigerator door open and bottles clanging together.
"As best I could, I still kept up with my lycanthropy studies and with developments in genetics. But still, I really didn't get very far and one day I looked up and had no husband, no children at home, and I was old. When Captain Wallace Rowlands, an old special forces 'friend' of my son-in-law's, came to visit me and offer me a job with the 'Canadian Center for Exotic Disease Control', I knew the agency was bogus, a front for the Department of Defense, but I didn't care. I was running out of time and I still had so many unanswered questions."
The Hunter returns and hands Ravenwolf a fresh bottle. She takes a swig and makes a face.
"I was a damned fool," she says. "For awhile though, it was almost heaven. Rowlands and his associate, John Murphy, became my students and my colleagues. We made enormous progress in describing the incredibly complex biological machine that is the lycanthropy pathogen. But even then I knew. I knew that Rowlands was even more obsessed with this than I was. I really shouldn't have been surprised when Rowlands did the most insane thing."
"What was that?" Ginger asks.
"He infected himself with the pathogen," Ravenwolf replies.
"On purpose?" Ginger says, half standing up. "That is insane."
Brigitte turns and looks at Ginger, her expression very hurt. Ravenwolf looks at Brigitte and raises an eyebrow, and Ginger turns to look at her sister and sees her expression.
"Oh God," Ginger says. "I'm sorry, B. I wasn't thinking. Your situation was different."
"You don't even know what Rowlands' situation was," Brigitte says.
"But you did it for someone else," Ginger says. "You did it to help me. I bet Rowlands' reason was more selfish."
Ravenwolf clears her throat, and the two sisters look at her.
"When I first met Wallace Rowlands, he was missing his left eye, his left arm, and most of the left side of his face," Ravenwolf says. "War wounds."
"Holy shit!" Brigitte says. "So he infected himself to cure himself."
"That's correct," Ravenwolf says. "When I found out that he did it, I quit, but Murph stayed on and gave him the treatment we devised. Three months later a new Wallace Rowlands emerged from the chrysalis with two eyes, an intact face, and a fully functional left arm. He sees the lycanthropy pathogen as potential medical gold."
"Well, maybe it is," Ginger says. "Maybe lycanthropy is the medical breakthrough that will cure just about everything."
"Ginger," Ravenwolf says. "Rowlands 'cure' turns most people into homicidal monsters before it ever turns them into werewolves. For every member of your 'pack', there were five other people who had to be put down because they became so vicious. Indeed, since his emergence from his chrysalis it is my understanding that Rowlands' own conduct has been increasingly bizarre. For example, the little assassination missions he's been sending you on? Not authorized by anyone but himself, and apparently for 'experimental' and personal purposes rather than national defense or law enforcement purposes."
Ginger's face turns white, and she looks ill. Tears start to form and run down her cheeks. She shakes her head and sobs.
"You were right, B," Ginger says. "We were nothing but Rowlands' pet monsters all along, and I'm still nothing but a monster."
"No," Brigitte says. "You're still my sister. And you want to get better. And that makes you better than him."
"Ginger…Brigitte," Ravenwolf says. "You may think you know Rowlands, but you don't. You have no idea what he is truly capable of."
Doc Murphy is in bed when the light in his room suddenly goes on. He immediately sits up, squinting, while reaching for his glasses.
"Who?" he says.
"It's just me, John," Rowlands says. He is standing next to Murphy's bed. He then holds out Murphy's glasses.
"Looking for these?" Rowlands says.
Murphy takes the glasses and looks at Rowlands. Rowlands' ears are pointed and his eyes have changed color to a bright, inhuman blue.
"She's taken them, John," Rowlands says.
"What?' Murphy asks, obviously confused.
"The Fitzgerald sisters, John," Rowlands says, an edge to his voice that we haven't heard him use with Murphy before. "Sara Ravenwolf has taken them."
"Sara?" Murphy says. "Dr. Ravenwolf? But how? Why??"
"Oh, I know," Rowlands says. "She thinks I don't know but I do. I know all about the legend of 'the Red and the Black', John."
Rowlands shakes his head and chuckles. It is an angry chuckle.
"I was such a fool, John," he says. "Not to check deeper into Roskoff's background. If I had, I would have known about the Hunter."
"The Hunter?" Murphy asks, obviously now completely confused and more than a little afraid.
"Remember the little boy we often saw during our evening visits to Dr. Ravenwolf's cabin?" Rowlands asks.
"Sara's grandson?" Murphy says. "Yes, I remember. But what does he have to do with Roskoff?"
"'Sara's grandson' was Roskoff's most frequently hired freelance assassin," Rowlands says. "And I should have known that. Roskoff's death was just a little too professional. I haven't trained any of the pack that well."
"You think he's killed Ginger and Brigitte?" Murphy asks.
"No," Rowlands says. "I think that he took them to grandma's house, where little red riding wolf and her little sister are being convinced to fulfill their destiny."
The last word is spit out as if it is an obscenity.
"Go get James and the rest of the pack," Rowlands says. "Tell them to meet me in the conference room. It's time we went hunting."
Murphy starts to get up, and Rowlands shakes his head.
"Wait, never mind," he says. Then Rowlands turns and with one clawed hand slashes through Murphy's throat. Murphy falls against the bed, spraying blood. Our view changes to Murphy's face. His eyes are wide with shock, and he is trying to breath but we hear only a liquid gurgle. Then Rowlands' face, with its enlarged teeth, leans into our view so that his face is nose to nose with Murphy's.
"I think I'll just get them myself," Rowlands says. Then he shakes his head, and his voice turns icy. "You think I didn't know, John, about you and Sara's continued 'thing'? Did you really think you could wash her stink off of you so that I wouldn't know?"
But it is apparent that Murphy is no longer listening. His eyes are looking someplace very far away.
"Are you OK now, Ginger?" Brigitte asks.
Ginger wipes her eyes.
"No," Ginger says. "But I can listen again."
Ravenwolf nods and stands up.
"Good," she says. She walks over to a trunk and opens it.
"I taught Rowlands and Murphy a lot about werewolf biology, and the biology of the lycanthropy pathogen," Ravenwolf says. "But there was just as much I didn't tell them, mostly about werewolf history, and also about 'the Red and the Black'."
Ravenwolf takes a rolled up canvas out of the trunk.
"It took me a long time to find this," Ravenwolf says. "It was presumed lost."
She takes the canvas and unrolls it in front of Brigitte and Ginger. Ginger's eyes go wide.
"holy shit," she whispers. "What the fuck is this?"
Our view now shifts so that we see the canvas. We see a painted family portrait, somewhat faded but still very recognizable. Standing is a man who looks very much like Henry Fitzgerald as seen in the original Ginger Snaps, except that he is clad in a bright red military uniform and is wearing a white powdered wig. His hand rests on the shoulder of a woman in formal period dress who looks like the twin of Pamela Fitzgerald. Seated demurely in front of them are two girls, also in formal period dress. They look like slightly younger versions of Ginger and Brigitte.
Ravenwolf points at the man.
"That is Montgomery Fitzgerald," she says. "And this is his family; his wife Virginia Fitzgerald, and his two surviving children, Gingeranne and Brigitte Fitzgerald.
"The portrait was painted in 1813, one year before he departed, with his family in tow, on an expedition meant to be a British Canadian version of Lewis and Clark's trip for Thomas Jefferson a decade before."
"No fucking way," Ginger says.
"Oh, yes," Ravenwolf says. "Way. You are looking at the original 'Red and the Black'. The original Fitzgerald sisters to meet up with, and be changed by, werewolves.
"And that's just the beginning."
End Act 3