And with this, we're coming up on the final act of our story. The pieces are beginning to fall into place. But first, Brigitte has to run the gauntlet of pain and anguish...while on fire.
Warnings about incest, substance abuse, emotional turmoil etc, etc.
Brigitte stumbled into their motel room at…some ungodly hour. She didn't know what. She didn't care.
She was riding high and she felt great.
"B? Where the hell have you been?" Ginger was sat up in bed when she came in. She still looked a bit rough.
"Around." Brigitte shrugged.
She tugged off her jumper and tossed it on the floor. Along with her shoes, then her jeans. As she made it to the bed, the mattress practically rushed up to meet her as she haphazardly crawled under the covers.
She heard Ginger sniffing.
"Got a cold?" She wondered aloud.
"You stink like…Jesus, B, are you high?" Ginger tried to pull her onto her back so she could see her eyes.
"Fucking am." Brigitte snorted, shaking her off.
"Brigitte-"
"Mm." Brigitte mumbled, going to sleep.
…
Time trundled by for Brigitte in a way it never really had before. It was like outrunning yourself in a race nobody was interested in.
She rolled over onto her back. Ginger was saying her name but it all seemed so far away. She had to concentrate to hear what her sister was saying…so…she just didn't. No bad things to talk about, no things she didn't want to discuss. She couldn't really understand, so it wasn't her problem.
She looked at Ginger blankly. Felt nothing.
Her sister was back to normal…well…whatever normal was for them.
No hurt. No sadness. No warmth. No anger. No affection. No fear. No joy. No betrayal. No faith. No trust. No guilt. Just a face.
She rolled off the bed, lazily. Ginger was still trying to talk to her. She always was, now.
It had been a week since she'd first met up with Mike. At least…she thought it had. She wasn't really sure anymore. Days seemed to…blur.
Time used to be such a concern. The full moon was a problem still. Had to do something about that eventually. The thing with the monkshood. Needed doing. Important work.
She'd not really been on top if it lately. When had she last injected herself and Ginger? Yesterday?
No, she'd been with Mike and his lot again. Smoking. Needles. Whatever was on offer, really.
The night before? Maybe.
No, Ginger had done that. Brigitte was pretty sure the doses were wrong, but she'd been so tired. It'd do. She had to learn.
Ginger's hand gripped her shoulder but she shrugged it off.
"Work." She thought she said, but her tongue felt clumsy in her mouth.
Ginger reached for her again, her arm this time, but she pushed off the bed and onto her feet shakily.
"Going." She might have said, but she wasn't sure. Felt wrong when she heard it.
She pulled on her coat and stepped out into the snow.
…
The customer, some woman she was pretty sure she'd never seen before, was trying to get her attention, but she was having trouble making connections. Far easier to just sort of…stare and hope they either went away or…or drew her a picture or something.
She leaned her elbows on the counter, trying not to drop off.
"What?"
Had that been her or the woman?
The woman looked at her with a troubled expression. Had she said something wrong?
Hoskins appeared at her shoulder again, making her jump. He was always doing that now. Never seemed far off. He was talking to the woman, occasionally shooting a brief glance toward her. Looked worried.
Brigitte couldn't say why. She'd never felt more relaxed.
Ghost was at her table by the window, as usual. She was watching Brigitte. She was always watching Brigitte.
How long had Ghost been here now anyway? A week? Week and a half? When had she first walked into the diner…?
Brigitte watched her.
Ghost pulled out her phone and started playing with it. Brigitte remembered something…there was something important, she was at least half-sure of that, to do with the phone. She frowned, trying to think, but it was hard, and tiring.
She settled on baring her teeth at Ghost.
The girl had the decency to look perturbed, alarmed even.
Brigitte realised Hoskins was talking to her. She half-turned to face him.
He looked quite unsettled.
Behind him, she saw Ginger, leaning on the counter and smirking. But…she seemed different. And she was pretty sure Ginger was at home.
Ginger didn't even have those clothes. That tight top, or that skirt. She'd definitely have…remembered those.
Hoskins frowned, looking worried .
She felt good, though. Mostly.
…
Brigitte was with Mike and his…friends? Lackeys? Peons? She didn't know the preferred term.
Mike owned a small shop. Sold various knick-knacks and paraphernalia related to a particular herb. Hippy, trippy shit, she'd thought. Not the herb itself, obviously, officially, because that would be illegal.
It had a small warehouse out back, the centre of Mike's little kingdom. They were currently hotboxing in his office. Music blared over the speakers. It barely even registered.
It was a dump, but she'd grown quite familiar with it. She'd called it the pits, the first time Mike had brought her. The name had stuck. He'd even scrawled 'The Pit' on a bit of paper with a marker, and stuck it on the door.
Mike was laughing at something she'd said. She wasn't sure what.
He passed over a brownie. She got crumbs everywhere.
Dimly she was aware she was being fucking stupid. Brigitte had little moments of clarity from time to time. Really brought her down.
She didn't know Mike. Couldn't trust Mike. He was clearly a piece of shit. But here she was.
He passed over a joint. She took it, inhaling deeply.
She wasn't even sure what was in it. Could've been anything.
Felt good though.
Across the room, through the haze, she saw Ginger.
This would have caused some comment, but nobody else seemed to notice.
Ginger was standing up against a wall. She began to pace back and forth, slowly, smiling hungrily at Brigitte.
Ginger was definitely at the motel today. She remembered her asking Brigitte about work that morning, but…
…had…had she even gone to work today?
"You could be giving me anything." Brigitte droned, running a hand through her sticky hair. Could have used a shower, really.
"Maybe." Mike nodded, thoughtfully. "Nah, not you. I like you, Brigitte. You have this…unique way of looking at the world."
"It fucking sucks." Brigitte grumbled.
The others laughed.
Mike would want something sooner or later. Everybody did. She didn't have any money, but she was dimly aware it probably wasn't money Mike wanted from her.
Brigitte lowered the joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke. Across the room she saw Ginger had perched on the desk, and was adjusting her skirt. Pulling it up. Brigitte swallowed.
The tune on the radio changed. She remembered it. Something from years ago, something Henry would listen to. Sing is quietly to himself when Pamela was on the warpath.
"I know I keep you amused but I feel I'm being used…." She mumbled. "…Oh Maggie I couldn't have tried anymore."
Ginger smirked at her.
Mike grinned. Someone brought out a case. She already knew what was in it, before they pulled out the syringe.
"You don't give a fuck, do you?" Mike picked up the syringe.
Brigitte watched, unease rising in her gut like bile. Behind Mike, Ginger loomed, eyes flashing in barely-concealed want and need.
"C'mon, B. Give in. You know you want it. One little shot and it all goes away." Ginger grinned.
She wanted it all to go away.
Inside the cage of her mind, the one she'd been building for a while now, Brigitte was rattling the bars, trying to get her attention. Ginger wasn't there. It wasn't Ginger. She hadn't seen that Ginger since…since…since…the clinic…?
"It was only ever a matter of time." Ginger started to move with the music, slowly. "Everybody wants something. Just take what you need."
Brigitte stared as Ginger began to roll, writhe, shake. Her heart rate kicked up a notch. The room suddenly felt really hot.
"You don't want to be lonely forever, do you?" Ginger breathed, shooting her a look.
"No." Brigitte managed.
Mike laughed again, and sat down beside her.
"Hold still." He grinned, taking her arm.
…
Brigitte leaned on chin on her hand. Papers were scattered around the desk in front of her. Vials of monkshood were cluttered together on one side. She was supposed to be extracting more.
Numbers, proportions, percentages…timings, records…she couldn't think.
Ginger was sitting on their bed behind her, surrounded by more paper, and more of the equipment. She was trying to measure up doses.
She idly doodled a scribble into the desk with her pen. She wanted to sleep.
"I don't know what I'm doing." Ginger said, worriedly.
Brigitte hadn't been to see Mike today. She'd been to work, but that had been an unpleasant, difficult struggle. She felt everything today. All the pain and anger and exhaustion of the last few weeks.
Two weeks, Ginger had yelled, earlier. She'd been like this for two weeks. It hadn't felt like it. But then, she hadn't felt anything.
She scrubbed at her eyes with her hands irritably. She needed…she needed something…she needed a fix…she…
Brigitte opened her eyes, staring at the wall. She felt the pull, the need, the yearning. The sheer…craving.
Fuck, what had she done.
"Brigitte?" Ginger tried again, carefully.
Ginger was treading around her these days like she was walking on broken glass. Not surprising. Brigitte felt the cracks somewhere deep inside spreading more and more.
Her hand went to her mouth to stifle the sound she made at the back of her throat. Half a sob, half a choke.
She involuntarily felt one of her teeth. It protruded more than it should. Pointed too.
"B, help me out here!" Ginger pressed. "You said this was important!"
"It is." Brigitte replied, feeling sick.
Her hands were shaking. She wasn't cold. And she was so…so fucking tired. And the need, the sheer fucking need…
"What the fuck is going on with you Brigitte!" Ginger yelled jumping off the bed and grabbing her coat.
"Where are you going?" Brigitte half-turned.
"I'm done waiting for you to get whatever this is out of your system." Ginger growled. "I'm going for a walk."
"Ginge…" Brigitte mumbled, but her sister had stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other Ginger take a seat on the desk beside her. Brigitte's eyes lingered on her bare legs.
She bit down on her hand.
"I can give you what you want, B. You know what you have to do."
Not real. Ginger was behind her. This was…the other. And she'd invited it in. She'd opened the door and helped it. The curse, the beast, the wolf.
Fed on hunger, fed on want, fed on need. Brigitte had given it everything it wanted for two weeks.
She was a fucking addict.
…
The Pit again. Only she and Mike this time. She was fucked. On everything.
She'd tried to stay away. Tried so hard. But she'd come back. And again. Another week gone…or…or was it more? How far away was the next full moon now?
Instincts tearing at each other. Some pushing her to get the hell out of there, others fuelling her urges, needs. Wanted her to get it on with Mike.
Mike was looking at her. She knew the look. Ginger had it all the time.
She had a bad feeling.
Brigitte shouldn't have come. She should have stopped this ages ago. She shouldn't have started this at all.
"Mike, look…" She started, trying to think through the haze.
"I've enjoyed gettin' to know you Brigitte. Never met anyone quite like you." Mike moved closer to her.
"Luckily there aren't many lycanthropes kicking around." She muttered, edging slightly away.
"Huh?"
"Nothing." She replied. "Look, me and Ginger are…going to be moving on soon so I need to-"
"It's cool." Mike grinned. "I was beginning to think you were just stringing me along." His hand landed on her knee.
Oh crap.
"About that." Brigitte started.
"You're not gonna get boring on me are you?" His other hand touched her face. "I've made you pretty welcome, haven't I? It's not too much to ask for something in return is it?" The hand on her knee moved up her thigh.
Hello Brigitte, my name is Tyler 2.0, the little voice inside her that was all that remained of her common sense scolded her.
"Sure." She replied, and headbutted him.
Mike sprawled backward, cursing. She figured she had a minute or two before he was up and his friends came looking. She kicked him twice in the dick for good measure and legged it.
She paused in the storage area outside and looked at the carefully organised stacks of Mike's 'stock'.
Brigitte pulled out her lighter.
Life was just too simple, Brigitte mused as she slipped out of the shop, moments later. She needed more problems.
…
Brigitte wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep it together. She'd been ducking Mike's calls. She hadn't seen him, or taken anything for two days, and it was killing her.
She hadn't seen much of Ginger either.
Each day she was sure that would be the day Hoskins would finally sack her useless self, but each time she turned up, as spotty as her attendance was, he wouldn't say anything.
The looks he gave her grew progressively more and more concerned, though. She could see why.
What she'd seen in the mirror that morning had unsettled her. The face that looked back…
…it hadn't needed fangs, stretched ears, animalistic eyes or hairy skin.
Just her own face, and what she'd done to it. So thin, so pale, dark eyes, tired, weary lines, limp hair…
She stepped into the diner, and stopped in her tracks.
Ginger was behind the counter, with Hoskins. Working.
"Ginger?"
"Morning, Brigitte." Hoskins nodded, worry written on his face. "Are you…feeling better?" She saw him glance toward Ginger.
"One of us had to keep working." Ginger explained. "I came here looking for you once, but you weren't at work."
"Your sister explained you were going through a…rough patch." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "She's been picking up your shifts when you weren't…er…here."
Brigitte realised Hoskins probably thought she relapsed into drugs, after what Ghost had said about rehab.
Somehow that stung more than trying to explain the truth, that she was a werewolf and had buried herself in a pit filled with drugs and bad company to escape the shit-show that was her life. Up to and including her conflicting feelings for Ginger.
"Right." Brigitte managed, for lack of anything better to add.
"I have to run an errand, could you watch the place?" Hoskins asked, heading out back. "Nobody is around at this time in the morning anyway."
"Sure." Ginger nodded.
Brigitte sank into the nearest chair, feeling like she was going to collapse.
She wasn't sure how much time passed, but Ginger dropped a plate of toast in front of her some time later.
"Eat something." She said, looking down at her.
Brigitte tentatively picked up a slice. Her stomach grumbled, loudly.
Ginger sat down across from her.
This was probably the closest they'd been in weeks.
"What happened, B?" Ginger asked, frowning. "Three weeks ago you just…I don't know. Melted down?"
"I had a bad day."
Ginger laughed, sharply.
"No, bad days are when you get hair growing out of places where it shouldn't and develop a hunger for domesticated animals." She snorted. "Something happened."
Brigitte looked down at the table. She crossed her arms, to stop herself fiddling with things.
"We happened."
Ginger looked at her questioningly.
Oh Christ, was she really going to have to explain? She'd kinda hoped Ginger would just somehow…get it.
"I asked you once, what if I'd started to think about you…differently. What if…it changed." Brigitte fumbled for the words.
"Brigitte…" Ginger muttered, sounding surprised.
"Three years I thought you were dead. I told you I saw you still, or something that had your face. Acted like you sometimes. One part wish-fulfilment, one part nightmare." Brigitte shrugged. "Somewhere along the way, things got messy. Confused. But you were dead, gone. I killed you."
Brigitte rested her chin on her hand, drumming the table with the fingers of her other.
"You're here, but that didn't change anything. Those scars don't just go away, Ginger." She looked at her sister. "Sometimes you scare the hell out of me, but it doesn't matter. I love you anyway."
"I can understand that." Ginger nodded, slowly.
The pair sat in silence for a moment.
"So it wasn't just…I mean we're not talking a once in a while thing, you thinking about me when you…" Ginger asked, eventually.
"Was an accident, at first."
"You kissed me, that first full moon, when we got here."
"Instinct." Brigitte shrugged. "Hoped you'd forgotten that."
"That was something else, B."
"I'm fucked up, Ginger. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, what the hell I want." Brigitte groaned. "I already didn't know where the fuck we were. You'd come back from the dead, things were…okay. Then all this and…I just…couldn't."
"Me making like it was nothing probably didn't help." Ginger half-smiled.
"Part of me didn't want it to be anything. I need to focus, I need to keep on top of all this, for us. I can't…get derailed like this, but I did, in the worst fucking way possible!" Brigitte snapped. "I ran like a coward and spent two weeks taking whatever that shit Mike and his cronies offered. Ginge, I'm a fucking mess."
"But part of you did." Ginger prompted.
"What?" Brigitte asked, struggling to backtrack.
"Part of you wanted what we did to mean something."
Brigitte sighed.
"It doesn't matter." She argued. "I need to…get through this and get back on top of the monkshood, and the notes, and the full moon…and now there's Mike to worry about, and his crew, and Ghost-" Brigitte stopped herself, too late.
"Ghost?" Ginger interrupted.
"Yeah." Brigitte replied, hesitantly. She could see Ginger gripping the table. Her brow set in a heavy frown. "She…knows about us. About Bailey Downs."
"Did you tell her?" Ginger stared.
"Of course I fucking didn't. I told her about what happened to you, and me, but nothing specific." Brigitte snapped. "She looked us up."
"That was stupid."
"I thought I trusted her, at one point. It was hard, after you, but I thought I could." Brigitte chuckled, bitterly. "Who knew I had such a gift for finding the violently unstable ones."
"I was bitten by a fucking wolf monster."
"You were pretty nuts to begin with." Brigitte shrugged. "Rubbed off on me, don't know if you've noticed."
"You were my protégé." Ginger grinned.
"And I turned out-" Brigitte's head was suddenly racked with pain. She fell forward, struggling to hold herself up.
"B, you're not well."
"No…probably not." Brigitte grumbled.
"Go home."
"Can't." Brigitte clutched her head. "Have to handle Mike somehow."
"How much do you owe him?"
Brigitte sighed.
"Not a fucking clue." She replied. "More now probably, after the last time I saw him."
"Blueballed him did you?" Ginger smirked.
"…something like that." Brigitte replied, thinking back to her last moments in the shop with mixed feelings. "I set fire to an enormous quantity of drugs. After kicking him in the crotch. Twice."
"You are not the Brigitte I remember." Ginger snorted, sounding a touch impressed.
"It was…therapeutic." Brigitte shrugged.
"Fuck him, then. Fuck his friends. Fuck Ghost." Ginger ranted. "Fuck this town, fuck all of this. Let's just go, move on. You did it before."
Brigitte looked at her sister. But behind her she saw the other Ginger, still lurking. Still smiling. Still taunting.
It was the safest option, but…
"I had another dream. About the sisters, that last full moon."
"Dreams Ginger? C'mon, we've got problems here, and I've caused most of them." Brigitte grumbled, willing her head to settle. The pain was subsiding, slowly. "You're…projecting, or something."
"What, like you?" Ginger cut back, harshly. But she softened quickly. "Sorry."
"No, I think I had that one coming."
"I think it's more than that, B." Ginger argued. "I think there's something to all this."
"Well, it doesn't really matter now, does it?" Brigitte retorted. "If we're going to move, we should move soon."
"What about Hoskins?"
The door opened and they both turned sharply.
"I'd worry about yourselves, girls." Hoskins came in looking troubled, followed by…Ghost.
Ghost was holding a local newspaper.
"You." Ginger snarled, getting up.
Brigitte struggled up unsteadily to try and hold Ginger back.
"You must be thrilled, Brigitte." Ghost beamed. "Look, I did you a favour." She held up the paper.
Their photo was plastered on the front. She didn't read the headline, she didn't need to.
"What have you done." Brigitte hissed.
"That's what I'd like to know. Hoskins ventured, warily.
"Brigitte hasn't done anything." Ginger argued.
"You, on the other hand…" Ghost giggled, gesturing toward Ginger.
"Shut up." Brigitte snapped. "Leave her out of this."
"Would everybody just calm down for a-" Hoskins tried.
"I'll fucking kill-" Ginger lunged forward.
It took everything Brigitte had to hold her back and stay on her feet at the same time. She was already out of breath, every part of her body shaking.
"No, you won't, Ginger." She grunted, through gritted teeth, forcing Ginger to look at her. "You won't hurt anybody, because if you do, I will leave. You…you won't see me again. I'll make sure of it." She let her words hang in the air.
Ginger calmed, torn between trying to get to Ghost and digesting what she'd just said.
"But, you said earlier…you said…"
"I love you Ginger. But my sister isn't a monster, you're not a monster. If you want to be one, you'll do it without me."
Brigitte frowned. Couldn't quite decide whether she fully meant it, yet. It sounded like she did.
"You're not in any shape to look after yourself." Ginger replied.
"Then don't make me." Brigitte retorted.
"Would someone tell me what's going on?" Hoskins appealed, helplessly.
"Oh, that's easy. They're werewolves." Ghost shrugged.
The diner fell silent.
"I'm going to fucking rip your insane head off you little-" Ginger snarled, but Brigitte held her back again.
"I'm sorry, what?" Hoskins started. "No, no, forget it. Just get out, all of you. Go."
Brigitte met his eyes for a moment, guilt swimming around in her gut. He looked tired, and betrayed. She supposed she had, in a way.
Brigitte led Ginger out, Ghost following behind them.
"Now you can come with me. I'll keep you safe." Ghost said, calmly.
"Stay the fuck away from my sister." Ginger snarled, again.
"Brigitte won't be yours for much longer." Ghost sniggered. "Not if you don't want to see her hurt. Her best chance is with me."
"Fuck you, you weird little-"
"We're going." Brigitte snapped. "Don't follow us." She glared at Ghost, pulling Ginger after her.
"I don't need to." Ghost shrugged. "You'll come find me eventually. Especially now your other friend is back, too."
Brigitte stopped, turning back to the younger girl.
"I don't have any fucking friends, I'm Brigitte Fitzgerald."
"B…" Ginger started, hesitantly. She was grimacing slightly.
Brigitte frowned, confused.
"How many other werewolves do you know?" Ghost shrugged.
Brigitte closed her eyes, trying not to scream. She couldn't be serious. Not now, not on top of everything else.
"I wanted to tell you, but with everything else lately…" She heard Ginger saying, but it sounded like it was coming from far away.
"There've been a few attacks." Ghost added, almost sounding excited. "No kills though. Maybe he's trying to get your attention.
Brigitte thought back over the last weeks, struggling to remember whether she'd heard…even read anything, but she'd been so far out of it…
Jason. Jason had come back. Again.
"Oh for fucks sa-" She started, when her legs suddenly buckled under her.
Ginger was yelling her name, but her voice sounded even further away now. The pain from before exploded in her skull again and her body felt useless. She saw Ginger's face peering down at her, talking noiselessly, before she blacked out.
