I couldn't resist using the subtitle of Ginger Snaps 2. I always felt like Brigitte never really got to live up to it, in the film, so I tried giving her a little more room to breathe in the finale to my own little sequel of sorts.
Alternate title: Brigitte Snaps
Brigitte ducked around the alleyway. The police car rolled by slowly, sirens momentarily lighting up the dark alley before it passed on.
She took out the knife and cut into her palm again, wiping the blood on the brick wall beside her, before tucking the knife in her belt behind her back again.
Brigitte jogged on down the short alley, coming out on a street on the other side. Hoskin's diner was at the far end. Mike's store, where they'd no doubt taken Ginger, was a few streets past that, but she wasn't heading that way. Not yet.
The street was clear, so she ran quickly across, disappearing into another alley.
The night was clear above. Starry. And the moon was full. She could feel it, like the sun burning the back of her neck on a hot day. She pulled her hood further over her face.
Her breath was visible in great clouds in the freezing night air, but she couldn't feel it at all by this point.
Brigitte broke into a sprint, relishing the speed, the intensity, the energy she felt. It was a kind of high, euphoria.
It was tempting to embrace the sheer…power, she felt, coursing through her fully.
The hunger was always there though. Insistent, craving, bubbling just under the surface. An ever present reminder of the narrow line she'd forced herself to walk, had to walk.
For Ginger.
She took out the knife and opened her palm. The cut was already healing. Too fast.
She sliced again, slapping her hand against the nearest wall, leaving another spatter of blood and tucked the knife back in her belt, running on.
Ghost. She had to find Ghost.
Brigitte doubted the girl had moved on. She didn't seem to have the sense for that. Too fixated on her, on getting her way.
Bit like Ginger had been, sometimes, back home.
Her sister hadn't been crazy though, or dangerously petty, or ready to murder strangers just to get what she…
…well not completely. Not all the time. Not-
Brigitte cut off that train of thought, it felt like she was getting derailed.
The point was, Ghost must have found her somehow, must have got here somehow. Maybe she had a way out of town, too.
Brigitte paused at the end of the alley, peering around the side. A crowd of people were hanging around outside a bar, being questioned by more cops. They were flashing a picture, it looked like.
She waited, as patiently as she could.
Her hand moved to the pocket of her jacket. She felt the syringe there, filled with monkshood, reassuringly.
Enough for her.
…or Ginger.
She could smell Ghost. Sense her. Where she'd been, where she was. Like a trail in the air. She could practically…see her, almost. Brigitte had never really explored the effect the curse had on her abilities, her senses, her body, for the most part. She had to admit, it was…something else.
While she waited, pulled out the knife and cut her palm again, smearing her blood on the corner of the wall.
Even useless old Norman could have followed a trail like the one she'd been leaving. It shouldn't be giving Jason any trouble.
Brigitte was counting on it.
The police were still there, and she was wasting time. She bit her lip.
Fuck it.
She walked across the road, as calmly, as nondescript as she could and turned the opposite direction of the cops and the crowd. Had to put as much distance between them as she could before-
"Excuse me, young lady?" A voice called from behind her.
-before that.
Brigitte broke into a run.
"Hey!"
Heavy, rushing boots hit the pavement behind her.
She veered sharply into another narrow alleyway, barely more than a gap between two buildings this time. Ghost's imprint was strong in her mind, she was close.
There was a stack of storage crates at the far end. She slipped through, tearing the pile down behind her, blocking the way in a loud crash. Annoyed, shouting voices took up at the other end of the alley. Somewhere in the distance she heard sirens from the other police car.
She ran out onto the road, her heart thumping in her chest and her legs burning with every thumping step. There was another motel at the end of the road, on the edge of town. Ghost was there, she had to be.
Brigitte cut across the mostly-empty car park. There were a few vehicles, nice ones. She was vaguely aware the motel itself looked nicer than the one she'd been living in. Ghost had money, then.
She pushed the irritating thought aside and tried to focus. Narrow down where Ghost was. Narrower.
Her gaze veered up to a room on the edge of the building, second floor.
Without stopping, Brigitte pushed herself on, faster. She vaulted onto a dumpster and jumped upward, grasping onto the railing of the balcony on the second floor, scrambling up and over.
She was panting heavily, but still continued, walking toward the far end. Again she pulled out the knife, sliced her rapidly healing palm and wiped blood on the nearest wall. Then, still using the knife, she thrust it into the gap between the door and the frame, forcing and levering the lock until it swung open easily.
"Don't run, don't shout, and for fucks sake just listen." Brigitte snarled, stalking in, bloody knife still in hand. She pulled down her hood.
Ghost stared, wide-eyed from her seat on the bed. The TV was on across from her.
"B…Brigitte?" Ghost stammered, in shock.
Fair reaction, considering what she probably looked like right now. Some freakish blend of animal and human.
"I said shut up." Brigitte snapped.
Ghost was staring worriedly at something and Brigitte realised she was still waving the knife around. She let her arm fall to her side.
Time was draining away, in the back of her mind. Had to keep this short.
"Mike, the local drugs guy, has Ginger. I have to save her." She explained, curtly. "…or them, if she turns." She added, grimly.
Ghost seemed to settle, more at ease. She tugged at the collar of her blue sweater distractedly, attempting a grin.
"Well, I'm sure we can come up with some sort of deal." Ghost smiled. "All you had to do was-"
"I'm not here for this shit, I don't have time for it." Brigitte interrupted, feeling her temper fray. "You have a car, right? Be on the other side of town in half an hour with it."
"I'm not just going to let you get away again." Ghost argued, sliding off the bed and getting to her feet.
Brigitte wrestled with the near-insatiable urge to rip the girl's throat out with her fucking hands.
"You want me?" Brigitte hissed, raising the knife again. "You want to be like me? You want to know what it's like to be me?" She cut her palm again, blood dropped onto the floor.
"Brigitte, what-"
"Give me your hand, I'll show you what it's fucking like." Brigitte stepped forward, holding out her bleeding palm.
"Brigitte!" Ghost pulled back, horrified.
It was cruel, scaring her like this. Brigitte knew it. It was cold. Calculating. It was…cruel.
But she didn't have time for this. And maybe Ghost would learn something about herself. About Brigitte. About what she really was.
Ghost quivered slightly, eyes going from her bloody hand, to the knife, to her face.
"You. Car. Edge of town, past Mike's place. Half an hour." Brigitte snarled, through her fangs. "Understand?"
Ghost nodded, reluctantly, her face pale.
Her eye was briefly caught by a crowbar resting against a cupboard by the door. She grabbed it.
She noticed Ghost was watching her carefully, but kept glancing back at the TV. Brigitte looked at it for the first time since she'd come in, and hesitated.
It was the news. An interview. A woman and a man together, talking to the camera.
"Of course we hope it's true, don't we Henry?"
"Of course, dear."
"They're our little girls, no matter what has happened, or what people or the police might think they're involved in. They're my little girls. I just want them back, I want them to come home."
"Mum…" Brigitte murmured, before she could stop herself.
Ghost was watching her, looking uneasy. Brigitte frowned again, glaring sharply at the girl.
"I will find you, if you aren't there. I will always find you." She bared her teeth, then pulled up her hood as she backed out of the room. "If anything goes wrong, I will find you. If anything happens to Ginger…" A rumbling growl escaped her throat.
"I'll be there." Ghost said, quickly.
Brigitte shut the door, putting the knife away. That had actually been the easier part.
Gripping the railing, she dropped over the side, landing on the concrete with a thud. Now she had to make sure Jason was following her, and get him to Mike's-
"…rrrrrrfffffitttzzzzz…" Something growled from the shadow under the walkway behind her.
Well, that narrowed it down a little.
She could hear his ragged breathing. Feel the heat of his breath right behind her. Hell, she could smell him, but that had nothing to do with her heightened senses.
"Want something to chew on?" She asked, half-turning, and smashed the crowbar into the side of his head.
Jason howled in pain and she ran.
Her plan, what little there was of it, was stupid, and dangerous. People were going to die.
That didn't make her happy. But there was no other way.
Ginger had enough blood on her hands. Maybe, Brigitte thought…maybe, it was time she had some of her own.
She didn't want to kill.
But she'd do anything for her sister. She knew that. Brigitte had always known that.
Jason had recovered and she could hear him behind her, keeping pace. Panting and growling as he half-ran, half-crawled after her.
The sirens were still going, cutting through the night all around.
This was probably more action than 'Moose City' had seen since they built it.
Brigitte turned sharply down the road toward the middle of town. She couldn't run all the way around the outside, even though it was probably safer. Her lungs would probably burst.
If she was careful though, maybe-
A police car pulled out of the next corner, right in front of her. She couldn't stop.
"Fuckfuckfuck." She hissed frantically.
"FFRRRTTZZZ!" Jason growled from behind her.
She poured on a last burst of speed and vaulted the hood of the car, sliding across it. Behind her, she heard a metallic thud and scraping as Jason landed on it, scrambling across.
"What the fuck was that?!" She heard someone shout, as the men got out of the car.
Brigitte pushed on, her tired body screaming for her to stop, her heart pounding.
She was pretty sure she'd never run so much in her life.
Hoskin's diner was at the end of the road. She was nearly there. As she got closer, she saw the broken windows out front. Damaged by Jason.
Her fault.
She passed the diner, taking the corner without pausing, latching onto a streetlamp for balance.
Jason snarled angrily from behind her. Close. So close.
People were going to die, and it was going to be on her head. She wasn't sure she was really ready for that, but she had to be. There was no going back.
She'd let Tyler die, killed by the werewolf she hadn't known to be Ginger, because of Ghost's lies. Tyler was a shit, but she'd been lied to.
At least this time, it was her choice.
Small comfort.
Mike's store was at the end of the road.
"Come on McCardy, you hormonal sack of shit!" She yelled over her shoulder. "You want me?"
Jason howled.
Brigitte hauled a couple of bins over behind her. She heard Jason crash into them.
She had made it.
The door was closed and the lights were off, but they were in there. She lifted the crowbar and hurled it overarm, straight through the window. Before it had even smashed, she forced herself on once more, leaping through the window in a shower of glass and tumbling into the storefront.
"Shit." She hissed, dragging herself across the floor through the wreckage.
Shards of jagged glass were buried in her arms and legs. Her hands were slick with blood as she pulled herself along. With difficulty, and biting her tongue against the pain, she managed to pull her jacket off, brushing off most of the glass she'd picked up with it.
Brigitte forced herself to her feet, fumbling for the crowbar in the dark. She tried to brush more glass from her now torn jeans, picking up more scratches and cuts on her hands for her efforts. Her eyes adjusted unnaturally quickly and she found the door leading to the storage unit behind the shop.
She could hear Jason still following behind her, on the street outside.
Without thinking, she threw open the door to the back.
"Ginger!" She yelled.
She had about a second to glimpse Mike and about six other guys, some with guns, standing around, before one of them saw her and fired at her in a panic. She threw herself back, but not before the bullet tore through her arm.
"You fuckin' idiot!" She heard Mike yelling, as she pressed herself behind the door.
She pressed a hand to the wound. Wasn't deep. Bullet scraped the skin, cutting through her hoodie. Lot of blood. So much.
Making it hard to think. The blood. The fear and panic from the men inside. Muddled her brain. Her thinking and the wolf's thinking jostled for position.
She peered around, hesitantly. They had fanned out, with Mike stood behind the guy in the middle. The Den, Mike's office, was closed behind them. Ginger had to be in there.
She wasn't howling or scratching at the door though, still had time.
As she turned back toward the broken window, she saw Jason lumbering carefully through.
"Fffffffiiitttzzzzz…" He grumbled.
She peered back through the door.
"Come out Brigitte. We can…talk about this." Mike called. "Sure, you owe me a lot of money, but maybe we can come up with some other way you can work it off." He sniggered.
"I'm here for my sister!" Brigitte called back, sounding more confident than she felt.
"I guess that depends on what you're ready to do for me, don't it?"
Mike's gang laughed to themselves.
She clutched the crowbar tightly. Jason was getting closer. Mike's crew started to edge toward the door.
Her eyes fixed on the long light fixture in the back room. It flickered occasionally.
Brigitte took a deep breath.
She stepped out into the doorway quickly, and threw the crowbar again, as hard as she could at the light. It smashed in a shower of sparks and glass, bathing the entire room in darkness. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she fancied she could practically feel Jason's breath and she threw herself forward onto the floor.
Mike and his crew fired their guns in panic, illuminating the room briefly. Brigitte had about a second to see Jason bounding over her head and into the room, before the black swept in like a tide, and the yelling and screaming started.
Sporadic gunshots chipped and ricocheted off the walls, and she could see Jason, lost in the throes of his own bloodlust, in the middle of the chaos.
"What the hell is that?!" Somebody yelled.
"Fuck knows, shoot it!" Mike cursed.
Brigitte dragged herself through the middle, trying to avoid the confusing brawl raging around her. She patted the syringe in her pocket again, reassured by its presence. The smell of blood was thick in the air now, tinged with…marijuana. Made her feel sluggish and tense at the same time. It was intoxicating.
"Ginger!" She called again.
She picked herself up off the floor. Mike's crew were in a panic, none of them sure what exactly was moving amongst them, snarling, clawing, scratching and biting. Somebody grabbed her shoulder suddenly.
"I got 'er!"
Brigitte drove her elbow back as hard as she could, roughly where the guy's face should have been, resulting in a violent crunch that sent a bolt of pain shooting down her arm. She wasn't sure whether her elbow or his jaw was worse off, but he let go, crying out sharply as he fell away.
The door to the office was ahead. Closed still. Around her screams and noise and blood. Made it hard to think.
The hunger was getting to her. The smell, the salty taste of it was in the air, everywhere. Made her skin itch.
She palmed the syringe in her pocket again. Forced herself to think. Find Ginger. Get out.
Brigitte took a run at the door, ignoring the aches, pains and multiple wounds she'd picked up over the night, and crashed through it, almost pulling it off its hinges.
"Ginger!" She looked around, frantically, finally seeing Ginger cuffed to some pipes by Mike's desk. She was slumped against them, looking worse for wear. Her hair was practically white. And…she was counting to herself.
"…ninety-eight…ninety-nine…" Ginger looked up, bewildered. "…Brigitte?"
Brigitte stopped in her tracks when she saw the swollen, black bruises around her eye, and her mouth.
"You shoulda' seen the other guy." Ginger smirked, when she realised what she was staring at.
"Hold on, I'm-" Brigitte started, pulling out the syringe of monkshood.
"That's about fucking enough." Mike snarled from behind her.
She felt something heavy clout her on the back of the head. A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her stumbling backwards, against the wall. She dropped the syringe.
"What the fuck is that thing?" Mike demanded, pointing his gun at her.
"Kid we went to school with." Ginger grinned, stupidly.
Someone else yelled in the dark behind them, followed by another gunshot. Mike turned at the sound and Brigitte started to move, but the gun pushed harder into her head.
Mike turned back, glaring at her, then his eyes drifted toward Ginger, as if he'd noticed her for the first time. His expression twisted in confusion and disgust.
"What…happened to you?" He spat, staring in surprise. "You look…like…like…"
"That time of the month?" Ginger shrugged.
Brigitte snorted, despite herself. Mike turned back to her, peering at her more closely now.
She went for broke and pulled her hood down. She'd been wondering if she looked as rough as she felt.
"Jesus fucking Christ." Mike stepped back, aghast.
That bad then. Oh well, Brigitte mused.
"Fuck me, B." Ginger whistled.
"Thanks, Ginger." Brigitte shot her a dark look.
"Sorry." Ginger grinned, weakly.
"What…the fuck are you two?" Mike waved the gun between the two of them, inadvertently pushing the office door shut as he backed into it.
The wolf was raging to break free of the cage she'd built around it. It smelled fear. It smelled blood.
"Lycanthrope." Brigitte replied, tersely.
"Means werewolf." Ginger added, helpfully.
Brigitte clenched and unclenched her hands. Mike's panicked heartbeat was almost thunder in her ears.
"You're fucking freaks, that thing out there is a freak, you're all freaks!" Mike yelled, frantically. "Fuck this, I'm just gonna shoot your freak of a sister, you, and then-" He ranted, aiming his gun at Ginger.
Brigitte moved before her thoughts had even caught up with her body. Mike tried to aim at her instead, but he was too late to get a clear shot. He fired in a panic. She felt the bullet clip her side but she pushed on, crashing into him. Her arm pinned against his throat, her other hand grabbing the wrist of his hand holding the gun.
"You're going to what?" She snarled, teeth grinding together.
He thrashed against her grip but it was useless. She gripped his wrist and slammed it into the wall repeatedly, squeezing tighter and tighter until he cried out, dropping the gun. Something in his hand snapped.
"Let me…go…" Mike rasped for breath, scrabbling with his free hand at her arm.
She removed her arm just long enough to close her other hand around his throat, hard. Mike slammed back into the wall, something fell out of his pocket and clattered across the floor. He coughed and flailed, uselessly.
Brigitte increased the pressure. She was riding on adrenaline, anger. Burning fumes. The second bullet hadn't just gone through cleanly. Her side felt numb, and her clothes felt wet, sticky. She was losing blood fast.
"Brigitte!" Ginger yelled, rattling her cuffs.
Out of the corner of her eye, the other Ginger strolled into view, leaning on the wall lazily beside Mike. Wearing a despairingly clingy, short dress. Her imagination was warped.
"Yeah, Brigitte." Ginger smirked. "Go for it."
"Wasn't enough that you took my sister, you had to hit her?" Brigitte growled, pressing her face close to his. "Enjoy it did you?"
"You know he did." Ginger egged her on. "Make the fucker pay. Take something away from him."
"I can't…breathe…" Mike coughed.
His neck was exposed. His veins stuck out. She felt like she could…see it, the blood, pumping. Fucking hell, she was so hungry.
She sniffed at him. Mike's face contorted in terror.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Mike cried.
"You're hungry, B." Ginger tilted her head, sympathetically. "So hungry…and so tired."
"Brigitte, don't do this!" Ginger yelled from behind her, tugging on her cuffs.
Brigitte felt herself slipping. She bared her teeth, now fangs, and leaned closer. She could just make out teeth marks from where Ginger had bitten him earlier. Fitting.
"Let me take care of everything, B." Ginger whispered into her ear, pressing close. Brigitte could swear she almost felt her breath. "Just take it easy."
"Easy." Brigitte sneered.
"No!" Mike cried, as she opened her mouth.
"Brigitte, you aren't me!" Ginger insisted. "You aren't me! You aren't!"
Brigitte hesitated. Beside her, Ginger screamed. Behind her, Ginger pleaded.
She was hanging by a thread. She could feel it unwinding.
The door suddenly shook. A clawed hand crashed through, grasping for anything.
Brigitte had a glimpse of the room outside. It was still dark, but it looked like Jason had finished playing with his…food.
"Don't ignore me!" Ginger ranted, but she sounder further away somehow.
Brigitte pushed through the haze of want and hunger, focusing everything she had left on the new threat. She tossed Mike across the office, sending him flying into the wall and landing in a heap.
"Ffffiittzzzz." Jason growled from outside.
He charged into the door again, splintering it utterly.
"I am so fucking sick of you following me around McCardy." Brigitte cracked her knuckles and dug her heels into the floor.
Jason struggled through the wreckage. He was more wolf than human now. The tattered remnants of his clothes mostly gone, his body twisted in shape, his face stretched, long, with a dog-like muzzle.
"Bbrrttcchh." He growled, loping forward.
"Dick." Brigitte retorted, then threw herself at him.
The two of them cartwheeled out of the office, punching, clawing and grabbing at one another. She must have taken him by surprise because Jason's efforts to stop her were confused, sloppy. Or maybe he was just more tired than she was.
Brigitte was dimly aware of the bodies around them. What was left of Mike's crew. She wanted to be sick when she felt the hunger rise again.
She channelled that into more anger, as she managed to pin Jason beneath her and tried to mercilessly pound his wolfish face into paste.
Brigitte didn't know much about fighting, but operated on the assumption that the more she hit him, the less he could hit back.
It felt good hitting something that didn't hit back.
He was howling, but she kept hitting. Blood and…pieces covered her fist, spattered across her face. She clenched her teeth and kept hitting.
She was so angry. She didn't even know why anymore.
"You…fucking..sack…of…shit…" She spat, striking again and again between each word.
Jason snarled, trying to bite her fist as it came down. She struck him across the face with her other fist. His clawed hand suddenly came up and raked her side, where Mike had shot her. The bleeding had stopped, her healing being at its peak during the full moon, but the pain was shattering.
She screamed, rolling off of Jason and clutching her side, now soaked with blood again.
Jason recovered, slowly, crawling on all fours now. What was left of his human half was gone, leaving behind a rasping, wounded, maddened animal.
At least he wasn't just trying to breed with her anymore, she thought, briefly.
Jason lumbered toward her, limping, clearly hurt. Brigitte struggled backward, trying to make space to breathe. She felt herself catch on something when her belt got stuck and remembered the knife.
She reached for it, cautiously.
Jason…or whatever he was now, closed in. His jaws hung open, dripping blood and saliva. He sniffed at her, then padded closer.
Brigitte propped herself up on her arm and pressed her face up to his, glaring, eye to eye.
"Fuck you, McCardy."
"Rrrrrrnggh." Jason snarled.
Brigitte yanked the knife from her belt and buried it in his thick neck.
Jason's clawed hand struck her across the face, sending her sprawling while he barked and yelped sharply, staggering across the room before crashing into a wall and haphazardly curling up in a heap by the metal sliding door at the back.
Brigitte fumbled around, her head feeling like someone had hit it with a brick. Repeatedly.
The building was finally quiet.
Ginger.
She dragged herself across the floor, clutching her side. Hand was wet with blood. She'd lost a lot now. Wasn't sure how much, more than healthy.
She had nothing left. Her body was drained. Devoid of energy, coordination. Through the torn sleeves of her hoodie she saw dark hair. Her back hurt too. Spine felt like it wanted to curve into another shape.
"Ginger." She grunted, pulling herself toward the office.
Brigitte managed to grab the doorframe, using it and what was left of her strength to pull herself into the office. She dragged herself up against it, managing to get her knees beneath her.
Mike wasn't moving. Wasn't dead, she could hear him breathing.
She looked to where Ginger was…except she wasn't. The cuffs hung off the pipe, empty. Brigitte looked around, panic rising.
"Don't move."
Ginger knelt down beside her. She had the syringe in her hand.
"Ginger. Take it, the monkshood." Brigitte insisted. She coughed, her voice sounding hoarser, less like herself.
Ginger shook her head.
"Don't need it, B." She smiled, slightly. "You came back for me."
"What else…was I going to do?" Brigitte retorted, coughing again.
She looked at her older sister closely. There were strands of red in her hair again. And her eyes were normal. She didn't look like she was in pain.
"You did it." Brigitte managed, weakly.
Ginger glanced at Mike's unconscious form, and past her into the storage area.
"So did you." Ginger smirked. "Quite a mess, B."
"So am I." Brigitte conceded. She lifted her hand from her side, coated in red.
She was surprised when Ginger pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her own arms around her sister's back as Ginger leaned into her shoulder.
"Sorry about this, B." Ginger mumbled into her hair.
"Wha-" Brigitte started, when a sharp pain shot through her as Ginger stuck the syringe into her shoulder and injected her with the monkshood. "-ffffffuuuuuuck." She groaned, falling limp in Ginger's arms.
She felt it working through her. Felt it smother the anger, drown the beast. It burned. It hurt. There was pain.
But it was Brigitte's hurt. Brigitte's pain.
"Need to get…to edge of town. Ghost waiting." She managed, haltingly. "Car."
They tensed as they heard the first police sirens.
"Come on." Ginger pulled her arm over her shoulder and helped her up.
Brigitte tried to focus on just walking. Everything else was secondary. Everything else…but…
"What…was the counting about?" Brigitte asked, as Ginger helped them get toward the rear entrance.
Ginger hit the switch and the metal door scraped upward. Jason lay still, unmoving on the floor. Couldn't tell if he was dead or not. Brigitte decided she didn't want to know.
"Ginger?" She pressed, as they stumbled outside together.
Ginger turned to look at her, with…that expression. The one Brigitte remembered from her dream.
"Advice." Ginger smiled wryly. "From someone we know."
Brigitte rolled her eyes, sighing.
"That's a shit of an answer, Ginge."
"Yeah." Ginger nodded, nuzzling her ear.
Brigitte huffed, irritably, as they limped on down the road, the chorus of sirens closing in behind them.
