The closet was small. Tiny. Insignificant. And still, Brigitte didn't want to leave her sister. Sam was in there with her, and she smiled inside; at least she had him. But he wanted to leave Ginger. Maybe he was smarter than her. She was definitely naive. Because he didn't think of her that way, and Ginger cared. Well, maybe she wasn't that naive.
"No, you said you'd die with me just 'cause you didn't have anything better to do!"
And it hurt. Because Ginger didn't deny it; she knew. They both knew the truth. Brigitte hated her and what she had been, and now she only felt bad and scared.
"Hey, how about you take this, and we blow?" His voice was quiet, nearly a whisper, and Brigitte wanted to. She wanted to so badly it hurt even more, but she also knew that it was the change. Yes, she thought, silently staring at him. But there was something she needed to do first.
"Not yet," she said, "I can still save her."
"You can barely move, Brigitte. Let me do it. I'll-" He was cut off.
"No. Sam... she won't hurt me. I promise, I'll be fine." She put her hand out in front of her, palm up. Sam hesitated as the syringe soaked up more monkshood. When it was done, he hesitated some more. Finally, he relented. The syringe was in her hand when they exited the closet.
"If he rapes you, just don't come crying to me..."
And the things that happened next were a blur. There was Ginger, the wolf, what she had become. And Sam was on the floor under her, and Ginger was just sniffing, as if waiting, and Brigitte ran. The syringe came down and made contact with a sick thud in Ginger's back. The plunger moved down, and the monkshood raced through Ginger's circulatory system. She fell on top of Sam. He pushed Ginger off of him with Brigitte's help, and she was already changing. It was a new type of death, and Brigitte realised it; knew there was nothing there she wanted. Everything about her sister was a sudden and halting dissapointment, and still she didn't want to leave her.
Brigitte gathered some things, and they put Ginger on the bed, still unconscious. Brigitte tucked the blanket tightly around her, and kissed her forehead. Goodnight Ginge. And she looked around the room one last time. Sam came up to her, syringe in hand, and she smiled for the first time in years. Really smiled. They had made more of the monkshood brew, and now Sam took Brigitte's arm and injected it. She fell into him, and they made their way slowly to the van. The front seat was small, but it was bigger than the closet. Sam smiled as Brigitte leaned back in her seat. Brigitte showed him some pictures as they drove off to where ever.
"Let me tell you a story," she said, and knew he would appreciate it, "It's about two girls, two sisters. And it all starts with a pact..."