Today we see things from Ginger's point of view, something we've not seen since Endurance, during Reunion. Will we see more of the inside of Ginger's head later on?

Spoilers.

It turned out their family tree wasn't exactly just one neat, concise document. Nor was it entirely a tree. It turned out it was enough pieces of paper to possibly have once been a tree, though.

"Oh my god." Brigitte muttered to herself, poring over the confused, disorganised stack of papers she'd coated the entire dining room table with.

"Are you alright, B?" Ginger leaned on the other side of the table, looking at her with a mixture of concern and sympathy.

"What the fuck have I gotten myself into?" She half-whined, staring at the mess in growing despair.

That's all there, I think, dear." Pamela came into the dining room, looking pleased. "Your little friend helped me find it all."

"No problem, Mrs Fitzgerald." Ghost beamed, following behind her.

Brigitte's eyes flitted over to her one-time 'friend' from rehab, wondering if she'd missed something or whether the girl and Pamela were actually…getting on. Ghost looked back, the picture of innocence.

Ginger shot the girl a sour glare. Brigitte noticed Pamela was giving her an expectant, hopeful look.

"…uh…yeah." Brigitte tried to force a smile. "Thanks, mom. This is…great." It felt more like a grimace, and Ginger was struggling not to laugh.

"You're welcome, if there's anything else you let me know." Pamela smiled, leaving. "Night, girls."

They all chorused 'night', in varying tones.

"You can stop now, Brigitte. She's gone." Ginger grinned. "You're getting better, though, it looked less painful this time."

"Fuck off." Brigitte groaned, digging her fingers through her hair and resting her head in her hands.

"That was a smile?" Ghost snorted.

"One only a Pam could love." Ginger chuckled. "You need any help?" Her sister turned back to her, trying to catch her eyes through her tangled fringe.

"Yes." Brigitte sighed, looking over the table again, resignedly. "Go away."

Ginger pouted, looking a little put out.

"Look, this is going to take…time." Brigitte glanced up, trying not to snap. "We're looking at another day here just to sort through this. It'll be quicker if you all just…leave me to it."

She saw Ginger look toward the back window. Brigitte followed her gaze. It was dark out now. And she was tired, after enduring the monkshood earlier.

"You could start tomorrow, right?" Ginger suggested, hopefully. "Come to bed?"

Brigitte looked over the threatening assortment of papers again.

"Fine." She conceded, getting up from the table and letting Ginger gleefully hook her arm and tug her along.

"Gross." Ghost called, from behind them. "Your mom is upstairs, have you no shame?"

"Who asked you?" Ginger cut back. "And no. Not after waking up after a full moon and still feeling the urge to…go…against a tree."

"I don't want to hear this." Brigitte muttered, rubbing her eyes. Suddenly, sleep was sounding even better.

"Gross!" Ghost made a retching noise.

"Shut up!" Ginger retorted.

Brigitte closed her eyes, and started to count.

…

Ginger snorted, jolting awake and swallowed wrong, devolving into a fit of coughs. She fumbled around for Brigitte, still half asleep, rolling onto her side to find her and had a brief second to realise she wasn't there. And nor was her bed.

"Hyyrrfffuu-!" She yelped, falling face first to the floor, tangled in bedsheets.

"Morning." She heard Brigitte murmur, from somewhere above.

"Mrrnnggh." She groaned, into the carpet.

"Moved my bed back earlier this morning. Sorry. Forgot to say." Brigitte went on, not sounding very sorry, to Ginger's ears.

Ginger rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand and looking up. Brigitte was laying on her front atop her bed, looking completely absorbed in whatever she was reading. Occasionally she'd pause to write something down in a notebook.

"Did you even stop for breakfast?" Ginger asked, rubbing her bleary eyes.

Brigitte reached over her head, to the bedside table and picked up a plate of toast, which she lowered down to the floor without a word.

Ginger eyed it warily, then frowned lightly back up at Brigitte, who had already gone back to forgetting she existed. She was like that, sometimes, when she was involved in something. Even as kids, Ginger would have to double her efforts to keep her sister's attention…

…and she'd been quite a needy little bitch, back then. She always wanted Brigitte's attention.

Ginger nibbled at a slice of toast, watching her sister, engrossed in whatever all that shit Pam had found was about. It wasn't that she didn't care, technically this whole 'thing' they were doing was her idea, they'd been her dreams, after all. Ginger just…didn't have the focus Brigitte did. Except for when it came to maybe Brigitte herself, then Ginger could focus pretty much indefinitely.

She was focusing pretty intently on her sister now, as she munched through the toast, not bothering to get off the floor. Brigitte's brow was furrowed slightly, as she read, her eyes would flick back and forth occasionally, her dark hair hung over her shoulders like a ragged curtain, clashing with her almost icy, pale skin beneath.

Brigitte had always had a lighter complexion, as far as she could remember, but she'd not exactly looked…permanently unwell. Frail, or fragile. She tried to imagine herself taking the monkshood for three years, alone, knowing what it was and what it was doing to her body, and couldn't.

…although that was pretty much her future now, near as Ginger could tell. But at least she wasn't alone.

Her eyes moved from Brigitte's face down to her shoulder, trailing down the light curve of her back, stopping at her waist. Her grey sleeveless top had ridden up, exposing bare, almost porcelain skin just over her hips. Her loose tracksuit bottoms had slipped down a bit and she could see her underwear protruding over the top and then suddenly her imagination was going entirely different places before she could stop it.

Ginger brushed crumbs off her fingers on the carpet and slowly, carefully, pulled herself up, leaning on the side of Brigitte's bed.

Brigitte had tried to broach the topic of their…well…relationship, whatever it was, a few times, but Ginger didn't really know what to say about it. She loved Brigitte, she wanted Brigitte. In one way or another, she always had. She barely even considered it as much of a leap as she felt she possibly should have. Their bond had always been strong, they'd always been close. Unusually so, for sisters, definitely.

Ginger extremely carefully slipped her fingers under the waist of Brigitte's tracksuit bottoms, and tentatively started sliding them down further.

Hell, they'd spent three years apart. Brigitte thinking she was dead, Ginger realising she couldn't live without her. It had been a little surprising to find Brigitte was thinking about her in a blatantly sexual way, at first, she'd even masturbated thinking about her. Bit of a head-trip, but…so what?

It had clearly bothered Brigitte herself more than it bothered her. It made her realise that her feelings about her younger sister might just always have been a…little screwy. Odd. Not quite 'the norm'.

Brigitte shifted slightly, folding one leg over the other, but continued scribbling away, seemingly oblivious to Ginger's actions.

Ginger thought maybe Brigitte was the same, but her little sister was a thinker. And all that thinking probably made it harder for her to just accept what they wanted out of each other. Like it was still somehow wrong for them to want that kind of connection, or something.

Who fucking cared? Who else warranted a say? If she wanted to fuck her sister, after she'd been infected by a werewolf, regularly transformed into a flesh-eating carnivore, and actually fucking eaten people, then who the hell was going to say 'sorry, that's just one step too far'?

And Brigitte wanted her too, so it was hardly even a problem!

Ginger's eyes latched onto the now exposed curve of Brigitte's hips, hungrily. As delicately as possible, grinning, she hooked under fingers into the waistband of her sister's black knickers and started to slide them down too.

"Cut it out." Brigitte said, suddenly, without turning around, causing Ginger to jump and let go.

"I'm bored, B." Ginger whined, shuffling further up the bed, toward Brigitte.

"This'll take me longer the more you keep bugging me." Brigitte finally looked up from her work, although she looked a tiny bit annoyed.

"Bugging?" Ginger pouted, but Brigitte was already back to work.

Ginger scowled. She was going to have to get creative. The thing was, Brigitte was just less outwardly confident than she was, she needed prodding, sometimes.

"Brigitte…" Ginger started, softly, grabbing the hem of her long t-shirt.

"What is it?" Brigitte turned sharply, glaring at her.

Ginger lifted up her top, tilting her head slightly and grinning. Brigitte's eyes widened, noticeably.

She wasn't wearing a bra.

"Well?" Ginger beamed.

…

The bedroom door slammed shut in her face. Ginger blinked, momentarily stunned.

"Leave me alone." Brigitte growled, from the other side. "Find someone else to pester."

"Pester?" Ginger whined. "Brigitte?" She tried the door, but Brigitte had locked it.

"I'm not in!" Brigitte yelled, from further away.

"Brigitte! C'mooon!" Ginger moaned, then sighed, looking down, in a funk.

And her feet were cold. They weren't supposed to feel the cold anymore, but the monkshood screwed with everything. And she wasn't wearing very much. And now she had cold feet.

"Can I at least get some clothes?" She knocked on the door. "Brigitte?"

Ginger heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Pamela with a basket of washing, heading toward the machine in the basement. She gave her a brief glance, seemingly amused at the situation. Her annoyance at that was displaced by her surprise at seeing Ghost following behind her.

"Trouble, dear?" Pamela called, down the hall.

"No." Ginger retorted, curtly.

"You always did never know when to stop pushing, with your sister." The woman chuckled to herself.

"Aren't you cold?" Ghost asked, innocently.

As innocent as a snake, Ginger thought.

"Get lost, you little troll." She cut back.

"Ginger Ann!" Pamela scolded her.

"Don't call me that!" Ginger yelled back.

"It's okay, Mrs Fitzgerald. I'm used to Ginger's moods." Ghost chimed in.

"C'mere and say that." She growled.

"Girls, that is quite-" Pamela started.

The bedroom door scraped open behind her. They all stopped. Ginger turned, quickly.

"Brigitte, they're driving me nuts, you-" She managed, before catching a pile of clothes in her face with a whump.

She pulled them down, involuntarily recoiling when she saw Brigitte's withering, unflinching glare. Brigitte's scathing gaze passed over all of them, without saying anything, then she stepped back into their bedroom and shut the door, the lock clicking into place again.

"I think Brigitte would like some 'alone time', now." Pamela suggested, forcibly, steering Ghost upstairs with her. "The laundry will wait."

"You're not kiddin'…" Ginger muttered, struggling awkwardly into the pair of jeans in the cramped hallway, and then trying to change tops and hook on a bra as fast as possible to avoid the cold.

She eyed Ghost suspiciously, as she followed Pamela back upstairs, wondering just what the conniving midget was up to now. Getting on with Pam was dubious enough on its own, but the vindictive brat doing it only made Ginger trust her even less.

And she didn't trust Ghost at all to begin with.

Okay then, Ginger thought, hopping off-balance down the hall as she tried to pull her socks on, that was the plan. She'd find out what Ghost was up to, and then she'd tell Brigitte. And then she could kick her in the head. Or kick her out.

Either worked.

…

Realistically, Ginger felt she should have known better. She'd gotten bored of pretending not to watch Ghost and Pamela play happy families in about half an hour.

"So, do you have a real name, dear?" Pamela asked, from behind her in the dining room, where she was doing some…thing moms did. With some stuff. Cleaning, maybe.

"Yeah." Ghost nodded. "Of course. I just…didn't get on with my family."

"Imagine that." Ginger snorted, from the living room. "I mean, Brigitte told me you only set your grandmother on fire. I can't imagine why she'd be annoyed."

"It was an accident." Ghost retorted, defensively.

"Yeah." Ginger scoffed. "And when I turn, I accidentally start hunting down house pets."

"No, she was smoking, and-"

"Liar." Ginger half-turned, leaning on the back of the sofa.

"What about your parents?" Pamela asked, shooting Ginger a warning glance.

"Oh, they never found the bodies." Ginger explained, casually. "Personally, I think the crazy freak probably just chopped them up and fed them to that dog of yours, what was its name? Rowdy?"

"Rocky." Ghost glowered at her.

"Ginger, that is enough." Pam insisted.

"Yeah…I guess that was what the collar said, at the rehab clinic." Ginger mused, ignoring her. "It was kinda hard to read, I was in full 'fangs and fur' mode at the time, y'know, so it's not like I had any say or control or…"

"You killed Rocky?" Ghost stared, gripping the table.

Ginger smiled, innocently.

"Well, it wasn't my fault, really." She argued, mock-hurt.

She'd been trying to provoke a reaction out of the lying brat for the two weeks they'd been forced together by their mutual need to stay with Brigitte.

"I said that is quite enough!" Pam snapped.

"You think so?" Ginger argued back. "Why don't you ask her about the time she tried to lock Brigitte up in her basement so she could have a werewolf as a pet?"

"She was turning!" Ghost cried. "I couldn't stop it! And I didn't want her to leave me!"

"There's a shocker." Ginger rolled her eyes.

Ghost looked like she was going to argue back, but Pam put a hand on her shoulder and steered her to the kitchen.

"I'll be along shortly, dear." She murmured, then turned back to Ginger, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"What? You're gonna lecture me now? That kid is a fucking piece of-"

"I know precisely what she is, and what she's done, Ginger." Pamela pulled up a chair from the dining table and sat a small distance from the sofa.

"…y'what?" Ginger blinked, momentarily thrown off.

"Her parents left her with her grandmother, Barbara, when she was little." Pam explained, patiently. "Barbara, from what I gather, wasn't particularly interested in raising a child."

"So she tried to burn her alive? That sounds fuckin' reasonable." Ginger scoffed.

"I thought, given your own situation, you'd have been a little more understanding of those who sometimes feel compelled to do unpleasant and horrible things in order to survive." Pamela clasped her hands in front of her, leaning forward.

"I didn't want to do any of the shit I've done!" Ginger spat, although the words weren't quite as true as she felt they should be. "She's just whacked, she tried to kill her grandmother, she manipulated Brigitte into using me to kill a guy who worked at the clinic, and she was going to lock up Brigitte, my sister, your daughter, in her cellar like a fuckin' caged animal!"

Ginger paused, catching her breath. She actually felt a little better having got that off her chest. Being stuck around the girl all this time had let it all build up and there'd been nothing that she could do about it.

"All better?" Pam asked.

"Yeah, actually." Ginger shrugged, a touch lightheaded. "I guess I've been feelin' a bit cooped up for a while. When I was looking for Brigitte, I spent most of those years outside, living rough. Away from people and towns and shit. Guess I kinda miss it."

"Must you harass that poor girl quite so much?"

"Yeah." Ginger replied, bluntly. "And poor nothing, she's dangerous! She's evil! Clever! Downright villainous!" She went on, failing to see why Pamela couldn't quite seem to grasp what was, to her, a simple fact.

"You're saying she's a dark, lost, deadly and troubled young lady, who could use a tempering influence?" Pamela suggested, watching her closely. "Somebody like Brigitte was for you?"

"I-" Ginger started to argue, and stopped. "You're not listening, she tried to kill an old woman!"

"Some might call you and Brigitte monsters, considering what you've told me." Pamela smiled sadly. "But you're my little girls, and if I am a mother to monsters, what's one more?"

"Brigitte isn't like me. Or Ghost." Ginger insisted, feeling her anger slowly diminish.

It occurred to her this might have been the longest she'd ever spent talking to Pam in her life. She couldn't really remember.

Pamela chuckled, shaking her head slightly.

"She'd do anything for you, and I think you know that, Ginger." She sat back, crossing her legs. "Brigitte was always there, everywhere you went. I remember a little more than you, you forget."

Ginger frowned, conceding begrudgingly with a mumble.

"I know you will both be leaving again soon, but wherever you're going, whatever you're going to do, you can't take that girl with you, and you know that too, don't you?" Pamela asked.

"I didn't want her along anyway." She muttered.

"Do you suppose that's why Brigitte brought her along?"

The thought had occurred to her, once or twice.

"Would it bother you if I asked her to stay with me?"

"No." Ginger answered quickly, then winced. "Maybe. I don't care. It's your house."

Pamela smiled a little, but Ginger didn't know what at. She stared defiantly back.

"You're not worried then?"

"Of course I'm fuckin' worried, you're my mo-" Ginger blurted, her brain frantically trying to curb her tongue before she said something she'd really regret. "…nothing. Forget it." She turned around, back against the sofa again.

Pamela chuckled behind her.

"It's okay dear, you don't have to say it." Ginger heard her get up and head back toward the kitchen.

"I wasn't going to say anything." Ginger insisted, without turning around.

"I know, dear." Pamela called back.

"Stop agreeing with me!" She turned around again, scowling.

"Whatever you say, dear." Pamela left her a parting wave, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Ginger stared after her for a moment, considered her options, and came to a decision.

She was going for a walk.

…

Ginger meandered aimlessly around the winding streets and lanes of Bailey Downs. The light covering of snow crunching softly underfoot. Kids raced back and forth on the empty roads, thrown-together hockey games on the flat surfaces, too icy for driving after the cold nights.

She tried not to think about what Pam had said, but the thoughts wouldn't completely leave her. Ghost living in her ho-…what had been her home. Pam was going to ask her to stay.

She stuffed her hands in her pockets and tramped on, grinding her teeth irritably and trying to calm down. She couldn't figure what she was really angry about. Pam being concerned about Ghost, more than she seemed to about her own daughters?

That was hardly even fair, really. Petty as she was, she recognised that. Ginger had made a point of rebuking all of Pam's attempts to actually be a mother when growing up, and she'd dragged Brigitte into her way of thinking.

Would it be so bad? Really? Henry was gone, and Pam was alone. And whatever she thought of the crazy, demented little shit, Ghost was alone, with nothing. Brigitte could see that. Despite all Ghost had done to her, Brigitte could still see that.

Ginger noticed she was coming up on the green. A big, flat, empty field in the middle of Bailey Downs used by the school for sports and the surrounding houses for dogs to shit in. It was pretty packed today with kids and families out screwing around in the snow. She stepped out onto it, pausing by a pylon at the edge.

An old, weathered poster was still stuck to it. It was one of the 'Missing' posters, for Trina Sinclair. She grimaced, slightly, then hurried past.

Trina had been an accident. She'd been angry, and jealous, and angry…and…angry. The curse had been getting worse, she'd pushed Brigitte away and Brigitte had stopped trying to push back. She was hanging around with Sam, and not with her. It wasn't that she was the most rational thinker at the best of times, but she'd been in a pretty bad way back then, even for her.

She'd only meant to get Trina to leave Brigitte alone. To stop yelling at her, but she lost control.

And not long after that, Ginger lost control of everything else.

Ginger groaned in frustration, trying to clear her head. She had to think about something else. She stopped walking, watching a couple of kids run and stumble around with their dog, barking and chasing them.

She'd come to appreciate the brief window after taking the monkshood where she could look at a dog and not feel the urge to stalk it and kill it. It was the little things.

Her thoughts moved on to what she and Brigitte were doing. Trying to dig up the past. It still seemed a little silly, that this had all started because she'd been having weird dreams. But they'd always felt like more than that, to her. And Brigitte had had one, as well. One, at least, that she'd told her about.

Maybe she could help Brigitte, she mused, as she lazily strolled along, almost on auto-pilot. Maybe she could try and sort through what she remembered, come up with a clearer version of the story in her dreams. That time she'd written down all that shit for Brigitte at the library, she hadn't exactly been thinking it through.

Ginger stopped, feet placed close together and looked down. She scuffed her boots in the snow, idly. Where to start? The dreams weren't that clear, and they didn't seem to happen in order. And sometimes they were just bits and pieces. Flashes, images, confusing.

She stifled an irritated moan. How the hell did Brigitte do this sort of thing…all the time too? Brigitte always seemed so…in control, sort of?

Most of the time anyway, except when she wasn't. Brigitte out of control wasn't a pretty picture. Brigitte out of control was something else entirely.

That was all beside the point though, she'd gotten sidetracked again. Even if there were worse things to be sidetracked by than her sister, she'd decided what she wanted to do and she was going to do it.

Ginger closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She tried to drown out her surroundings and relax, rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet.

She thought back, humming to herself lightly. Think back, think back. What came first? What happened first?

The sound of children laughing and dogs barking failed away. All she could hear was the icy wind, numbing her ears and finger tips. Cold. Feeling the cold was another rarity. Cold.

Cold. Cold wind, in the trees. The sound of a tired, lame horse, trotting weakly over stone, dirt, icy streams. Two riders. Cold, exhausted, hungry, worn. Breathing heavily, icy breath, clinging to one another for warmth, for comfort.

Two sisters. One with black hair, one with red. Ginger and Brigitte. Like herself, but not.

"I'm so cold." Brigitte whispered, shakily.

"Me too." Ginger replied, peering around worriedly.

Miles from anywhere. Miles from miles from anywhere. No food. No shelter. Getting colder…

Brigitte tightened her hold around her waist, leaning against her shoulder from behind.

"Ginger," Brigitte went on, breathless, chattering. ", I think we've lost our way."

Ginger turned, looking at her sister, concerned. Brigitte wasn't doing well. She wouldn't complain, but Ginger could tell. She let go of the reins with one hand, reaching, fumbling for one of Brigitte's hands at her waist.

Brigitte clasped it quickly, and Ginger winced. Her skin was icy to the touch, through the cloth wraps wound around her hands. She could feel it, and it worried her, but she couldn't afford to worry. She had to be strong, for her sister.

"We haven't lost anything, Brigitte." She heard herself say, turning back ahead. "It's lost us."

Brigitte squeezed her hand tightly.

"Hey, pass us the ball?"

Ginger's eyes snapped open and she stared at the floor. A ball came to rest by her feet. She blinked, trying to reorder her thoughts quickly, before they slipped away.

Dumbly she kicked the ball across to a group of waving kids, but she ignored their grateful cries and stared at her open hand.

That had been different.

She'd felt it. Felt Brigitte take her hand. Not the other Ginger, but her hand. She'd been Ginger. She'd been on the horse, she'd been speaking, she'd had Brigitte clinging to her desperately, as they rode through the wilderness.

Had it always been like that? It hadn't, she was sure of it. Before this, she'd been watching things happen, she'd seen them both, not like this. This was like…like a memory, like she'd been there. She'd seen everything through her own eyes. Ginger's eyes.

What was next? They were lost in the woods, but what came next? She shut her eyes, trying to focus again. She'd managed it once, she could do it again. Drown out everything else. Think back. Think.

Maybe.

Ginger took a step forward, slowly, her boot crunched soft snow underfoot.

The woods were silent around them as they slowly moved into the small, deserted village. A few empty, ragged tents, old, broken frames hanging up animal hides and hunting catches. Wooden chimes, ringing eerily as the wind blew through the place.

The tents were torn, spattered, no, drenched in blood. Nothing moved. Ginger left the horse at the edge, as they explored. Neither comfortable, or at ease, but desperate for anything they could find, or use.

"Ginger." Brigitte whispered, urgently at her shoulder.

Both turned, suddenly noticing an elderly native woman, stood quietly on her own, with her back to them.

"Are you alright?" Ginger asked, approaching the woman cautiously. "What happened here?"

The woman turned suddenly, as they got closer, holding up two…frightful-looking pendants. The woman's face was soft, worn, not unkind.

"My sister. Gone. Many summers." The woman said, as if reciting something. "In the wind, in the trees, and in the blood. Sisters." The elder paced toward them, holding out the pendants.

Ginger glanced at Brigitte, warily, who glanced back at her.

"They were…hers and her sisters." Brigitte murmured, haltingly.

Ginger watched as her sister stepped forward and took the pendants, suddenly. She had no idea why.

"Thank you." Brigitte replied, her voice haggard and weary. "Say thank you, Ginger." She insisted, putting on one of the necklaces.

"…thanks." Ginger echoed Brigitte, dubiously, keeping her eyes on the old woman as Brigitte put the other pendant around her neck.

She wasn't sure she liked any of this. Not a bit. Something felt…very wrong about this place, about everything here.

"Kill the boy," The elder said, suddenly, severely. ", or one sister kills the other."

Ginger and Brigitte stiffened, as if the world had stopped around them. The old woman stared back, unflinching.

Ginger went to ask what the mad old loner was talking about, when a noise behind them interrupted her.

The horse!

Ginger jumped, as if jolting awake from a light sleep. For a moment her legs wobbled and she thought she was going to fall over, as if her legs weren't hers, and she'd forgotten how to use them or something.

"What…the fuck…" She mumbled, as she steadied herself, straightened out her head again.

Ginger. She was here, now, this Ginger. Not the other one, hundreds of years ago. But…it felt so…real.

And all that with the old woman, the pendants they wore, and about killing a boy…that was completely new…

Ginger didn't consider herself an expert, by any means, but she was pretty sure you weren't supposed to be able to remember dreams quite like this. Or remember them differently…or fucking remember dreams you hadn't even fucking had before, dreams that felt more like memories, recollections, things she'd felt and seen and done.

She glanced around, stuffing her hands back in her coat pocket. Maybe that was enough for today, it felt like enough to her. The experience had rattled her more than she liked.

Ginger noticed she'd wandered onto the area of the field set aside for her old high school. More empty than the rest of the green. Bleachers on the far side empty too. As spooked as she already was, it unsettled her even more. She turned to go back the way she came, when something caught her eye. There was someone on one of the bleachers. On their own.

She was pretty sure they were staring at her. Made her feel uneasy. Hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Made her remember, before everything, before the Beast of Bailey Downs…she and Brigitte on the field, Jason McCardy and his moron friends staring, watching them…watching…

"…Jason…?" She blinked, trying to make out the figure on the bleachers. "…gotta be fuckin'…" She started forward.

A dog barked loudly behind her, bounding into view across her path, followed by a bunch of laughing kids. She sidestepped them and pushed forward again, but the figure watching her on the bleachers was gone.

Ginger swept her glance around quickly, looking for any sign of…something. But there was nobody. The school building was still, empty. Nobody was there. Nobody.

Had it been him? How the fuck could it be him? She had to warn Brigitte. And tell her about what she'd seen, in her dreams…or…memories…whatever.

She took a step backward, still watching, on edge, before finally heading back the way she'd come.

…

Ginger let herself into the house, shedding her jacket and tossing it on one of the hooks. She missed. Didn't care.

The house seemed quiet again. Brigitte was probably downstairs, but she'd expect to find Pam endlessly nattering away to herself or anyone in her proximity. Could have gone out, she supposed, as she headed for the basement stairs. That just left-

"Ginger."

Ginger stopped in her tracks, turning to see Ghost in the doorway to the living room.

"I don't have time for this." Ginger waved her off and started to move.

Ghost actually reached out and grabbed her arm. Not hard, but enough to stop her. She stared at the hand until Ghost removed it.

"What do you want?" She asked, slowly, trying to control her temper.

The girl flinched, stepping back slightly.

"You hate me."

"Yeah, I do." Ginger replied, without hesitating.

"Your mom-"

"Pam." Ginger interrupted.

"…she asked me to stay with her." Ghost continued, recovering.

"Figured she would." Ginger shrugged.

"You're not taking me with you, are you?" Ghost asked.

"No."

"Does Brigitte hate me?"

"I honestly don't know. Or care." She wanted out of this conversation, but Ghost seemed to have something she wanted to say.

"Your mom-"

"Pam." Ginger interrupted, again.

"…is nice." Ghost managed, after a pause. "I thought about taking her up on her offer. Would that bother you?"

Ginger looked to the basement stairs, then back at Ghost.

Okay, fine. Might as well settle this now.

"Pamela is my…mother." Ginger said, reluctantly, pushing Ghost back against a wall. "I know what you are, I know what you've done, and I know you're fucking nuts, so let me make this abundantly clear. You stay if you like, Pam will take care of you. It's what she does, it's what she wants to do. She wanted to take care of me and Brigitte, but we weren't very good at that being a daughter thing, so you can have a go at it."

"I-"

"Not finished." Ginger held up her finger, then scowled at the frightened girl. "I don't know where we're going, but I fuckin' swear I will be keeping tabs on Pam, and if she just happens to have some sorta fuckin' accident I will come back for you and not even Brigitte will be able to save you from me." She snarled.

"…um…" Ghost fumbled, terrified.

"Understood?"

"Y-yes." Ghost nodded, enthusiastically.

"Good." Ginger smiled, letting the girl go and straightening out her t-shirt. "Be her daughter, Ghost. Whoever you were before this is dead. Gone. Be somebody else. Be a Fitzgerald for all I care."

"…thanks…I think?" Ghost said, confused.

Ginger nodded, slapping her shoulder.

"Have a nice life. Now get lost."

With that, Ginger turned and hurried down the stairs. She had to talk to Brigitte. Sort through what she'd thought about and learned this afternoon, and warn her that maybe she'd seen Jason.

She wondered if Brigitte had finished with all that stuff she'd been doing earlier yet, as she reached the bedroom door and raised her fist to knock.

The door suddenly opened and Brigitte was standing there, face tired and eyes wide, staring, worn. She looked worried, frantic almost. Ginger found herself worrying that Brigitte looked worried, on top of her other worrying.

"We need to talk. What is it?"
"What is it? We need to talk." They both said at once.

Ginger and Brigitte stared at one another for a second.

"Get in here." Brigitte said, grabbing her by the collar and hauling her inside.