Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

Comes The Dark	By : IcarusComplex Category: G through L > Ginger Snaps Views: 2074 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own or reap any financial profit from GINGER SNAPS or any characters from the movies. Hannah/Louise and all new characters and situations are mine.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Compliments – Bloc Party

        Chapter 3: Far From Grace

    An arm was heavy across her ribs. Dragging her consciousness to the surface was fighting her way through the haze of dreaming as if something was trying to hold her back, but she made it out in the end. The battle left her sapped as if she’d never slept. If the fatigue of the hunt or a stray paw didn’t kill her eventually, sooner or later she was certain she’d grow so wearied from nights of the same dreams that she’d simply stop wanting to get up in the morning. Once upon a time, there’d been a grace period; a little time to hold their breath and prepare for the worst. A sense that even the worst could be forgiven. Louise hadn’t felt like that since she was Hannah.
    It was already hard to get up. But mornings after like this… she never felt further from grace.
    She lay naked on her back. One arm was twisted up over her head gripping the shaft of a sheathed hunting knife under the pillow, the other rested on the mattress, hand over Hunter’s wrist on her stomach. The man himself lay against her side on his stomach, head in the gap between the pillows. Lying outstretched like this, the scars – silver, pink and brown, some ridged and corded, some smooth – relaxed and shrank on Hunter’s back and legs, not looking half so terrible as they each had at the moment of infliction. Louise traced one particularly ugly scar zigzagging from his left shoulder to his right hip. She gave him that one. It matched one that looped the inside of her right thigh.
    The bed’s one age-soft sheet was kicked off the bottom of the mattress with the ugly duvet. Louise lay still, listening. Beside her Hunter’s breathing was deep and slow. Outside the occasional truck drove by the motel, sparrows chirruped at each other in the parking lot and four rooms down a maid had begun to vacuum. Louise closed her eyes. She doubted Hunter had even begun to rise from REM yet. But her stomach was readying itself to unleash a murderous growl of demand, and she was inclined to appease it before it vocalised its displeasure.
    She carefully lifted the arm seatbelting her and shimmied out of bed.
    Starting the rickety coffee maker on the first brew of the morning, she fished her jacket and a red scarf out of the clothing pile and ventured out to the office.
    The pimply blonde boy from the night before had been replaced by an older man who peered amiably at her from behind Buddy Holly glasses and directed her to a corner store down the road and one block to the left of the first intersection into town. Louise offered her PR smile and stepped out into the chilly morning.
    The sparrows took flight in a cloud of black and brown like dirt kicked up from a horse’s hoof as Louise pranced through them. She delighted in watching them wheel over the lot for a moment as if indecisive before flitting away to the untamed brush across the road. Tucking the ends of her scarf into the top of her jacket, Louise set out into the marzipan remains of the half-foot of fresh snow that had fallen during the night. The parking lot hadn’t been ploughed yet and she smiled as she splashed a brand new set of tracks through the white to the road. The morning was crisp and clear. A perfect bluebird day, not even a breeze down the road to ruffle the powder. There wasn’t a car in sight as she started down the road. A perfect morning for the daily mission of gathering intel.
    The cutting clarity of the air filtered through the last of the haze of the night before, clearing her head and whisking away the last cobwebs of the dream that hung over her head. Her breath seared the air to silver in front of her. The cold chapped her cheeks red. Louise tongued the healed cut in the corner of her top lip absently and mused that if the store had bagels or pastries, she’d get some of those as well. If not, Hunter could go on a foraging mission to the nearest Coopers or green grocer.

    Hunter gave her a disapproving look as she fell into the room fresh-faced and starry-eyed from walking in the snow, arms full of precious newspapers. Louise elected to ignore him and unwound her scarf one-handed while she balanced her stash precariously in the other. The Look was for going out without an escort. Given the previous night, it seemed a little high-handed, not to mention redundant. But it was practice—and it was going to be another autopilot day.
    Despite the mute reproach, he said nothing. He could never bring himself to say anything the morning after. Especially when he knew full well this time was almost entirely his fault. Louise wouldn’t hold it against him – the full moon was nearly too close for comfort – but she wouldn’t help him move past it either. Guilt was useful. Guilt kept them grounded. It gave them something human to hold on to.
    Hunter shuffled around the kitchenette prepping the coffee Louise had started with a generous shot of whiskey for both of them while Louise spread her haul on the second queen bed. He hadn’t gotten further up the dressing ladder than throwing on a pair of sweat pants. His hair still looked like a crow preening its tail.
    Louise twisted her own hair into a lazy plait as she scanned the titles. “You want tabloids this time?” she asked offhand. Her voice had a raspy catch to the end of it she could have sworn wasn’t there in the corner store.
    Hunter disdained pre-noon communication. He grunted and passed her a cup of heavily laced coffee. Four red furrows ran neck to navel down his bare chest; Louise sipped her coffee, praying for the afterburn and saying an hallelujah when the whiskey delivered. Splitting the papers into two stacks, she left one on the bed for Hunter and carried the other to the table to skim through. Trawling for leads: another glamorous part of the job.
    An hour and two cups of Irish coffee later, she sat up straight. In the back of one tabloid was a tiny weekly column, hardly worth noticing, on haunted locales.
    The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “Hunter…”

The New Curse of Old Bailey Downs?

Culminating four months ago, the sleepy hamlet of Bailey Downs, N.T., experienced a spate of apparent bad luck lasting almost two months and ending with a total of twelve animals dead, three people murdered, four missing, and a suburban house burnt down in a case local police refuse classify as arson or accident…
     She spread the tabloid out on the table for Hunter to read over her shoulder.

Bailey Downs.
     A small niggling voice in the back of Louise’s head whispered that prying into this to find out the why of her sudden unease could be a very bad idea. The name jogged something…
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: Now we're getting somewhere...
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Comes The Dark

Chapter 3: Far From Grace