When Jack came to, he was shaking and sobbing, half-naked in the remnants of the day's sunlight. His skin was pale and hairless, human again. His stomach ached for food, but his heart was sick for something else.
If he hadn't been drugged before he'd entered that kitchen… what might he have done?
Jack looked around fearfully, and found he had crawled into the middle of a cemetery; a city of the dead populated with stones and crosses and moldering angels. Here he was, one more set of human remains. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, his thoughts and deeds as a wolf only half-remembered, like the dead all about him.
As he lay gathering his strength, the shadow of a crumbling brick mausoleum began to creep over him, egged on by the setting sun. Jack shrank away from it and stood up. He had no shoes or socks, his torn jeans were now barely cut-off shorts, and his shirt had torn clear away – but he began to walk anyway. Right now he needed to be in the light.
