Jude awoke with a mouthful of blood. It was between his teeth and caked in his hair, which was matted against his face.

He was in the woods. He didn't remember any of the last day, but he sensed the peculiar absence of memory and knew what had happened. His hands trembled. He raised his fists and pounded them into the ground, then let himself collapse with his cheek in the snow.

The blood smelled human. His nostrils flared. He wanted more.

He was wholly revolted by himself. He wanted to shove himself far away from the body that had betrayed him—to step out of his skin and leave it behind.

But he couldn't. So he began to walk, shoving the disgust away, compartmentalizing it like he'd done before. It was the only way to function. He couldn't let the guilt and horror linger like a demon clinging onto his back. That was what the beast wanted.

He wanted—no, needed—to see Claire. There was no reason behind this objective; it was just a concrete goal for him to cling to.

First, he stumbled upon some rich person's cabin in the woods and stole some clothes to wear.

Then he went to the emergency room.

He didn't clean any of the blood off as he strode inside. A wide-eyed woman admitted him and took his vitals. She gave him an odd look as she took his pulse. He knew the transformation wreaked havoc on his body.

They wanted to do a blood draw, just as he'd hoped. "Claire," he moaned, hoping the nurse might send for her if she was on duty.

Sure enough, minutes later, Claire stood in the doorway. Her expression shifting from curious to concerned. "Jude!" She rushed forward and knelt at his bedside, carefully grasping his left hand.

"I'm not hurt," he said in a dead, foreign voice. "None of this is my blood."

Claire stared so deep and hard into his eyes it hurt. "They've had a lot of patients in injured by an animal. I know what happened." He couldn't believe it. There were tears of sympathy in her eyes. "It's not your fault, Jude. I knew what would happen if I didn't help sedate you. You warned me so many times. It's my fault."

"No!" he shouted.

She shushed him, planting a hand over his mouth.

He pushed her arm away and continued in a whisper. "It's all me, Claire. Don't blame yourself for a second."

On an impulse, Jude slammed the HELP button at his bedside. A man rushed into the room.

"I want to confess. I'm responsible for the attacks. Get the police. Or better yet, get a gun and blow my head off before I hurt anyone else."