His run slowed to a trot, then down to what he hoped was a normal and nonchalant walk. The nurses and orderlies on this floor hardly gave him a passing look--as far as they knew he was just another family member clinging to hope.

He paused for a moment to catch his breath. Though he wasn't terribly winded by his race through the hospital, he still thought it would be a good idea to be ready in case his pursuers ever managed to track him down.

ICU Nurse: "Can I help you find someone?"
Jacob: "I was looking for Mr. Twi--"

Jacob stopped, slowly untangling the mass of thoughts fighting for his attention. This whole mess had started because of Mr. Twinkles; it was just best to leave her out of this for now.

ICU Nurse: "I'm sorry, I didn't catch the name. Could you repeat it so I can find out where he is?"
Jacob: "Oh no, I'm fine, thank you. I see my family now."

He gave the nurse a reassuring smile and began to walk away without hesitation. He'd spotted the half-open door when he'd first rounded the corner and now made his way toward it. He felt oddly pulled in its direction, the wood grain beneath the paint forming what seemed like purposeful patterns. The blinds on the windows to the room were closed, though there was a small amount of light still sneaking out around the outside edges.

As he approached, voices began to float into his consciousness. He was gripped by a sudden and nearly crippling fear--he'd hoped for a much longer interval between episodes. It took him a few steps to work out that the voices were coming from outside his head this time, mostly due to the subject matter of the apparent conversation. It wasn't what he'd expect to hear from anyone rational, that much was clear. He took a deep breath and began to relax again, not missing a beat as he walked quietly through the door.

There were five people in the room; four standing huddled together on one side of the fifth, who was hooked up to an unimaginable number of machines. Even from here he could see that the woman was nothing but a shell, and he wondered what her story had been. Still unnoticed, he made his way over to her chart and began to look over it.

The woman was brain dead. She'd suffered severe blood loss due to self-inflicted wounds to her lower arms, apparently using her own fingernails to tear through the flesh. He wondered fleetingly if the doctors had mentioned that to her family. The chart showed her tox screen had come back negative, but that wasn't fitting in with her apparent lack of any psychological disorder. As far as Jacob was aware, sane people didn't normally try to rip through their own skin without some sort of outside factor involved.

He continued to study the chart for a few more seconds, rapidly soaking in every piece of information it contained. There was a pattern beginning to take shape in the seeming chaos of numbers and abbreviations. The only piece of the puzzle that wasn't fitting in was the toxicology report--either someone had been extraordinarily sloppy up at the lab, or there was an outside force at work.

There was a lull in the conversation that had been a quiet background buzz until this point, coinciding with eerie perfection with the realization of what this girl had gone through. Regardless of what the lab reports were saying, she'd been on something far stronger than sugar pills.

Jacob: "I bet there was datura."

The silence in the room suddenly became very pointed, and it was aimed at him. There wasn't much time for any reaction from anyone in the room before two orderlies were suddenly bursting through the door, headed straight for him. Jacob quickly dropped the charts he'd been looking at and ran straight for the door, hoping to catch them off guard. The trick wasn't going to work a second time.

Lewis: "Jesus, this kid is fast! Hold him down, Whitfield!"
Whitfield: "You're not getting away this time, you little bastard."

He felt them grabbing at him, one of the two working his arms all the way around his waist and dragging him toward the doorway. Through the bedlam he caught glimpses of the people whose lives had just been invaded. With a last ditch struggle he worked his way slightly from the grip of his captors and was able to turn back to the room.

Jacob: "Have them look for datura!"

There was a blaze of silver and blue light as he felt his head strike against the doorframe. It was a disorienting blow, causing him to lash out even more violently against the bodies pulling him out into the hallway. Without thinking, he bit down on the fingers of one of the men holding him, the taste of blood exploding into his mouth and going straight to his head. Through the din of voices suddenly screaming in his mind, he could just make out the words of the two orderlies who now had him pinned firmly to the ground.

Lewis: "The little fucker bit me!"
Whitfield: "I've almost got the injection ready, keep him still for just another half second."

Jacob struggled even harder against their attempts to restrain him, fueled by terror and bloodlust. There was a chorus of onlookers surrounding him, their faces smeared with dirt and grime, their clothes tattered and torn. Their voices rose in a collective onslaught of leering and hissing, coupled with the all too familiar crackling of static. They quickly rose to volumes that drowned out everything else around him.

Jacob: "Shut up! Shut up shut up shut UP!"
Lewis: "He's losing it fast--you'd better hurry the hell up!"

Jacob: "Don't let them find out what we are! Don't ever let them find out!"

There was a searing pain in his left thigh, and then an all-encompassing blackness. The shouting hushed to whispers, then flickered away completely.