When they left, I whispered to him again. "It does no good to fight them, they'll drug you or beat you. Cooperate when you can."

Things settled down on the wing over the next few weeks. Charlie and I got to know each other pretty well; he was a good kid, from northern Pennsylvania. His parents had seen a werewolf while they were driving, and his father had taken a shot at it with his rifle. The shot missed, and the werewolf attacked and killed them. He changed, frightened, and was running through town when he got hit by a car. He woke up in a truck, locked in a...