Chapter 2 FPOV Pictures of You

I flew a wide circle around Manhattan. My home, where my family was, where my Max was.

'Not your Max anymore. You left her, remember?'

'Shut up. I never wanted to. I'll make it up to her. I have to.'

I landed on the roof of the hotel, right next to where the flock's pent hose was. Opening a window that would lead to Max's room, I stepped silently inside. But Max wasn't there. Her room looked like it hadn't been lived in for a long time. Her bed was made, no clothes on the floor, everything put away, except a stack of photos scattered on the desk.

'Why not?' I shrugged, 'Might as well survey the damage and know what I'll be working with.' I knew Max would be angry with me, and probably heartbroken.

The photos were of us, the flock, taken over a year ago. We were all happy, smiling. But the happy images were marred by rough edges where I had been ripped out of the pictures. 'Ouch.' Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure I was out of the picture, literally. Some photos were spared from being torn, but had red pen marking angry circles around me.

Next to those photos lay Max's Mutant-Encounter journal. I picked it up, hoping there was no entries from the past year.

There was only one:

Name: Nick Venom

Species: Avian-human Hybrid

Encounter: Ex-boyfriend, ex-flock member, last seen with Feline-human Hybrid

Status: Turncoat, or possibly undercover agent; malicious

Notes: Confirms fears that Itex and/or the School is still looking for me. No known connection between Ari, eraser, and Nick, but possibility not discarded. Feline, "Cat", partner in search and suspected romantic relationship.

This was everything I had ever feared would happen. Even worse was the cold, detached tone Max used. Wedged between the pages was one of the photos of me with the red circle around my head.

With a deep breath, I put down the book and scanned the room for any other evidence of what had happened to Max. I noticed her backpack was gone- the one she always had equipped with everything she'd need for living on the run. Upon further inspection, I found that her boots were gone, too.

Then I saw two photos that hadn't been marked up. One was of Max and I at the camp we always went to. We were standing near a cliff overlooking a lake. My black wings shielded us from the light rain while my arms were wrapped around Max. We were kissing. I remembered the scene, but not a photo being taken of us then. On the back of the card was a date in Nudge's neat handwriting: August 17, 2009.

The second photo was not so wonderful. The scenery was the same, even the light rain that dampened Max's light hair. But Max was alone, her brown-feathered wings spread and facing the camera. Max looked over her shoulder as if someone had called her name. She was as beautiful as ever, but her eyes haunted me. They told of suppressed grief, pain beyond imaging, dark secrets, and a broken spirit. Purple shadows under her eyes told of chronically sleepless nights and the redness gave away the tears she'd no doubt shed. On the back of the photo Nudge had again written the date: August 17, 2010.

Below that, Max had written the lyrics of a song: "Pictures of you,/ pictures of me/ remind us all of what we could have been."

'Shoot, that probably means she left!' Somehow I knew, or maybe just hoped, she had only just left, and I leapt back out the window into the night air. 'Maybe I can catch her before she leaves the city.'

I circled high in the air, but could see no sign of her anywhere. 'Shit. Damn it! Max! Where are you!"

I flew around a skyscraper, and caught my breath at what I saw.