Chapter 5

I rang the doorbell and stood back as my mother threw open the door with a cry of joy.

"James! You're home!" She rushed forward and hugged me. My father stood in the doorway, tall, lean, and strawberry blond like me. I stepped inside and made my way into the kitchen. I pulled out a plate and some lunchmeat.

"I just can't believe you're home, James," my father walked into the room behind me.

"Yeah, well, I decided it was time for a change. I got tired of my old life." I said, taking a big bite of my sandwich. My dad walked away and turned the TV on. I heard the news anchor jabbering about unimportant stuff.

"There has been one suicide in the Arizona area . . . an unidentified teenager was found in the Colorado River late last night—" my dad turned it off quickly.

"Too depressing, most of the time." He explained with a grin like my own. I ran upstairs, taking the steps two by two. I went into my room, plastered with Air Force and Nirvana posters. My favorite poster was one of the F-14 Tomcat. It was in mid-dive, opening fire on an enemy cruiser out on the ocean. The Air Force was cool. Flying was cool.

I went into my bathroom and turned the shower on. The water felt really good and hot. After the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and was going out into my room to pull on a pair of sweats and a comfy t-shirt when I saw something on my back. I turned and rubbed the fog off the mirror. My back was smooth and tan, and that mark—was it my birthmark? I squinted closely. Yeah, just my birthmark.

I pulled on my old grey sweatpants, which were almost three inches too short for me. Whatever. They were soft. My Nirvana t-shirt had a bunch of holes near the hem, but, like the pants, whatever. Suddenly, someone knocked softly on my door.

"Come in, mom." I called, flipping through my CDs. When I turned around, it wasn't my mom. It was Ella. I straightened up. She came up to me, undeterred by my glare, and kissed me full on the lips. Just as I was about to kiss her back, she pulled away and walked out my door down the hallway. "Ella!" I yelled after her.

I dashed out into the hallway, to find it dark and cold. Where were my mom and dad? I followed Ella down the hall, doors flashing past as I ran. No matter how loudly I yelled her name or how fast I sprinted, Ella was always a step ahead of me, not looking back, or giving any indication that she heard me. "Ella!" I called again, desperation coloring my voice. Rain and shards of glass came flying down the hallway. Gale force winds sent me stumbling into the walls. The glass sliced my face, went through my shirt and pants, and made me bleed. I reached a hand out to Ella as I tripped and fell, landing on my knees. A dagger of glass embedded itself in the crook of my elbow.

I gasped and grabbed at my arm, tears from the pain sliding down my cheeks. I huddled into a ball and new pain shot through me. Wings – extensions of pain on my back – were now collecting tiny fragments of glass until they looked like they had been crystallized. They burned, like fire. I beat them , scratching the walls and dislodging the little splinters. No matter what I did, how much I cried, or how tightly I curled into a ball, I still felt pain all over. I felt pain on the inside. My heart of hearts was ready to explode with the overwhelming agony.

I screamed and another huge, pain-bringing shard drove itself into my wrist. My tears were hot, but dry. They gave no rest to the internal pain I felt. Nothing did. Nothing could soothe this fire, nothing could quench this thirst, nothing could warm this biting frost, nothing could stop the storm.

I don't know how long I was there, in that pain, in that hell, but it was so long. No savior came for me. I resigned myself to the pain, but still it came. Max had been right: pain is a message, a message of death, a message of extreme wrong, a message of personal apocalypse.

I sat, soaked, hurting, crying until my eyes ran dry, crying until my soul almost broke. A blast of cold, driving, icy, shard-filled wind knocked me over, onto my back. I had no energy to fight back. I had no energy at all, none left to cry. I sobbed and sobbed, but they were dry and emotionless. It was just an instinct, now, just something to do.

"Please, God, I did nothing wrong! Save me! Help me! FORGIVE ME, GOD!" I screamed. Sharp, icy manacles had formed around my body, my arms, legs, and wings. The hell and the pain were taking my sight. I blinked more often, and found it fading to dim greys. I closed my eyes for a second, and opened them. It was pitch black.

There's a section of hell reserved for those who don't belong. For me. This was it. This was hell.

I began hearing voices. I heard Max. Gazzy. Fang. Nudge, Angel, and Dr. Martinez. Jeb. I heard Ella. At these voices, I screamed and strained against my shackles. They dug deeply into my flesh, but I was so far gone into the pain, I didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered except those voices. I occasionally yelled things; the ravings of a mad lunatic. The pain drove me crazy. Sometime, the pain of the new shards on my body began to become so insignificant I couldn't feel it. I didn't notice so much the blood, flowing everywhere from the glass. I really didn't feel the emotional hurt of the voices as much. The calmness overwhelmed me. I closed my eyes, and nothing in the world existed after that.

Peace had come. St. Peter was welcoming me to his golden gates.

Either that, or Dr. Martinez had come with her morphine. As I soon found out, I was, in fact, strapped down. Not by ice and glass, but good ol' Velcro. However, the torture was real.

I opened my eyes, on an exam table, to a grey, lifeless world. I looked around and saw Max and Gazzy, asleep in a couple chairs. Most of the room was white, with tiled linoleum floor, painted brick walls, and a dark exam light above my head. I had many, many cuts, slices, and gashes covering my body. I was wearing only my cut-up, torn, well-worn jeans. I blinked, and it all went black.

"Release me!" I demanded, causing Max and Gazzy to jump, sending the chairs skidding. I heard their footsteps dash over to me. I felt their breath on my skin.

"Iggy!" the Gasman shouted joyfully. What was he trying to do? Deafen me?

"You heard me! Release me!" I shouted again, tensing all my strength against the straps. I broke the Velcro hold on my hands and arms. I grabbed Max's shirt, pulling her closer. "You will go find your mother, and then you will release me. You will not keep me here, you will not subject me to this torture," I whispered vehemently. "I cannot be contained. I am dangerous. When you let me go, I will personally kill every one of you with my bare hands." I threatened, the devil possessing my soul. Normally, I would not do this. My torture had broken my mind, driven my hatred to the extreme. I was like a caged, captured, taunted wolf, driven crazy. Normally I am good-natured. Normally, I make jokes. Normally, I would not be strapped down to a table and tortured. Normally, I would not be metaphorically looking at the flock with bloodlust in my eyes. However, this wasn't normally. This was anything but.

I was irrational. Confrontational. I could get away with murder.

"Iggy, I understand that you're upset about Ella, but you didn't have to kill yourself. You don't have to hate us. Iggy!" Max had started consoling me, but I had flung her against the wall. I heard her breath leave her body with a "whoomph!" Just then, I also heard the rapid clicks of Dr. Martinez's high heels running down the hallway. No doubt to sedate me.

"James!" a sharp voice reprimanded me.

"I'm not James. I'm Iggy." I growled, turning my head toward where Dr. Martinez undoubtedly stood, syringe of morphine ready, trying to get me under control.

"I'm sorry, Iggy. I have to. Once you calm down and the morphine takes action, I'll explain everything." She forced my arms down and strapped the Velcro again. I struggled against the morphine, now taking effect. My chest heaved with the effort, but in the end, it won out. "Iggy. You committed suicide for an unknown cause. The flock, Ella and I went out looking for you. We searched all the way to the Colorado River, where Ella found you on the bank. You were covered in multiple knifelike slashes, and many smaller, but still serious cuts. You were completely dead. You had no pulse." She paused and let her words sink in.

"Mom—" Max said, but was cut off.

"We took you back to the clinic. I jump-started your heart. For a moment, nothing happened. Fang was there. He actually cried. Can you imagine: Fang cried over you, Iggy. The flock loves you. Once your heart was beating, you started convulsing violently. Your muscles were seizing up, coming back front the dead. The pain you must have experienced was the blood flowing back into your tissues. I strapped you down when you accidentally grabbed Nudge and threw her into the wall. She had a broken rib from that. You're OK now, Iggy. Just calm down."

I came to fully understand what she said. Just before the rage gripped my heart, that is.