Valencia Martinez had sent Ella and Total outside the office to wait while she talked to Sam Garner. And talk to him she did – about everything he knew about Henry Terry, the insane serial kidnapper.

"From what I have picked up from reading the interviews of his previous victims, Terry somehow believed them to be his runaway son. Each of the boys matches the general description of his son, when the son was fifteen."

"So," Dr. Martinez began, "These kidnapped boys have said this in interviews?"

Sam smoothed his hair back from his forehead and sighed. "No. The boys, actually, had been tortured into insanity, and only speak sentences that make little sense. I drew that conclusion because each have spoken of 'not being able to run away again'."

Dr. Martinez's eyes had widened when Sam Garner, once again, mentioned the torture.

"Um, Mr. Garner, how were these boys tortured..?"

Sam turned his eyes to the woman with an apologetic expression. Then he spoke with sympathy.

"Each of the boys' tortures were identical. I have the medical documents right here if you would like to examine them. You are a doctor, correct?"

Dr. Martinez hurriedly took the papers the man handed her. "Veterinarian."

"Good. You'll understand the medical terms. And… I'm sorry."

"For what?" Valencia glanced up inquisitorially from the papers.

Sam Garner gulped.

"For your loss."

Dr. Martinez frowned.

"I didn't lose my son."

After all, Avian-human hybrids were stronger than most. They had more endurance. Iggy would be able to fight through this.

But after she finished reading the medical documents, she wasn't so sure. And when she drove Ella and Total home, her hands were shaking with fear and worry.

Oh, Max, come home soon. Iggy needs you.

O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O

The next day, Valencia Martinez had driven back down to the police station to Sam Garner. She had been asked by him to bring by a photo of Iggy, with which they could make 'missing' posters. Now, these posters were hanging all over walls in their city as well as the surrounding seven cities. It was a wonderful thing; such a wide-spread search for her son.

But Valencia had trouble keeping up her spirits. After all, knowing what she did about the tortures Iggy could be going through at that very moment wasn't a terribly good emotional uplift.

Luckily, the search was actually spreading even wider. Sam Garner had contacted the state police force and even the governor about the case of Henry Terry. Due to the amount of boys that had been kidnapped and the severity of Terry's cruelty, he was now a wanted criminal statewide.

This, too, should have cheered up Valencia Martinez. But Valencia was convinced that she wouldn't be able to smile even the littlest bit until Max and the rest of the flock returned. After all, they would be able to track Iggy down and rescue him.

But they wouldn't be back for six more days yet, and in just that little time, Iggy could be so far past help that he would never recover.

After that day in which the posters had been printed, Dr. Martinez went down to the station every day. She was always with Sam Garner, helping him investigate the case. She wasn't one to linger out of the way while someone she loved was in trouble.

Sam Garner was not actually supposed to let her investigate with him – after all, she wasn't a member of the police force – but she was a great help in filing papers and researching. And he was sympathetic towards her plight. And, he had to admit it; he liked her company.

But Dr. Martinez had no time to pay attention to the subtle signals he was sending her way. She was too focused on paying attention to finding her son.

But the second day of Iggy's disappearance had passed with no news.

And the third day.

And the fourth day.

And the fifth day had soon arrived, and still, nothing new had happened.

And the only good thing Valencia had to look forward to was the fact that her daughter would be returning in three days. And then she would be able to find her son. Iggy.

Right?

O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O

Iggy was hungry. Iggy was hungry and in pain.

He hadn't known how long it had been since the last time he was awake. He just remembered the waking up. And the pain.

His face hurt.

It was his mouth. Yes, mostly him mouth. And his mouth felt a lot different than it used to feel. But he didn't know why; he couldn't really remember much that had happened before.

But there were cuts on his body. All over him. And his foot hurt. Really bad. And his mouth, of course.

Iggy focused, trying to concentrate on where he was, how he had got there, but most of it was a blank.

Wait. He was… where? And why was he here? And when had he got there? How?

And where had he come from?

After much concentration, finally, memories began to surface. Being hit in the head while heading back towards Dr. Martinez's. Waking up in this dismal room, trapped. Being hurt. The knife.

Oh, gosh. His face. His face was changed.

A smile. Always smiling.

Iggy began to panic, breathing hurriedly, hyperventilating. What had happened to his face? Did he look different now? Was it permanent?

What if the flock couldn't recognize him?

Iggy moved his tongue around in his mouth, feeling the raw, bloody slices through the inside of his cheeks. He could feel metal there. It poked at his tongue, and at his gums.

Iggy knew what the man had done before he had drugged him. Sliced his mouth into a permanent smile. But what had he done after that? His face hurt a whole lot. He could have hit him. Or, you know, the man could have skinned his face. Always a possibility.

Iggy felt his head growing light, his thoughts turning fuzzy, and realized how heavily he had actually been panicking. He didn't want to fall unconscious.

Iggy quickly tried to slow his breathing. He took deep, slow breaths and felt his mind begin to clear. And he smiled.

But he still wondered just how long he had been out. He could feel several more, different pricks on his upper arms were the syringe had obviously been inserted multiple times. For all he knew, he had been out for days.

And then, Iggy realized one very important thing; the crazy man was in this room, directly in front of him, not two feet away, breathing harshly.

See, this is what he got whenever he panicked. People sneaking up on him. None of the rest of them had to deal with that.

"Son, don't worry, I'm right here… you're not going to go anywhere… you'll stay here with me, with your happy family… we're all smiling now, see? Always smiling…"

Iggy felt like answering with one of his smart-Alec responses. No, I can't see it, I'm blind, remember? But the man had obviously not understood this the first time, as he still thought that Iggy was his son. And there wasn't any way Iggy could dissuade this thought, seeing as, Iggy being without his shirt on, the crazy man had already seen his wings and still not been convinced.

"Can I leave? Please, just let me go, I want to go home…"

Iggy didn't even care if the man hit him again. He was already in so much pain; he doubted he'd be able to feel any more. Of course, when someone judges those kinds of things, they're always wrong.

"You're not leaving. You're staying here, with me, with your family… I'll keep you here… you can't open the door, never again…"

The exertion on Iggy's stitches when he had talked has caused the wound to start to bleed again, but Iggy's mouth was dry as it trickled down his chin.

"Please," Iggy repeated, not even noticing. "Please…"

And then the man had walked around behind him, and unchained one of his arms. Iggy was too weak and surprised to react, though, and his arm was immediately pulled to the side and set on something. It felt like a slab of concrete, and Iggy winced as his arm was roughly forced flat onto it.

And then he knew exactly what this man was planning, and tried his very hardest to escape, but he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. Because he was weak, and still trapped, and still in pain. He could hardly even move.

Henry Terry took a thick piece of rope and tied it so tight around Iggy's upper-arm; Iggy thought his whole arm would fall of. A tourniquet.

A moment later, the familiar cold tingle of a blade was felt against the skin just a couple inches below his elbow. Before the knife had even made a cut, Iggy screamed; he was terrified, and couldn't even bare the anticipation…

And then the knife did make a cut, and Iggy knew that he'd never be whole again.

The pain was absolutely unbearable – it overrode all his other senses, leaving even the burning agony in his face behind in the dust. He could feel the sharp blade sinking through his fat and muscle and tendons, could hear as the bones splintered and cracked, could smell the instant rush of blood out of the horrible wound.

There's a certain difference in a person when they lose the ability to see. That person, then, has little other way to get around besides feelings their surroundings. And this causes them to be in desperate need of their hands. Take them away, and they're rendered totally incapacitated.

So when Henry Terry had finished cutting off the lower part of his arm, Iggy knew that he would never be able to do so much. Never again. No more building bombs for him. No more holding hands or putting his fingers through a belt loop to get around. No more telling the flock apart by the feel of their skin or feathers. No more living life relatively normally.

Tears once gain rushed down Iggy's face as Henry Terry moved around to free his other arm and lay it out on another slab of concrete, tied the second tourniquet, put the blade of the knife against his skin below his elbow, and make the first cut.

Iggy thought the whole situation might possibly have been less painful if the man had just cut of his hands in one, clean swipe, like with an ax. But no. This knife was too small. He could feel the pressure as the man put all of his weight on his hands, struggling to cut through the bone. The man worked the knife back and forth in an effort to saw through Iggy's flesh. And Iggy felt his head growing light at the amount of his blood that was being lost despite the tourniquets. And he though, maybe if he died there, it wouldn't be so bad.

"See? If you can't open the door, you can't run away. Now everything will be perfect." Henry Terry continued to mutter softly as Iggy slipped in and out of consciousness. And then, Iggy's mind drifted. Iggy thought, he only needed one more thing to happen for his sanity to slip.

And he was still terribly hungry.

O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O

A day later, Iggy was lying against the metal pole, his chin stained with the blood from his mouth, the cuts on his torso having reopened and bled during his plight. His arms were bandaged, the tourniquets remaining just below his shoulder so that he didn't lose too much blood. One foot was still encased in his sneaker, the other bare and wrapped in filthy bandages. And Henry Terry was standing over him with a meal. The first meal Iggy would have had in almost a week.

"Wake up, son," Terry muttered. "Wake up."

Henry Terry bent and slapped at Iggy's cheek. Some of Iggy's blood came off on his hand, and Iggy's eyes snapped open. He was shuddering. He had just been enjoying his drugged sleep.

"I got food for you. Are you hungry? Are you hungry, son? Do you want to eat? Here's you food. Eat your food."

Iggy's empty stomach growled; for the past few days it had been feeling like it had started to digest itself. His eyes had grown wide at the mention of food, and his mouth began to water, even with his dehydration. He leaned forward as far as he could with the chains binding him now wrapped around his chest and opened his mouth, just enough for Henry Terry to bring the 'food' he had brought to his mouth.

Iggy's pupils dilated the second his teeth closed around the meat, and he instantly knew what he was being fed, and it disgusted him beyond anything else. He felt his stomach toss and he spat it out, feeling sick.

"That's the only food you'll be getting, son. Eat it, or you'll have nothing."

And then was the internal battle raging inside Iggy; food, finally, after days of malnutrition, or to eat what he was being offered. His head raged in turmoil, and he felt he wouldn't even be able to eat the meat for his disgust.

But, quite suddenly, his decision was made for him as his sanity snapped.

And he opened his mouth again and was fed by his 'dad'.