SCARECROW
By The Binary Alchemist, 2011
"Find Mustang."
That was the terse order from Fuhrer Grumman's office. Havoc drew a deep drag from his cigarette and told Maria Ross, "if Hughes were still alive, nobody would be dragging their feet, y'know?"
Ross nodded vaguely. Naw, she doesn't know. Not like the rest of us who served with him for years. He scratched at his beard thoughtfully. Not like we gave a shit. Didn't matter to me—any of us, really. Okay, maybe Hawkeye. She'd been sweet on him since forever. Must have been hard for her, knowing the Chief was like that, but….
Edward Elric had been halfway to Table City to visit old friends. He took the next train back to Central. From the station he called everybody who had even the slightest idea where Alphonse was, including the Emperor of Xing. "Ling, you've still got spies in the city, right?"
His old friend chuckled. "I sent New Year's moon cakes to his spies last week. It's not a bad thing to have a cordial relationship with those paid to observe me. My men run the Jade Palace, two blocks from the parliament building. He stopped by earlier this week for an order of Xiaoping beef with extra noodles, egg rolls and steamed dumplings."
Ed nodded glumly. "They found it in the fridge. The dishes were still in the sink."
"Where was he last seen?"
"Seven and Lennox. Some dive called the Fireside Lounge."
"Not his usual watering hole, I take it?"
"Not…." Ed's voice trailed off. "I saw him there a few times."
"I know about that too."
"You would. Asshole."
"If my men find out, you'll know before Grumman, I promise."
His car was eventually towed off and put in lock-away, a pile of parking tickets fluttering under the wipers. "Never mind. Just find him," Grumman barked into the phone.
Madame Christmas cornered the bartender, two waiters and a rent boy.
At gunpoint. "Tell me where my boy is," she growled. "You know if he was drinking with anybody that night. You're gonna tell me right now, because I've got some very expensive lotion on my hand and it tends to make my fingers slippery." A perfectly round hole appeared in the wall behind the bartender's station. "Whoops."
Five minutes later she dialed Grumman from the pay phone outside the Fireside Lounge.
Twenty minutes later they cuffed a small time thief named McKinney. When his car was searched, there was a smear of blood on the steering wheel. A dry cleaner's bag was in the trunk containing a uniform jacket dappled with rusty red stains and a blood crusted pistol with fine black hairs stuck to it.
They found him 72 hours after he disappeared in a rural area west of Central City. According to Dr. Knox's report, he had sustained facial fractures, cigarette burns and lacerations, but it was the blows to the back of the head that caused the brain stem injury that put him into the coma. His handsome face was obscured by a mask of dried blood, broken only by what appeared to be thin rivulets where tears had dripped down his cheeks. "Pistol whip somebody hard enough like that—it's gonna affect his body's functions. Heart rate, respiration—even the ability to maintain constant body temperature. Poor bastard. Wasn't like somebody driving by couldn't have seen him from the road. Why didn't anybody stop, goddamn it?"
Hawkeye bowed her head. "He was tied to a fence in the middle of a corn field. They thought he was a scarecrow."
Ed didn't make it to Central in time.
According to Breda, he never even opened his eyes. Thee was a shuddering gasp about a half hour after midnight six days after he disappeared. It was October 12th—just two days after the anniversary date engraved on his old pocket watch. Another reason to hate autumn and the bitter memories that circled around him like skeleton leaves on the wind.
Chris Mustang sank to her knees beside the bed, clutching her boy's hand, moaning out the words of affection she had never uttered when Roy was alive—but that was because she'd never needed to. It was understood between them, that deep affection that had sustained him since he'd lost his parents so many years before. Breda cursed and knuckled his eyes. Hawkeye turned her face to the wall and silently wept.
McKinney and his partner Henderson didn't know who their victim was. "Some drunk in a fag bar. He wasn't wearing no uniform. He looked like he had money." McKinney offered him a safe ride home. He pistol whipped the older man, beat him viciously, stole his wallet. He left the unconscious , tied to a fence in a cornfield. His gloves were still in his pocket.
Edward's tears and fury only surprised the people who did not know Roy Mustang—or Edward Elric- as well as they thought they had.
To his surprise, Winry was the first to send Ed her condolences for his loss. "Thanks. I…kinda hoped you'd understand about…me and Roy."
"Took me some time to figure it out, but….yeah. Are you gonna be okay?"
That was a dumb question but he didn't have the heart to yell at his best friend. "No. I need…time to sort this out in my head. I'll….see you next time I head east. Take care."
"You too, Ed. Call us if you need us."
"Will do."
Riza found him crouched in the cornfield, huddled in Roy's old overcoat. "Ed, are you—"
"Wanting to kill those bastards? Yeah. But—" he lifted a cautioning hand, "he'd be the first one to tell me not to lecture him about the stupidity of revenge." He stood up, laid his hand gently on the bloodstained fence one last time, then headed back to his car.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, Lieutenant? I'm gonna head back to Central. Gonna make some changes in the way things are done over there. You wanna help me?"
"You don't have to ask."
For the first time in weeks, Edward smiled. "Hang on a sec." He dashed back to the fence, dug in his pocket and carefully scraped a small hole in the dirt with the heel of his shoe. He dropped a few coins in the hole—about 520 cens worth. He stamped the dirt smooth. He scrubbed at his reddened eyes, sniffed a little. He straightened his back, marched down to his car again and when they returned to the city they changed the world.
On the 22nd of October, one year after the murder of Roy Mustang, the Amestrian Hate Crimes Act—commonly known as the Mustang Act—passed through Parliament by a vote of 68-29. Newly elected Fuhrer President Riza Hawkeye signed it into law on October 28th.
Showers of your crimson blood
Seep into a nation calling up a flood
Of narrow minds who legislate
Thinly veiled intolerance
Bigotry and hate
But they tortured and burned you
They beat you and they tied you
They left you cold and breathing
For love they crucified you
I can't forget hard as I try
This silhouette against the sky
Scarecrow crying
Waiting to die wondering why
Scarecrow trying
Angels will hold carry your soul away
-"Scarecrow' by Melissa Etheridge
Author's Note: Inspired by the true story of Matthew Shepard and dedicated to his memory