Alright, I'm going through and redoing this story, however the next few chapters probably won't be much different from how they were before. Let's see how far I make it!
"I hate this country!" Ed groaned, wiping his left hand across his sweaty forehead. "I can't even breath because the air's so damned thick!" Al chuckled and handed a canteen over to him.
"It's supposed to get less humid the further inland we go." Al said, lifting his own sweaty face to the hot, southern Carolina sun.
"It had better." Ed grumbled, glancing up the dirt road. There was a small dust cloud in the distance. He stood up and waved frantically at the oncoming car, but the dusty black ford chugged right passed them without slowing.
"I HATE THIS COUNTRY!" Ed screamed at the car, then sat down heavily onto his suitcase.
"Brother?" Al asked after a moment's silence.
"Hmm?" Ed glanced up with a quirked eyebrow. Al bit his lip before going on.
"Did we make the right decision by coming over here?"
"Of course we did!" Ed said, taking off the rimmed hat he was wearing and slapping the dust off.
"But what if this case isn't what we thought it was? We would have come all this way for nothing!"
"Even if all this has nothing to do with Huskisson, this practically screams of someone attempting alchemy. And the impression I got from that article is that someone has actually made it as far as the door. This could be another hotspot like the one in Munich." Ed said pointedly and flipped the hat between his hands.
"There were still a lot of hotspots across Europe!" Al said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. Ed shrugged.
"Those hotspots were all so old that if they haven't been used by now they never will. Fifty people popping up as insane is a good enough reason for me to come here." Ed plopped the hat back on his head and glanced up the road where another dust cloud had appeared along the horizon.
"What if we don't find him?" Al asked, "Do you think we'll ever go back to Europe?" Ed looked at him and blanched.
"And cross that damn ocean again? Hell no! At least not until I can fit into my clothes again. Besides, I can't quite explain it but I just…feel like he's here somewhere." Al couldn't help but smile. Ed hadn't fared the two-week crossing well. His clothes, which had fit perfectly before, now hung limp from his body making him look even smaller than normal. Al sighed sadly. He would definitely miss Europe. It had reminded him so much of home that he had almost come to concider it so. Al stood up and got ready to wave down the oncoming car.
"I'm going to trust your feeling for now, Brother. But if we die in this country without finding anything, I'm slamming your head in the door the second we get there."
Ed collapsed onto the hotel bed with a groan. He buried his face into the pillow but quickly pulled away, making a face at the smell and opting to lie on his back instead. A few seconds later he was asleep. Al gave a small snort of disgust and sat down on a spindly chair, pulling a locked bag onto his lap. Inside were the basic tools for a traveling con man. Or at least that's what he called it. A small, crank-powered engraver (which they invented themselves), a portable ink press complete with a leading set (which they invented themselves), and a paper sack filled with stale cookies (which Al threw at Ed). There were also a few small machines used to take electromagnetic readings, but Al pulled out the engraver and a half finished teardrop shaped badge. He cranked the engraver and the drill slowly purred to life. Back on the bed, Ed grumbled incoherently and began eating the cookies without opening his eyes.
"You know, it wouldn't kill you to give me a hand with this type of stuff once in a while." Al growled, touching the drill bit to the metal and sculpting out the corner of a star. Ed opened his eyes and grinned.
"Sorry, I can't." He said waving his right hand. Al bit his lip and glared down at his tools. He knew that Ed's missing limbs weren't his fault and that Ed wasn't much bothered by them. But Al had always blamed himself in part for his brother's incomplete body. Especially at times like these when he was reminded of its limitations. Ed had easily managed to learn how to write with his left-hand, but even after years his handwriting was labored and cramped. The automail just wasn't designed for delicate work. Of course, Al was grateful to his brother for resurrecting him, but there was already so much for Ed to deal with without the inconvenience of his missing pieces.
"I'm sorry, Ed." Al mumbled. Ed sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Don't even start, Al. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm happy with the way things have turned out? Wanna cookie?" Ed asked holding one out in invitation. Al shook his had and continued to look forlorn. Ed gave an exasperated sigh and hoisted himself to his feet.
"Where are you going?" Al asked.
"Anywhere! You're depressing me!" Ed said, fishing through his pockets. "Have you got any money? I think I'll check on our subjects." Al reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. Ed took them from him and nodded in thanks as he left the room.
"Operator." A bored voice grated through the earpiece.
"Winslow Mental Institution in Burmingdale please." Ed said.
"One moment sir." the nasal voice droned and the line went silent.
"Hello?" A very different voice asked a few seconds later.
"Yes, is this Doctor Peterson?" Ed asked.
"Yes it is. May I asked who this is?"
"This is Private Investigator Elric. I contacted you two days ago about two patients at your institution." Ed said.
"Oh yes, yes. We expect you will be here tomorrow?" The doctor asked.
"I'm really hoping so, but my partner and I are a bit off-schedule. I might not make it until Thursday morning." Ed said, rumpling his hair. "Listen, doc. The reason I'm calling is to check up on the patients. Have they made any further recovery at all? Have they given you any more information?" There was a slight pause on the other end of the line.
"Unfortunately…one of the patients in question passed away this morning." Ed swore under his breath.
"How did it happen? Did he say anything before he died?" Ed asked as sympathetically as he could manage.
"I'm afraid the subject had quit speaking altogether the day before. He somehow managed to escape his room last night. His body was found outside. He apparently jumped through one of the fourth story windows."
"And what about the other man?"
"Oh, Mr. Dawson has made a lot of progress! His fiancée has visited him daily and his mind has definitely begun to stabilize, although he still hasn't said much about what has caused his lapse."
"That is very encouraging news, Doctor. Thank you very much. I will see you on Thursday." Ed said and hung up the phone before waiting for a response. Then he began his next call.
"Good news, really good news or bad news?" Ed asked, walking back into the room twenty minutes later, carrying two bowls of soup courteously of the elderly hotel owner.
"Bad news." Al said, putting down his tools and rubbing his eyes before accepting the proffered bowl of soup.
"There are only two patients left now. One in the Winslow and one in an asylum farther north," Ed said, sitting heavily on the bed. Al sighed.
"Good news," he said, ignoring his spoon and lifting the bowl to his lips.
"While the one in the asylum is nothing but a drooling monkey, the other is beginning to show signs of recover." Ed said. Al nodded.
"And the really good news?" Al asked. Ed grinned at him.
"You get the one that bites."
Ed pulled out his shiny, new, one hundred percent fake Private Investigator's badge and flashed it at Dr. Peterson.
"Edward Elric, P.I. We talked on the phone." He said formally.
"Ah, yes. I'm glad you made it sir!" Peterson said, shaking Ed's hand firmly. "And I'm sure you'll want to take a look at Mr. Dawson as soon as possible. He's waiting in the observation room. I thought it best to have his fiancée here, as he's more open with her around. She should be here shortly." The doctor said, waving Ed to follow him through a series of white corridors.
"Thank you," Ed said, glancing through the windows of the doors they passed.
"How many patients came to this institute with Mr. Dawson's symptoms?" Ed asked.
"Oh, all of them. Exactly fifty. It was quite a mess actually. We almost didn't have enough room to accommodate all of them. We had filed to transfer as many as we could to a mental hospital in Georgia, but within a week over half of them had found some means to…well. And now, a month later there are only two left altogether." Ed slipped his journal from his coat pocket and began taking notes.
"Where exactly were the people found?" Ed asked.
"That's the strangest thing. They were all safe in their homes. They just all started screaming at once around eight' o'clock in the morning. Their families have no recollection of them ever leaving at any point during the night, neither did anyone enter."
"That is strange," Ed said, tapping his pen against his lip. "Can you describe how they acted when they were discovered?" Ed asked, skirting around a nurse who was escorting a mumbling patient.
"Mostly they were scared shitless of doors. The police and ambulance workers could barely get them out of their homes. The rest I can't even pretend to explain. They were all filled to the brim with a cocktail of chemicals that should have killed them, yet they all survived and would have gone on surviving if they hadn't killed themselves. The police have verified that there's no possible connection between all of them, yet they have to be linked somehow for this to have happened. Right?" The doctor stopped at a door and unlocked it, motioning Ed to go through first. Ed stepped through and found himself in a small room with a door to his left and a wide window across one wall. He peered through this and found himself looking down into a white room containing a white bed, a white chair and a man in a white dressing gown whose dark hair stood out dramatically. The man was sitting on the bed with his face buried into his knees.
"That is Henry Dawson." The doctor said, standing beside Ed and nodding at the lone figure.
"Is there a file of any kind I can look at?" Ed asked. The doctor shook his head.
"I'm sorry, but all files are confidential."
"I understand." Ed said, turning his gaze back to Henry Dawson. A few minutes later there was a light knock on the door. Doctor Peterson excused himself to open it.
"Miss Mayer! Thank you for coming." He said warmly.
"Of course, Doctor," said a soft voice. Ed turned and his jaw dropped. Standing before him was a beautiful woman around his own age with silky black hair falling in waves halfway down her back and slanted cat eyes that were possibly even blacker. She wore no makeup save for a smear of bright red lipstick set perfectly against her marble white skin. Her navy-blue tailored dress suit hugged her perfect curves, illuminating the contrast of her narrow waist and a generous swell of hip and breast. Indeed, Edward Elric never thought he would be so surprised to see the dimensional double of Roy Mustang.
Ee hee hee. I'm so evil. No, neither Roy nor this girl has gone through a sex change. In the FMA movie Bradley's double said it was possible for him to be a girl on the other side, so I just decided to make it so for Roy. I can do that! I have absolute control! BWUAHHAHAHA! Okay, I don't. But it makes me feel special to think I do. If there is any confusion about what's going on in this chapter, don't worry, it will all make sense eventually! I hope.