Syphon

Chapter four: it was September

If one could equate life to a flame, Edward would have the lifespan of a match, and even that was being generous. Somewhere along the line, Edward had lost his purpose, he had done what he had set out to do, leaving him in limbo. Ed had brought Alphonse back, but Alphonse didn't make him happy, nothing made him happy. And for a long time now, Edward believed that he couldn't feel happy, because the gate had taken his happiness as payment. It was just another consequence that he had to live with, because consequences are everlasting.

As a result of this, Edward had started drinking, too much. Ed would go home and drink, drowning out his fears, trying to silence his shame. But his shame wouldn't let go, it was trying to strangle him, gripping his throat from the inside out. Edward never thought that he would become an alcoholic. It seemed underwhelming compared to the things that he had done and the things that he had seen. But if he was drunk, things didn't seem so bad, his arm didn't hurt, his leg didn't hurt, he couldn't feel things. At times, being unfeeling was better than feeling, feeling was exhausting, feeling hurt. His alcoholism was born of his shame, but Edward's alcoholism wasn't quite as bad as his addiction to painkillers, which was born of his pain.

Edward had spent so much of his life in pain that it would seem almost ridiculous if he wasn't addicted to something. Ed was eighteen when he brought Alphonse back, he was still young, but his body was already beginning to deteriorate, decay, even. It was partially due to his automail, it was heavy, the weight damaging his nerves, the pain unsympathetic, severe enough to make his nauseous. At some point Edward couldn't take it anymore, he had hit the threshold, but he had to go on, he had to. So when no one was looking, Ed would go out into the city, buying whatever he could find, just so that he could breathe. Because there was something ameliorating about feeling better, it was euphoric without the high. But Edward was too far gone to feel high, now he just felt a semblance of normality, and maybe, normal was too strong of a word. Living had become tolerable, but at what cost. Ed took pills to sleep, pills to stop the shakes, and not only did he take pills, he took them while he was drinking, because, why not. Perhaps, he would stop breathing in his sleep, choking on his own tongue, and maybe, he was OK with that.

That said, the evening following the discovery of the young girl, Jane Doe, Edward had been unable to cope. When Ed had awoken the next day, when and day being the fundamental words, he couldn't remember what he had done, nor how he had gotten home. Ed always assumed that he had been drinking, that was a given, and when he couldn't remember the day of the week upon waking, he also assumed that he had taken something. But it wasn't really the question of what he had taken, but how much, and when would it be too much. Even though Edward couldn't remember how he had gotten home, he had only made it to the couch, where he was vomiting onto the floor. However, this wasn't unusual, Edward cleaning up his own vomit, it was just another reminder his shame and how he felt ashamed of being ashamed.

But Edward had gotten up, eventually, managing to get dressed. Ed had become lackluster, he didn't dress with the flair that he used to, no leather, not red. Edward wasn't even sure why he had dressed in such a way in the past, but he had been young, stupid, drawing unwanted attention to himself. But now, Ed wore cotton, breathable fabrics, long sleeves, slacks, shoes, a sweater, age appropriate. In the past, the leather had made his automail sweat, contributing to his chronic infections, like cellulitis, and gangrene. Edward was a detective, not a soldier, there was a dress code, but no uniform. Ed chose simplicity, which was really unkemptness, wearing clothing more days than he should, emphasizing his lack of hygiene. The only thing that Edward really took care of was his hair, his one, and only, remaining glory. His hair was too long, but he could never bring himself to cut it. He would still braid his hair, allowing it to rest over his shoulder, making it more manageable. His hair was the last of his pride, and he couldn't let it go, that would kill him.

As a child, Edward had never thought about what it would take to feed his addiction, how much that it would cost. Ed spent most of his money on liquor, alcohol was expensive, and so were his meds. Ed wasn't poor, he made money, but that would only last for so long, everyone was expendable. But Ed didn't spend money on himself with the intention of taking care of himself, and even though there was money left over month to month, Edward didn't know what to do with it. At first, Ed had sent the money to Alphonse, for food, housing, so that he could heal. Alphonse had started saving the cash with the purpose of opening a bakery, which he did, only a few years after he moved back to Resembool. Alphonse had refused to take Ed's money soon after, his business was a success, and Al didn't need Ed to take care of him. You don't have to worry about me anymore, take care of yourself. But that had been years ago.

It was early afternoon before Edward arrived at headquarters, hungover. The autopsy of the young girl had taken place that morning. The coroner had been able to match dental records, even with her extensive tooth decay, and had called Adam shortly after. Adam had talked to the coroner, taken some notes, and left with a file labeled Lily. Edward met Adam at the entrance of the building, knowing what they were going to do next. It was never long after the identification of a body that they, meaning Edward and Adam, had to find next of kin, or in this case, Lily's parents, to inform them of their passing. Ed didn't like to deliver the bad news, but Adam could never bring himself to speak, so Edward handled the talking, which made him uncomfortable, to say the least. All Edward had to do was speak, which was relatively easy, the words rolling off his tongue, sounding rehearsed as the words were always the same. But what made him uncomfortable, though, was how he said the words, how they sounded apathetic, empty, like he didn't care. Edward wanted to care, but he couldn't. Ed had been disillusioned by death, deadened by it, because Edward knew that everybody was going to die, knowing that it was only a matter of time.

Adam had greeted Edward by handing him a picture of Lily, her chest cracked open, cavernous, like she was having open heart surgery. Ed just stared at the picture, "What the fuck, Adam."

Ed forcefully handed the picture back to Adam, who smirked, "You're not going to believe this, Ed, the guy ripped out her goddamn heart, her organs, everything." Adam was waving his hands in the air, "Who the fuck does that? I mean, what is he going to do with them?" And Adam turned on his heel, frowning at Ed, "And by the way, you're late, just like you were late yesterday."

Ed crossed his arms over his chest, "And the day before that, and the day before that, I get it, Adam."

Adam laughed at Ed's imitation of him. Edward knew Adam's inaugural speech by heart, because Adam, if not persistent, and or relentless, had begun to sound like a broken record. Adam squinted his eyes, pointing his finger at Ed, "You made me go down to the creepy dead room by myself, you asshole. You know I don't like it down there, not like you do. I see the way that you look at those dead bodies, Ed."

Ed raised his brow, "I don't know what's wrong with you, but I bet it's hard to pronounce."

Adam opened his mouth in mock surprise, "How could you, I would never," and Adam settled on an apparent, if not painfully obvious observation, as an insult, "yeah well, you look like shit."

Ed almost laughed, "I'll take that as a complement, last week you told me that I looked like a human dumpster fire."

Adam was only amused for another minute or so, until he spoke again, "Are you ready to get this over with?"

Lily's family lived in Central. They lived in an apartment complex built for low income families, their provisions paid for by the government. The building was filled with homeless men and women huddling in the lobby, while children ran rampant through the hallways. The building was dilapidated, there was water damage, moisture in the drywall, and mold. The structure was waning, the brick pulling away from the studs, crumbling. The floorboards were rotten, bowing beneath a single footstep, worn to the subfloor.

Edward was the first to walk through the doorway, noting the lack of a door, Adam following behind. Ed was conscious of the fact that he was being watched because everyone in the lobby was looking at him. Maybe, it was because they were out of place, or maybe, it was because his hand was made of metal, or maybe, it was because he had a gun. Adam seemed uneasy, and stood behind Ed, perhaps, thinking that Edward was better equipped to handle the situation. Technically, Edward was overqualified in this situation, but he had gone cold in his chest, fear creeping its way into his throat.

Edward managed to speak, though, with conviction, as if he were in control, "We are looking for the Wilson family, can any of you tell us where we can find them." Ed was met with silence, but continued speaking, with spite, "If you tell us where to find the Wilson's, we won't feel the need to arrest all of you. For those of you who don't know, obstruction of justice is a crime, help us, or go to jail, it's your choice."

Somewhere among the homeless, a hand raised, pointing down one of the hallways, "Last door on right."

Edward turned to Adam, ushering him to follow. When they arrived at the door, Adam knocked, unnerved by the flickering lights in the hallway. The door was answered by a young boy, and Adam leaned over to meet his eyes, "Are your mom and dad home?" The boy shook his head yes, and Adam smiled, "Can we talk to them, it's very important."

The boy left the door ajar, and ran into the apartment. Edward could already see the guilt in Adam's eyes, his shoulders beginning to sag, his mischievousness replaced by misery. But Edward looked away when a woman opened the door, "How can I help you?"

Knowing that Adam would not speak, Edward stepped forward, taking out his badge, "My name is Detective Edward Elric, and this is my partner, Detective Adam Bennett. And on behalf of the Central Military Police, we are here to inform you that we found your daughter, Lily Wilson."

But before Edward could continue, the woman lit up, she was happy for a moment, relieved, "You found Lily!" But as soon as the woman had spoken the words, in happiness, she fell to her knees, overwhelmed with sudden sadness, "She's dead. My baby is dead, isn't she?"

Edward continued, "Your daughter has been murdered, Mrs. Wilson. Detective Bennett and I are heading the investigation, we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions."

The woman was staring at Edward in horror, "What? What about my baby, who killed my baby."

Edward was trying to seem sympathetic, "We are working on finding whoever did this, Mrs. Wilson, but these things take time, we just have a few questions."

The woman stood, grabbing Edward at the shoulders, "I want to see my baby." But the woman jerked her hands away, suddenly, as though she had burned them, upon touching Edward's automail, having not noticed his hand, how it was metal.

Ed, once again, was trying to keep the situation from escalating, "You will have to go to the Central City Coroner's Office to identify her body. But you will be unable to make burial arrangements until such a time as her body is not involved in an active investigation."

The door was abruptly slammed in Ed's face.

Edward threw his head back, releasing an exasperated, fuck me.

And Adam, feeling as though he needed to salt the wound, spoke, "I feel as though you could have handled that better. She fucking hates you."

Edward scowled at Adam, walking away. Adam followed Ed out of the building, catching Edward's arm, his flesh arm, causing Ed to stop. Edward was upset, Adam could see that, and he let go of Ed's arm. Adam sighed, "She just needs some time to process the information, you know, it's hard to just walk up to somebody and tell them that their daughter is dead. They think that we are trying to hurt them, like we had something to do with it, but we're just trying to help. She doesn't hate you, Ed, she hates the guy who killed her daughter."

Ed felt himself smile, it was small, but significant, "Who the fuck are you and what did you do with Adam?"

Adam looked away, "If you're going to make fun of me for being nice, then consider this the last time, Ed, never again."

And Adam stormed off, half embarrassed, half ecstatic, that he had made Edward smile. Adam liked Ed, he thought of Edward as his friend, even if Ed didn't return the sentiment. Adam knew who Edward was even before they were partners, knowing that Ed was both dangerous and delicate, all at once. He had a great respect for Ed, because Edward was incredibly smart, intelligent, and hardworking, despite his shortcomings. Adam only annoyed Ed because he cared, knowing that one day Edward might not show up, because he would be dead.

Edward was haunted by things that Adam couldn't even begin to imagine, he could see it in Ed's eyes, his sadness, his grief. Adam knew about the alcohol, he could smell it, and he knew about the drugs, because when Ed got fucked up, he got fucked up. Ed would spend half the day coming down, but in the end, Edward would just take something else when his hands started to shake. Adam had seem Edward pop pills, Ed did it right in front of him, but Adam never said anything, it wasn't his place. The most that he could do, the only thing that he could do, was wait for Ed every morning, hoping that it was enough, knowing that it wasn't enough.

Adam stopped walking and turned around, waiting for Edward to catch up. Ed was walking behind Adam, his pace slow, enjoying his sudden and small amount of joy, smiling.