He woke up confused with a sour taste in his mouth.
For a moment he wasn't sure where he was- it took two seconds for him to remember they were in the hotel. It took approximately another second for him to realize he was about to vomit.
He staggered into the bathroom and dropped to his knees, retching.
A moment later, he was throwing up last night's dinner.
Unfortunately, due to the fact he'd literally just woken up, he'd been neither quiet or discrete. He hadn't even had time to close the bathroom door.
Someone was crouching down behind him and pulling his hair back.
And even though it was Mustang, he was glad he was there, because he hadn't had time to pull his hair back, and he really didn't feel like washing vomit out of his hair later.
"Take it easy, Fullmetal." the familiar voice brought him some comfort as it echoed off the tiled bathroom walls.
Somewhere in the background, he could hear Atkins asking if he was alright. Mustang said something to him about water, but it was hard to hear over the blood roaring in his ears, and he heard the door of the hotel room close behind him.
He pitched forward, another mouthful of vomit splashing into the bowl, before he finally felt he was done.
He laid his forehead on the cool toilet seat. Mustang stood, though he kept a firm hand on his back. At the moment, that hand on his back was the only thing holding him steady, and he appreciated it.
There was water running in the sink. A cold wet rag was pressed to the back on his neck. It felt like heaven, since he was currently a sweaty, exhausted mess.
"Are you done?" Roy asked.
Ed nodded, picking his head up and blinking.
There was a large hand feeling his forehead. Mustang frowned, brows furrowing. "You don't have a fever.".
He handed Ed the wet cloth- he eagerly wiped his forehead and mouth, shrugging. "Think it was something I ate. I felt kind of weird after dinner last night."
"Right.".
The door of the hotel room opened, and Atkins stepped back into the room.
He eagerly rinsed his mouth out with a mouthful from the water bottle he was offered, and choked down two chalky tablets of stomach medicine they gave him before he was standing, moving back towards his bed.
"So- when are we leaving? I want to go back to the morgue.".
Mustang looked at him. "You're not up to investigating today.".
"I actually feel a lot better. I think I just had to get it out of my system." Ed tried. He really did feel a lot better- maybe he'd just had to hurl.
Atkins was looking at him carefully, analyzing. "Lay down for awhile. We'll see how you're doing this afternoon.".
Ed sighed, flopping back onto his bed and climbing beneath the covers. His stomach gave a twinge and a flutter, and he swallowed convulsively, resolving to stay still. Before he could ruminate too much on the matter, he was asleep again.
He woke up feeling sweaty and confused.
Atkins was leafing through casefiles on his cot, and Mustang looked over at him from where he was reading on his own bed when he sat up.
Ed blinked, scrubbing at his eyes. "What time is it?"
He felt like he'd lives another lifetime. He had no idea why, but he felt like he'd woken up from a long dream.
"Quarter to noon." Atkins said calmly.
Ed sighed. He'd wasted an entire morning sleeping.
"Right. I feel great. Let's get to the morgue."
Mustang looked at Ed over his folded hands skeptically. "You're sure you're up for this?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just need a quick shower- I feel a lot better. Don't tell me you've never got food poisoning before."
When he was done in the shower and had dressed himself, he stepped back into the room.
Atkins and Mustang were discussing something, but they stopped talking when he stepped back into the room.
Mustang didn't look happy on the way to the morgue, but Ed saw a man of about thirty with thinning brown hair reading a paper on the bench before the canal.
He paused where he was walking. "Hey- have you ever seen a lady in a shawl around here before?"
The man had wire-framed glasses that were slightly crooked. He frowned, shaking his head. "I can't say I have." Ed noticed the man was kind of absent-minded. He was wearing two different shoes, plaid pants, and a brown vest with a pocket watch.
"Do you sit here and read the paper everyday?"
The man nodded, his glasses slipping down his nose as he did. "Yes. Everyday, unless it rains. Then I stay home and listen to the radio.".
"You ever seen anything weird around here?"
The man paused, looking like he was thinking about something. He nodded. "I saw a pigeon get stepped on the other day. Normally they move out of your way, but this one didn't. It just flapped its wings and sat somewhere else.".
"...right..." Ed realized he was probably wasting his time. "Thanks for your time.".
"No problem. Stay safe, kid. There's a crazy killer out here.".
There the same woman sitting on the front stairs of her apartment building with a toddler in her lap while her two children played hopscotch.
The morgue was deathly quiet.
He pulled up a stool and sat before the body bags quietly, staring intently.
The only sound was the hum of the fluorescent lights above him and the smell of rubbing alcohol.
Who killed you? And what happened? I'm trying to help.
...worthless trashy no good hussy... Useless whore. Disappointment.
The words were whispered around him and seemed to drift out of the corners of the room.
Ed heaved a sigh. "I don't understand. Why won't you talk to me?"
I don't want your help.
A voice that was barely above a whisper that dripped hatred drifted over.
Why not?
I don't deserve it. this voice was more forlorn and even quieter than the other one.
Ed frowned. No one deserves to die like you did.
Leave us alone!
The voice came from right beside him, and a hand squeezed his shoulder. He sat ramrod-straight, feeling a warm breath on his neck.
Just. Leave. Don't ask questions about things you don't want to know.
Ed let out a slow breath.
The fluorescent lights above him flickered. He frowned, looking up at them for a split second. When they flickered back on, the form on middle steel autopsy table was still shrouded in the black, zipped up body bag but was sitting up, ramrod straight, unmoving.
Ed froze for a moment, eyes widening.
The person in the body bag let out a guttural, hate-filled scream that startled him so bad he fell off his stool, scrambling on his backside and covering his ears. Against every instinct he closed his eyes.
Muffled voices called him back to the world.
Someone was behind him with a hand on his back, and someone was prying his hands off his ears.
"Fullmetal. Ed. What. happened." Mustang was asking him.
Ed blinked, slowly coming back to himself. "You didn't see it?"
"See what?"
"The dead body sitting up and screaming. I'm trying. I'm asking questions, but they don't want to talk..." frustration gave way to a splash of anger.
He heard a resounding, metallic bang from behind him and whirled, looking over at the cold lockers on the wall.
"What the hell was that?" he was on his feet, making his way to the furthest locker on the left. He looked up at Atkins. "Can you open this?".
Atkins looked hesitant, but did as Ed requested. Pale feet with stiff white toes pointed up towards the ceiling.
He was hit with feelings out of left-field. Disbelief, fear, shame. Pain.
"This guy was one of our victims.".
Atkins frowned. "I don't know if I believe that. He was in a robbery gone wrong, he tried to fight off a mugger and got cut. He doesn't fit the killer's profile. He only goes for women.".
He felt cold metal on his flesh arm and a sting of parting flesh, and he jolted. "Fuck!"
He was rolling up his sleeve, coming face to face with a long but shallow cut on his arm that wept blood.
"Did that just happen to you?" Atkins asked, looking alarmed.
"Yeah." Ed was watching the blood trail down from the shallow cut and drip off his elbow onto the white tile floor below him.
What the hell are they trying to tell me?
He pulled the drawer out further, completely exposing the naked corpse with the toe tag and glassy blue eyes.
Ed wordlessly peeled the man's left arm away from his body, coming face to face with a large laceration on the inside of the man's arm.
"So- this was the fatal wound. You called me over here to show me this.".
"It's a man. And his throat wasn't slit.". Mustang pointed out.
Ed shrugged. "So? The feelings are the same around all four corpses. They're from the same killer. The killer changed up their pattern here, but this guy bled out, didn't he?"
"Yes. From knife wounds secondary to a robbery.". Mustang said, clearly not following.
Ed shook his head. "These women had their throats slit. Not sawed. Whoever got them made sure to slit the carotid arteries so they bled out. This guy- right above the bend of his inner elbow, he's got a nice slit with surgical precision. I'm not doctor, but they made sure to get the brachial artery. He bled out within five minutes. Same cause of death. This killer gets off on letting the victims bleed out. They wanted to change the method and the victim so we'd be thrown off. But he's tied to this- he's into this somehow. But why..."
Ed frowned, lifting up the dead man's hand. There was a ring on his left hand. Ed wordlessly set the man's arm back down in the cold drawer, walking back over to the women on the table. He stopped in front of the middle autopsy table and was hit with a wave of sadness.
"So. That's why you're upset. He belonged to you. Or was close to you, at least." Ed admitted. He nodded to Atkins. "These two are involved somehow. Don't ask me how, but they knew each other."
Atkins nodded. "Okay. I'll grab his autopsy report and compare it to hers." he turned and ducked out of the morgue, in search of the documents.
The scratch on his arm had gone from dripping blood to sluggishly welling blood, and he wordlessly rolled down his sleeve and took up his position on the stool again.
"Are you doing alright?" Mustang asked him seriously.
Ed nodded absently. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
"You seem on edge. You're tense. This is different than the last time.".
Ed scoffed. "Yeah. Last time they wanted my help. This time they won't talk to me." he was frustrated and almost resentful. And for some reason- he didn't know why- but he felt like everyone was judging him, like he'd done something horribly wrong, and like if anyone found out he'd be in a lot of trouble.
He frowned, shooting Mustang a glare. "I don't like it when you hover over me. You keep watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake.".
Mustang blinked. "You're getting emotionally involved in this case. When you follow your feelings, you get overwhelmed. You tend to have a one-track mind, and when you're seeing the stuff you're seeing, your perception isn't always right." He remembered the time Ed had climbed onto the railing of the catwalk forty feet up in the old factory and reached out to try and pull in a hanging corpse, heedless of the forty foot drop below him.
Ed paused, giving Mustang a look. "So you don't trust me."
"Where is all this coming from? I thought we were on good terms, but ever since we've been here you've been different and on edge..."
I did a horrible thing. I made a horrible mistake. I deserve everything that happens to me. This is my punishment.
I didn't deserve any of this.
Ed sighed. "More cryptic bullshit. I don't know, okay? I don't know! They aren't talking to me, they're just harassing me! I don't know what happened, but whatever did, it was horrible and they say they deserve it and they just want me to leave!"
Mustang nodded. "They want you to leave. So let's go back to the hotel and try to talk about this and get a new perspective.".
Ed sighed, climbing back onto his stool. "No. I just need more time here. They'll understand, I just have to keep talking to them. Even if they don't want my help, stopping this guy before he kills someone else is important.".
Roy frowned. "This isn't healthy. And I'm not sure it's helping."
"This got us the ONLY lead we've had on this case. Leave me alone!" Ed snapped, crossing his arms.
Roy wanted to snap back- the atmosphere was electric, a bunch of retorts swirled around in his mind- but instead, he turned and walked out of the morgue, stepping into the cold tiled hallway. Ed was going through something he didn't understand, and he clearly needed alone time. This case was far different from the child-killer in the abandoned factory.
Here, it seemed like the spirits were antagonistic rather than helpful. And Ed was frustrated because he wasn't making the progress they wanted. And the spirits were more violent and more willing to harm Ed, if the violent reactions they'd witnessed and the cut that'd just appeared on the boy's arm was anything to go by.
Truthfully, Roy wanted nothing more than to take the kid and go back to East City. Except they hadn't made any progress yet, and Ed might just be grasping at straws, and he was going to be hard to drag away from the case when he felt he hadn't solved it...
Ed sat on the stool, watching the fluorescent light above one of the autopsy tabled flicker and die.
Stupid. Worthless. Can't believe I trusted you.
I did all this for nothing.
I hate you! I had a life to live and dreams to chase and you stole everything from me!
"Who? Who hurt you?"
It doesn't matter!
"It matters to me."
...that's because you don't know what we did.
We did what we had to do. It was my choice, it's fine!
Lay down on the floor and be dead with us.
The different voices- one sadly soft, one enraged, one apathetic- swirled around him.
"What?"
Lay down and be dead with us. I'll show you a dream that went badly.
He stood, moving to sit on the cool white tile floor between two of the steel autopsy tables on the floor.
"...okay. I'm here. What do you want to show me?"
His stomach turned uncomfortably, and he gasped, slightly surprised, placing a hand on his stomach.
...will you judge me for my sins?
It wasn't a sin! It was our right!
It was at that moment a glass jar of cotton swabs went flying across the room and shattered.
Mustang stood in the hallway, heaving an exasperated sigh. It was never easy working murder cases, but watching Ed get thrown through the emotional rollercoaster and trying to find answers in madness was hard enough.
Atkins jogged into the hallway, looking excited, papers fluttering in his hand.
"He was right.".
Roy blinked. "He was?"
Atkins nodded. "Yeah. His paperwork- on paper, this man and that woman have nothing in common. But they were engaged to be married.".
Roy blinked. "So the killer killed the woman and her fiancé?".
Atkins nodded eagerly. "Exactly! They changed the location of the fatal wound from the throat to the arm to bleed them out and throw us off, but he was right!"
At that moment, glass shattered from within the morgue, and Roy swore, turning and wrenching open the door, running back into the room.
Broken glass crunched beneath his and Atkin's military boots. The remains of a glass jar of cotton swabs were scattered on the white tile floor, and between the two autopsy tables Ed was laying on the tile floor on his back, hands folded behind his head.
Tears were streaming down his face, and he sniffed.
"Fullmetal. What the hell happened, we heard the glass break. What are you doing down there?" Atkins looked down at Ed, concerned.
Ed gave a shaky sigh. "I'm laying down pretending to be dead."
"Why?" Mustang asked.
Ed gave a laugh that could've been a sob. "Because she told me to. But they just keep arguing with each other, and now I'm cold and sad and I still don't know what they're saying.".
Roy sighed, crouching down. "Come on. We're done for the day. Get up off the floor."
Ed sniffed, sitting up and scrubbing his sleeve across his eyes trying to dry his tears.
"These feelings don't belong to me. But I can't get rid of them." Ed looked at Mustang sadly as he got to his feet.
Mustang heaved a sigh. "I know. You're exhausted. We'll get back to the hotel and you can eat and sleep. You'll feel better in the morning.".
"Okay.".
"You made some progress. You were right- the dead man and the woman have a connection. They were engaged." Atkins tried to be encouraging. Ed stopped walking, eyes brightening slightly. "I want to see the autopsy reports.".
Atkins hesitated, then shook his head. "I'll let you see them tomorrow." he promised. "You've had enough for today.".
Ed said nothing, trudging back towards the hotel.
It was well past dark as they made their way back to the hotel.
The doorman was smoking a pipe in a long green trench coat. He frowned when he saw Ed, who walked past him into the building without saying anything.
As soon as they got back into the hotel room, Ed climbed into bed and wrapped himself in his sheets.
Roy frowned. "What do you want for dinner?".
Ed shrugged. "I have no idea. Grilled cheese? Mac and cheese? Just something with cheese.".
Roy ordered room service.
They ate in relative silence, before Atkins spoke up.
"How's this case different than the last ones?"
Ed shrugged forlornly. "I dunno. The spirits are pissed and they don't want me to know what happened.".
"They're not talking as much, are they?" Roy proposed.
"No, they're not. I thought they were going to show me something tonight, but they got into a fight with each other and just started throwing things." he heaved a sigh. He had a headache. He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, taking the opportunity to pop two aspirins.
He looked down at the bottle of pills in his hand curiously.
I wonder if I took the whole bottle if it'd kill me. I got myself into this mess, would it solve my problems without killing me?
He paused. When he looked in the bathroom mirror, brown eyes stared back at him.
Those aren't my eyes. My eyes are gold. These aren't my thoughts. I'm so tired of this shit. I don't want to do this anymore.
He took a breath and heaved a sigh, tucking the aspirin back into his pocket.
Go to sleep. You'll probably feel more like yourself in the morning.