A Home Worth Returning To
Chapter II: Two to Make One
Author's Note: Erm . . . not much point here but . . . thank you for the review and feed back. Ah, especially to Gozilla and kurama-sweethart, who reviewed both my fics! Thanks especially especially because I probably would have quit this and Touka Koukan if I didn't receive all those glowing reviews!
Disclaimer: I do NOT own 'salem's Lot. That belongs to Mr. Stephen King and others so . . . uh . . . don't sue. Please?
"Do you know what's wrong with him?" a nasal voice breathed. He seemed annoyed, as if being called to do whatever he was doing was not worth it. Although, it sounded distorted, like listening through water.
"No. He must be in shock from losing his arm." Another man. This voice smooth and mildly sarcastic, not appreciating the difficulty of dealing with this other man. I recognize this voice. It sounds a lot like Colonel Mustang.
"How did he lose his arm?"
"Painfully."
I listened to their conversation. It sounded like they were talking around me, on every side. Or on top of me.
"Victim of a family suicide, eh? Sad. Alan . . . Alan something or other?"
"Rilec, doctor. And I wish you wouldn't treat it with such frivolity. This boy's safety and case is now under my jurisdiction. This could cause serious trauma and we need him as a witness." I let out a low moan, an attempt to hold a breath. That was odd, needing to breathe again. Alan. Why did they call me Alan? Was this some sort of freak accident and I landed in some other time or place? A gate's function, after all, is to separate one place from another, but allowing access between these two places if you could open it. But gates can go more than one way, right?
"Alan, are you up?" Colonel Mustang asked. His voice was louder and more clear now.
"Mustang-taisa, what's going on?" I muttered. My throat was parched. I forced my eyes open and looked straight into black pebbles. Yes, most definitely Colonel Mustang.
"So you know who I am then, hmm?" he asked.
"Of course," I answered. I didn't feel like co-operating with him right now. Niisan was dead. Or he's somewhere else. I may never see him again. I switched my gaze from the Colonel to the table and reached for the glass of water. The light shining through the window had fragments of orange and red to hint at the sun's leave. Maybe I'd only been out for a few hours. My hand was surprisingly unsteady. I tried to grasp the cup, but when I thought I had it, I missed. My hand brushed against what I saw as thin air.The cool feeling of glass jerked me into full awareness, but it only seemed to heighten my frustration on not being able to grab a cup. Colonel Mustang watched my short struggle to get a drink. His eyes were unreadable as he stared at me.
The doctor, who was a white blur at the foot of the bed, looked fascinated. "Ah," he said, as if he understood my plight. I started to think I hated this guy.
"Here, let me," Colonel Mustang picked up the glass and put it in my hand. His glove had an array on it, but to my eyes it was only a red splotch. His fingers helped to wrap mine on the cup so I gripped it without fail. I couldn't believe it! Here was the 'bastard Colonel' my brother loathed helping me drink. I could never have felt so humiliated or curious in my entire life.
"Thank you," I mumbled and brought the cup to my lips. I stopped short and looked at it in surprise. I pulled the cup away from my face and slowly brought it back. It seemed like the glass switched places when I brought it closer to me, starting towards my left and then going to the middle of my vision, where it was supposed to be. I didn't notice, but Colonel Mustang looked like he was going to bust his gut any second now.
"Do you need help drinking that?" he asked, his head cocked to the side with a condescending gaze.
I managed a small frown and shook my head, taking small sips and trying to ignore the fact my limb was missing and everything was messed up. I had to be strong, so I pretended I was my brother, his arm blown off by Scar. Even though Scar was dead and that was the wrong arm. I cringed at the mental picture if Scar had taken Brother's left arm instead of his right. Think of Niisan, remember how he had a poker face and tried to pretend it was all okay.
When I finished drinking, the room in complete silence since I woke up, I had trouble replacing it because the table was to my left. I struggled putting the cup back with my right arm. Mustang sighed and plucked the empty glass from my fingers.
"Sirs? Are you sure it's all right to interview him?" the pretty nurse's voice asked. I looked at the door but only a blue blur was there. Other than Mustang, who was a bit smudged himself, the room was out of focus. I rubbed my eyes and looked around again. No better.
"If it's all right with the patient," Mustang answered. "Alan?"
"I'm not Alan, I'm Alphonse," I said firmly.
"It's all right," the Colonel said. He spared me a quizzical glance before turning to the nasal-voiced doctor. "This is confidential, so I ask that you leave and invite First Lieutenant Hawkeye in."
"Of course."
The doctor swept out of the room and with the slam of the door I immediately started on Colonel Mustang. "Mustang-taisa, why are they calling me Alan Rilec? What family suicide? What am I a witness for?"
"What?" Colonel Mustang's usual mask cracked at my questions. Was I acting out of character? I didn't think so. These were all valid questions.
"Alan, you may not remember because the memories might have been suppressed but your family was killed. All evidence is substantial but we have reason to believe your older brother did it." Hawkeye said this as she pushed the door open, carrying a folder with her.
"What!" I exploded. "Niisan would never do that, and there was only him and me to begin with! You should know that, Ms. Hawkeye!" I glared at them both. What were they babbling about?
"Really?" she asked. "You must remember that up until now your family has never been in good terms with your brother, don't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I protested. "Niisan got along with everyone except Dad!" Around now I had propped myself up against the head board. The loss of my arm was really starting to get annoying. I appreciated auto-mail even more and another pang of guilt went through me, as my brother spent five years without flesh limbs.
"Oh?" Colonel Mustang quirked an eyebrow. "Your father died fifteen years ago. Did your brother kill him?"
"NO!" I clenched my fist. "Who are you kidding! You met my dad in Liezenbul!" Hot tears were gathering at the corners of my eyes. What were they talking about? Mustang talked with my father seriously days after Niisan and I got the Philosopher's Stone.
"Liezenbul?" he asked. Again, a flicker of confusion. "Hmph, you're being delusional. Your family owns no property in Liezenbul."
"Because we burned it down!" I yelled in frustration. I slumped back and wanted to bang my head on the wall a couple of times, like Niisan would do when he was mad and talking about how boring work was and about the Colonel and how annoying and smug he could be. "Where am I! What date is it!" I demanded. I had to know.
"You're in Central Hospital, it's Thursday, July 10 of 1917," Mustang answered. He must have been humoring me, but I stared at him in shock. 1917? It was 1917? That's . . . impossible. This seemed so unreal. That meant I had spent around three years with a complete blank space in my head.
That's when I noticed for the first time. "You . . . you have an eye patch."
"Hm?" He touched the black band across his face and sighed. "It seems so."
"What happened?" I asked. What could have given him that? Maybe Niisan didn't know about this either. Though, even if he did know I don't think that in the time he arrived and the time he and I said our . . . good-byes . . . he could have told me.
"A nasty fight," he replied. "I don't think you're stable enough right now. Maybe in a few weeks we can continue this - "
"Wait!" I called, as he started out the door. "Can - can you come back tomorrow? Or send somebody?"
He paused and looked directly at me. "Sure."
And with that he left.
I blinked after the exchange, not knowing why exactly I had asked him to come back. I needed somebody to understand what was going on. Why was I like this? I pushed the strands of dark blond hair from my face, the casualness of that excited me inside. Normally that hair would be white. Normally I wouldn't have to push it from my face in the first place. Normally, if I'd been injured, I wouldn't feel a single thing. Not a twang of pain, no cringing from moving my head one way or another. Normally . . . normally if I were this badly injured Niisan would come over and tell me its all right and fix everything.
He could fix anything. Except himself.
With that thought staying and lengthening my guilt fetish, I barely noticed the nurse. I didn't see her watch me, appraising my looks and taking the glass, replacing it with some flowers from someone or other. Coming in every once in a while, staring and shaking her head. I didn't notice the people who would walk in and see me in a state of despair, wallowing in some kind of memory or fear unknown to them and leave after watching and feeling pity for me.
Night enclosed the sky and city, giving its ominous and morbid feeling to anyone who stood alone. And I stared at the movie in my head, watching everything play out in front of me in slow motion. I bent over and touched my brother's face again. The warmth that spread over my hand was comforting, even though it wan't there anymore. I saw clearly. Everything as it should be. Even if it shoudln't, because Niisan was dead.
The nurse crept into the room again and must have had enough of my sulking. She embraced me, her body warm. Warmer than anything I ever felt before and her fragrance bringing back those sentiments from before. "Mommy." I embraced and held to her with my only arm and cried into her chest.
- August 11, 1917 ; Afternoon -
I had adjusted to life in the hospital well. As promised, Colonel Mustang sent over someone every day to talk to me for an hour or two, depending on who they were. Breda taught me this Eastern version of chess that was easy to grasp. I only started tying with him a few days ago, though. He was more experienced than me and didn't explain all the rules unless I asked, which made it difficult to play when half the time my moves were illegal or stupid. Havoc would play the Amestris chess, Fuery and I would chit-chat about nothing, Hawkeye was very nice to me. Which was odd, because I thought she wouldn't like me after meeting again. I was being hysterical, after all. I still was hysterical, in all honesty. I just didn't look it. No one seemed to understand I was Alphonse Elric and for some reason I couldn't say it outright. Something kept me from telling these people I am Al. The Al they knew since my brother went under Brigadier General Mustang's order. (He got promotred. Imagine that?)
Scieska made it better, though. She was fun and eccentric and we could talk about books and she'd give me some to read and we'd talk some more till she was forced out. Roy never visited, but I suspected that they were doing an interview under his orders, to see when I would be 'stable' enough to open up about their case. His efforts were fruitless, though. I knew nothing and had nothing to say.
The pretty nurse, Beatrice, told me the nasal-voiced doctor, Grant, had deemed it all right for me to walk around and actually do things. I had been confined to the hospital bed for ever. I didn't mind too much for the first half. Just being able to feel and lie down and get tired, being uncomfortable, the soft blankets wrapped around me and the feel of water sloshing down my throat and stroking the flowers stems and smelling their sweet perfume, remembering Mom, all these made me feel blessed. It was always weighed down with a heavy feeling, because Niisan couldn't enjoy this with me. He couldn't be here and genuinely happy.
Sometimes, I'd imagine he was sitting next to me and saying how nice the morning looked and I'd answer with a smile. He'd pat my head and his limbs were all fine and that made me feel good again. He'd shake me a little and tell me to wake up and I'd cover my head and ask for ten more minutes.
I was always rudely brought back to reality by a scream of pain or cursing or a door slamming. But I was grateful. I ran my hand over the steel frame of the bed for hours, wondering if this was what Niisan's automail felt like.
There was a different mystery every day, which kept me sane in my immobility. What was this smell or that feeling, why was so and so cold or warm, a new question that I seeked answers for. Little questions, but they were always thrilling and I had time to cope and thinking about Niisan's leaving and deal with my guilt. I had made up my mind to be strong and not feel guilty for being happy, because this was all for Niisan. Because of Niisan. And one day I would thank him and everything would be all right.
The books kept me sane too. Not the ones I scoured over concerning alchemy, but fictional stories. Myths, legends, folklore and classics, whatever could rip me from the insane calm that lulled my world. Something to give me a wider view. Describing the feel of bark or the taste of pears. It could sweep me away somewhere I could revisit over and over and reread with some nostalgia as my views of that inky plane changed the more I experienced different places.
Ah, but there was the new bit of moving to worry about. No time to think about Ben Mears and 'salem's Lot for now. Beatrice gave the instrucions of the doctor that I could walk and do what ever provided I stay in the room. The first thing I did was swing my legs off the bed and crash onto the ground. Trish (it was a name she insisted I call her, she thought Beatrice sounded too stuck up) helped me back up and sat me down on the bed again. Still not used to the pain, it hurt five times more than it should have. "Careful, you're probably still not used to this moving business, lying around for three months."
"Three months?" I asked.
"Yes," she said with the same sweet tone that always seemed to be on her lips. She checked my legs, both having small nicks and bruises on them, red diagonal slashes all along the thigh and calf. "Two of the three you were unconscious. There was a lot of military meddling to keep you alive. Brigadier General Mustang wasn't going to lose you."
"Why?" I asked, frowning. I wasn't an important person in the military's eyes. But this family suicide they kept talking about.
Trish gave me the same worried glance that Niisan would have when he had something he needed to hide from me. "It's really nothing I should be mentioning, it must have been too much for you to handle if you can't remember."
"Remember what!" I threw up the blankets in a temper. "What am I supposed to be remembering!" I can recall everything. All my life. I can see it all. I could write up to the very components of what I saw during my existence in Amestris. What was I supposed to be missing?
"Please, don't get mad Alan," she said tenderly.
"I am Alphonse!" I quickly covered my mouth and bit down on my fingers, tears again spilling. Them being more apologetic than angry or sad. This kind woman only wanted to help me. But I couldn't stand it. I had to speak my name aloud. I had to say it to know it was me. I had to. Somehow. To anyone. Even if I had to shake my fists at God Himself and scream to him I am Alphonse Elric I'd do it.
Taking a bandage out Trish took my hand and cleaned out my bloody fingers with alcohol rub and wrapped them. She had a handkerchief and wiped the blood stainging my mouth. She left immediately, her expression hurt. I curled up in the bed again, fists balled and tears stinging my eyes. I came back. Restored. But I still had no identity. Nothing to show myself as Alphonse Elric.
Painfully, slowly, I stood on my legs and hobbled over to the mirror at the side. It was funny putting one in a room, why would I need to look at a mirror for? Much less the visitors.
I went anyway. I didn't know what I looked like. This had never bugged me before. It was bugging me now.
Leaning into the mirror, a twisted image awaited.
Long dark blond tresses of hair, wild and sticking out in several directions. Milky skin . . . dark blue eyes. My hand pressed against the mirror, staring at what was supposed to be my reflection. But it wasn't. It was a different person looking back at me. A thin face, half covered with slashes. Eyes were wide, frightened. I stumbled backwards and fainted again.
- August 11, 1917; Evening -
"Al? Al! Alan!"
"Alphonse," I corrected. Or tried to. My voice slurred and sounded like I was choking on my saliva.
"What?" Brigadier General Mustang was above me again. Floating inches away from my face. I shut my eyes after glancing at him. "Repeat that, Alan."
"Alphonse."
"What?"
I rolled onto my right side to ignore him and whoever was with him. The faint smell of smoke signalled it was Havoc. Who smoked in a hospital? Remembering everything that happened, I touched my cheek and burst into tears, sobbing quietly into the pillow. As if my tear ducts actually had this much to discharge in the first place. Dammit.
I own nothing. I have nothing. This isn't my body. This isn't my life. Niisan is gone. Everything is wrong. I can't stand this. I have nothing. I have nothing. That was my train of thoughts as I lay there, crying.
"Let's go," Mustang said, turning and marching out the door, followed by two pairs of footsteps. Outside in the hallway a doctor yelled at Roy for always coming and disturbing 'the patient'.
The patient. Me. I was demoted to a noun.
Oh, I could kill myself.
Kill . . . myself . .
Exactly.
- August 15, 1917; Midnight -
I rolled out of bed and landed on the floor, causing a quiet thump. The limbs felt crushed, unable to move under some kind of gravity. There was nothing truly breakable in my room. Being slightly unbalanced seems to make doctors nervous.
I glanced out the window and threw out the idea of smashing it and jumping out. I could barely lift these legs, how much less with a chair? I looked up at the mirror. Crawling over to it, every move as painful as the first, I tried grabbing it with the only hand left. I didn't get it, but the mirror tipped slightly. More attempts. Finally, it came loose off the wall and fell, breaking into pieces beside me. Jagged pieces on the floor, some of the glass already in the skin.
My conscience must have agreed with me, it did not surface to guilt me as I slashed both wrists and brought the sharp glass to the veins of the neck. I pressed it against skin and dragged it. I gurgled and hands reached up covering my sight, not wanting to see the crimson that must have been pouring out. It hurt, so badly. And then, it all ebbed away. All of it left. I couldn't feel the body. All darkness.
A bright yellow light shining through it all. I could touch it. I entered it.
- To Be Continued -
End Notes: Al's POV gets me all mixed up and thinking, 'No! No! This doesn't sound anything like Al! NOO!'. And sometimes, 'What the hell is the plot of this thing! Do I have a plot! I don't have a plot! NOOOOOO!' XD It's kind of funny if you're not me and you listen to my inner self ranting on and on and on. Half the time about tuna. 0.o No wonder I never get any work done.
Mirror conveniently placed in Al's room as a way to try and get Suicidal!Al. I just thought that . . . you know . . . Al has tried to commit suicide a lot of times all ready so one more couldn't hurt. This fic is turning out a to be a little more angsty babble than I originally hoped for. It seems my unbalanced Al will have to wait before he goes outside into the world.
Bah, these end notes are put so I can amuse myself. No need to read them. Just clickies the 'go' for submittin' reviews and write something, yes? Flame, for all I care.
Next; Chapter Three: Silhouette vs. Shadow
Alphonse: What is the difference between that which is dark and that which is black? What makes a person? Their mind or their soul?