Ed and I must have slept long into the afternoon, because we awoke to Father creeping into the room with our lunch.
"Father!" I said a bit too loudly and a tad overenthusiastic, for my brain was not fully awake yet. "Are you learning a lot from Dante?"
He set the tray down on Ed's bed. "Oh yes. Dante knows much about alchemy," he said.
"She doesn't know about us, though, or that we're hidden away up here like a dirty secret!" Ed shouted. He gave Father such a firey stare I thought the entire room would ignite.
Father sat down on the edge of Ed's bed. "You must understand, Ed. I can't put my apprenticeship in jeopardy. You want me to bring your mother back, don't you?"
Of course we wanted Mom back! I know Ed was tempestuous at times, and certainly impatient, but I understood. Couldn't Ed see that this was for our benefit in the end? Besides, we were required to obey the law of Equivalent Exchange, and it seemed a fair trade of our freedom temporarily for Mom's ressurection.
"How much longer, Father?" I asked, nervously turning my spoon over and over in my hand.
"Soon, son. I've already learned a lot, but this discipline of alchemy is very dangerous, and no one but a master should attempt it. You understand, don't you?" He laid his large palm upon my shoulder.
I nodded, and tried pathetically to look alright, but I couldn't mask the sadness in my eyes.
Weeks went by, and we had learned not to ask how long our confinement would extend.
Most of the time, the maid Lyra would bring our meals. Ocassionally Father would. He did make some time for us, now and then giving us morsels of knowledge on human transmutation, though never offering too much lest we be tempted into performing it.
He brought us an armful of alchemy texts. Ed was in a much better mood that day. As the hot lemon eye of summer set on the blanket of newly-fallen leaves, we stayed in the attic much of the day, reading, memorizing, practicing, implementing.
It didn't take Ed long to become proficient, mapping arrays on the attic floor with the sticks of chalk we found littered all about. He practiced like a man in manic pursuit of greatness. I transmuted alongside him, always seeming to lag behind in skill and confidence, but Ed assured me I was doing well.
In the times I could manage to pull him away from practicing alchemy, we expended the remainder of our energy through make-believe. Donning wrinkled, hole-ridden military uniforms, we traversed the countryside defending our village and defeating monstrous villains.
"You have a long way to go until you fill out that uniform, Al," Ed laughed, sizing me up. The sleeves of the overlarge blue uniform I wore fell way past my hands, the trouser's long inseam threatening to trip me with every step.
"Do you ever think of becoming a State Alchemist?" I asked.
He folded his arms and contemplated for a moment. Though the uniform jacket tail hung down to the floor, the fastenings rusty, I couldn't help but think he looked rather stately.
"Sometimes," he said.
I got lost in thought then, as I often did, and looked toward the future. Ed and I were State Alchemists. Father, with Mom by his side again, would be so proud.
Ed spoke, breaking me from my reverie. "I have an idea, Al."
We returned to the bedroom, arms full of supplies, and knelt at the wall by the door.
"If I can transmute a listening device through the wall, maybe we can hear Father and Dante down there," Ed whispered.
"Just be careful. I don't want to get in trouble," I whispered.
Ed set a book on the floor next to him. He opened it toward the middle and skimmed the page for a minute. He picked up a piece of chalk and began drawing a small array on the floor. Within its circle he set the scraps of metal we gathered from the attic; rusted trunk handles, bent clothes hangers, oxidized photograph frames.
He lifted his head and looked to me. "Here goes."
He placed his open palms atop the array's edge. A jolt of blue light zigzagged through the air above it, and a small hole opened up in the wall.
We had no idea how conspicuous his contraption might look from the hall. We only wanted to know if it worked.
Ed put an ear against the hole.
"Do you hear anything?!" I whispered excitedly.
He furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes. It was clear he was straining to hear anything. But suddenly his eyes widened. He raised his index finger to his lips.
"I hear something," he said so quietly I could barely hear him in front of my face.
He shifted aside to allow me to hear it. I pressed my ear tight against the hole, no larger in diameter than an inch, and heard muffled voices. "I hear it, too!"
But I couldn't decipher who was speaking or what was being spoken. I surmised it must be Father and Dante conversing in the large ballroom two stories down.
"I can't make anything out," I said in disappointment.
Ed gave it one more try, but it was all for naught.
We checked the alchemical text once more to see how we could improve the design. That was until, without the aid of the parabolic device, with our own ears, we heard footsteps on the stairs.
"Someone's coming!" I said, hushed but frantic. "We have to get rid of it!"
"I haven't gotten that far in the book yet!" Ed was rapidly turning pages, his eyes wild with panic.
"So what do we do?!"
"I don't know!"
In a last ditch effort to disassemble the device, Ed furiously erased part of the array with his hand and scribbled a revision.
But we momentarily forgot that alchemy was neither silent nor invisible. A loud crumbling sounded on the other side of the wall, blue lights sparking.
The footsteps paused, presumably to watch the disaster we were creating, then continued to our door. The lock clicked.
Father entered, carrying our supper. He let the tray drop with a crash on the dresser and turned to us with a feral glare.
"What were you boys doing?!" He shouted.
Ed stood. "It was my fault."
I glanced from Father to Ed and back to Father, trembling, eyes bulging. I had never seen Father so angry.
He took one large step and was upon Ed, hands gripping his shoulders tightly.
"Do you realize the jeopardy you are putting me in, us in?!" He punctuated every other word by shaking Ed.
"Father, stop!" I rushed him, only to get knocked backward as he extended his arm to push me away. I remember that first show of violence against us by him, but not much else immediately after. I had cracked my head against the front of the dresser.
"AL!" Ed screamed at the top of his lungs, breaking yet another house rule. He later told me that before Father lifted him off his feet and sent him hurtling against the headboard, he wound up a fist and struck Father in the chest.
I awoke only a minute or two after Father left the room. We were on the floor. My head was in Ed's lap. He was smoothing my sweat-soaked hair off my forehead.
"Al! Are you okay?!" He sounded out of his mind.
"Y-yeah, I'm okay," I stammered, but made no move to sit up yet.
"I'm so sorry, Al," Ed blubbered, his warm tears dropping onto my cheeks and mixing with my own.
We cried together for a long time. We cried for the pain we had brought down upon each other, cried over the violent side Father had never before displayed, cried for our rapidly diminishing hope of freedom.
As we calmed, I thought myself in a state of delirium, for when I finally lifted my head, I saw the entire wall and door, the only exit from our prison, was now entirely comprised of metal.