Chapter Ten: Truth and Lies

When I got to work, Roy was just setting up. He had a mug of coffee in one hand, and didn't smile when he saw me. Winnie was sitting at the desk in the office, as usual, sorting through papers or solving a crossword puzzle or doing something else equally non-productive. I remembered something Winnie had said to me my first day working here. 'Michael's old uniform would probably fit you…he was about your size.' That was before I had any clue who Michael was. Now that I did know, I wondered how she had been able to even say his name without bursting into tears.

But she was obviously stronger than she looked… she might even have been stronger than the Winry from my own world. Since that little excursion with Roy, I now had a clear, defined barrier between the people I knew in my own world, and their counterparts here, in this strange, different place. And this was definitely not the Winry I knew.

It was a slow day. After lunch, Roy left for about an hour to go see a private client. I was left alone with Winnie.

I was working on a small car, not even thinking about my actions. My arms worked with a steady beat, and my hands moved as if of their own accord.

I extracted myself from the hood of the car and wiped my hands, when a voice from the corner said, "He really feels bad about dragging you into this, you know."

I looked up. Winnie was leaning against the garage wall, lighting a cigarette. "Oh," I said, looking over the car. She meandered closer to me.

"But if it's any consolation," she continued, her voice completely devoid of emotion. "No one has ever been killed because of this."

I looked at her. "I thought-"

"Roy tells himself that Michael was killed by those government idiots because he wants to believe the best of my brother," she said, running a hand along the car's edge. "I, on the other hand, have never been one to shy away from the truth." My eyes were fixed on her face. She glanced at me. "I know that Roy told you about my brother," she said. "He's no good at keeping secrets."

She paused, now staring at the car's shiny paint. "What's the truth, then?" I asked her. "How did he die?"

Winnie sighed. "Well, he got the basics right. Michael was standing right in there when a man walked in with a gun and killed him. I was behind the desk." Her voice shook slightly. "But it didn't have anything to do with that stupid government work that Roy does. I don't even believe it's the government that does that. I think it's a couple of crazy conspirators who have too much money." She shook her head. "Anyway… my brother was a good man. But even he had his flaws." She paused and took a deep breath. "He was never the same after our mother shot herself. He saw her do it. It…did something to him. He was pretty young, but he was troubled. He took up writing to deal with what he was going through. It didn't work, though." A harder note came into her voice.

"Becca thought she was doing him a favor. She thought she could distract him from his troubles if she flirted enough with him. But he took her by surprise, and did the one thing she wasn't expecting from him. He fell for her. She was a strange girl, she'd only been with us, what, two years? Maybe three. But she thought she knew all of us so well. And Michael definitely thought he knew her." She paused for a moment, her fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the car's side. "She introduced him to the world of wild parties and crazy sex and drinking. That was the worst part. The drinking. Our mom had had a problem with alcohol as well, but Michael totally disregarded that. Unfortunately, it turned out that the addiction ran in his blood. He couldn't stop. He got involved with some pretty shady characters…he spent more and more time away from home, and the drink was the onlything that could pull him away from Becca for too long. He became an errand boy for a bootlegging business… he got promoted again and again, but he tried to keep it all secret, because he didn't want us worrying about him…"

I couldn't help but admire how strong she sounded. It must have been hard, talking about her brother, but her voice was barely shaking at all now.

"Go on," I urged her quietly.

"The truth all came out when he was killed. He had so many journals hidden in his room, describing everything that had happened. Roy never read them, said we were all disrespecting Michael's memory by reading them, but I knew that secretly he blames himself for all of this, even though it's not his fault in the slightest, but Roy's the kind of person who always needs to have something be his fault. He takes responsibility for things that have nothing to do with him… for some inexplicable reason, he felt the need to be blamed for my brother's death, and since he refused to believe that Michael was involved with illegal stuff, the best he could come up with was that this stupid 'government' program he'd been taking Michael to had gone wrong somehow and some psycho decided to shoot Michael because of it… I've told him time and time again that that doesn't make sense, because he, Roy, I mean, was standing just outside when it happened, and Roy had been the one who signed up for the stupid program so wouldn't it make sense for the shooter to want to kill him too, but he refuses to listen… I could understand it if he felt guilty for our parent's deaths, because that war messed him up, but Michael? Like I told Roy at my brother's funeral: Mike was a criminal, and he knew that he could be killed, in fact he was sure he would be killed sooner rather than later." She paused. "He was seventeen years old."

I looked into her heavy, sad eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Me too. I loved him more than anything in the world." As soon as she said these words, she smiled and shook her head. "And I'm only the second one to say that. At his funeral, Becca claimed she was devastated. Said Michael was the love of her life, the only man she ever could have loved. But she's such a liar. See, Ed, a few weeks before Michael was killed, he proposed to Becca. Asked her to run away with him. She said no, and broke his heart. The day that he died, Becca had been avoiding him so well that they hadn't spoken for days."

She stopped talking. Then she sighed and smiled at me. "Well, now you know the truth. There's no reason to be scared. No one's out to get you."

I closed the hood of the car. "That's a relief. I thought I was going to have to change my name and leave the country."

She looked uncertain for a moment, then she saw the grin on my face, and shook her head, her lips pulled back in a tight smile.

"Well. Then. I just thought I should clear that up…" She wouldn't meet my gaze. "I guess…you should get back to work…Roy'll be here…any…second…"

She turned and walked away, a little more abruptly than was necessary. As she ducked into the small office, I thought I saw a tinge of pink in her cheeks.

With a vacant smile, I turned back to the car. She was blushing… Winnie was blushing, after talking to me… Did this mean that she-

There was the familiar growl of an automobile engine as Roy rolled into the garage, grinning happily. He jumped out of the car and held out a small envelope to me.

"What's this?" I asked, taking it.

"I thought you deserved a little bonus," he said, that bright grin still on his face. He stuffed something in his pocket. I opened the envelope and glanced in, rifling through the bills quickly. My eyes widened.

"Four hundred dollars?" I asked incredulously, looking up at him. He just grinned. "Roy, I can't take this," I said, holding the envelope back out to him.

"Yes you can," he said, pushing it back toward me.

"But I don't need it," I said. "I really don't. And I thought I said earlier that I didn't want any part of the money from that rocket th-"

At his expression, I shut my mouth before I finished the sentence. "I mean, I don't want, I don't need any of this."

"So how are you going to support yourself?"

"My regular pay here is enough…" He raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's not great, but my brother makes a decent amount, so-"

"And are you planning to live with your brother forever?"

I looked at him. "What?"

"What are you going to do when your brother gets a life of his own? Still going to work here?" He winked at me. I was speechless. He misinterpreted my silence and said, "Come on, Ed, there's no way this place alone could support a man like yourself. When you get a place of your own, you're going to have to find some other job… unless you accept this money."

My mouth hanging open, I tucked the money in my pocket. "You okay?" asked Roy. I finally shut my mouth and nodded.

"Uh – yeah – fine."

He looked at me once oddly, then shook his head and disappeared into the office where Winnie was.

The rest of the day, I couldn't concentrate. My mind kept straying back to his words. What are you going to do when your brother gets a life of his own?...

That was a good question, although I hated to admit it. Up to that point, I had never really thought of my brother Alphonse as a person who would, one day, grow up and get a life. Now that we were back in the same world together, I had only just considered him a constant, someone who would be there every day, writing, or sketching, or wanting to discuss something philosophical that I had no real interest in.

The weight of the bills in my pocket, however, made me think otherwise. What would I do?... I had always had some vague idea of going to some sort of esteemed university, but those plans had never really come through. Now, though, as things began to change, I figured it might be the right time to see if there were some classes I could find somewhere.

And, also, I decided that from then on, I wouldn't depend on Al to do anything but be my brother. Which meant no money from him, no major favors… no using his influence to get me into a lecture…

In addition to the bonus, Roy let me off early that night, kicking his feet up on the desk in the office and declaring the day successful. Winnie just smiled at him and continued working on some paperwork, while I began to walk home.

It was getting dark. The sun hadn't disappeared behind the horizon yet, but there was definitely something night-like about the air. It was one of those moments that seemed to have been squeezed in between twilight and darkness.

I walked slowly, leisurely, one hand clutching onto the bundle of bills in my pocket. It was cold, and I could see my breath when I exhaled, but the snow was starting to let up. On the sidewalk where I was walking, it had become smooth and icy, where hundreds of feet had packed it hard onto the ground.

My eyes slid without seeing over the shop windows. My feet moved of their own accord.

It took just one misstep – just one.

My foot hit a bump in the sidewalk and I lost my balance. Throwing out my hands in front of me, I landed on the hard ice. Rubbing my wrists, I groaned and sat up, shaking my head. I blinked several times, then glanced around me surreptitiously. Luckily, no one seemed to have seen me. I stood up.

Then, as my eyes passed over a small space between the walls of two shops, I did a double take. About a meter above me, there was a large web spanning the space between the brick walls. It was frosted with ice slightly and seemed to sparkle, even though there was almost no sun for it to reflect.

And, in the very center of the web, struggling helplessly, there was a small black spider.

The web was shaking. Upon closer scrutiny, I realized the poor spider was stuck. Caught in its own web. How ironic.

Of course, I only assumed this spider was caught in its own web. Maybe this spider had ventured into foreign territory, and had fallen prey to the web of some other, larger, stronger spider…

Either way, I wanted to help the little fellow. So I reached my left arm out to gently pluck the spider out of the web.

I pulled it free and it scuttled up my glove, and, before it could go down my sleeve, I put my right hand in front of it, barring its way.

"Ow!" I exclaimed, dropping the spider and clutching the top of my left wrist. There was a small red mark there, where the spider had bit me. A tiny drop of blood pooled there, and smeared onto my white glove when I brushed my right hand across it. "Dammit," I whispered, and my eyes roved the dirty gray ground, searching for the little beast, but it was nowhere to be seen.

I brought the top of my wrist up to my mouth and sucked on it once, then spat onto the ground. The spider could have been poisonous; some feeble part of me hoped that any venom the spider had injected into the bite I had sucked out safely. After all, that's what they tell you to do if you're ever bitten by a snake. But I've heard that's just an urban legend…

The bite mark stung slightly, but not enough for me to actually worry any about it. I shoved my hands back into my pockets and continued on my way.

Sitting outside the apartment building in which Al and I lived, there was car that Al had bought a few days ago. There was a sign in the window that said for sale- $400- inquire at… and our apartment number after that. My hand closed on the envelope of bills in my pocket. I smiled and found our door, then went inside.

"Hey Al, I noticed you're selling the-"

But I broke off midsentence, when I saw Al in the kitchen. He looked like he had just put something into his mouth, and he took a long sip of something from a long-necked bottle. He put the bottle down, shook his head once, then glanced at me. There was something like exhaustion in his eyes.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Uh…" I looked at him. "Did you just swallow pills?"

He shrugged. "Just some medicine for my cough."

"Oh…where'd you get the medicine?"

His face turned a little red. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Now what were you saying?"

"No," I said slowly. "It does matter. Where did you get those pills?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, don't make a big deal out of this."

"I'm not," I replied. "Just answer my question, okay?"

He looked at me for a few moments, his face unreadable. Then he broke eye contact the same moment he broke the silence. "From a doctor, who else would I get it from?"

He tried to hide the motion, but I saw it as he gently slid the bottle on the counter behind his back. "What's that?" I asked.

"What's what?" he replied innocently.

"Behind your back."

For a second, I thought he was going to lie and say nothing, but, after a moment, he rolled his eyes again and picked up the bottle. I took it out of his hands.

"You were taking pills for your cough… with whiskey?"

With a sigh, he reached out and took it out of my hands. "Don't look at me like that," he mumbled, holding the bottle in his hands. "I just… thought I'd give it a try."

Winnie's voice sounded in my head. That was the worst part. The drinking.

I took the bottle away from him again. "A onetime thing, okay?" I asked him, holding up the bottle. He didn't look at me, but nodded all the same. I put the bottle away. "Anyway," I continued. "I saw that you're selling the car."

"Oh yeah," he said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "We don't need it. Everything's within walking distance, you know?"

"I'll buy it," I said.

He put his hands down and looked at me, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. "What?"

I pulled the envelope full of money out of my pocket. "I'll buy the car from you. Four hundred dollars, right here."

He stared at the envelope, then at me, then back at the envelope. "But – you can't possibly – four hundred – that's –"

"Take it," I said. "And I'll take the car."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "No, no, I wouldn't take any money from you – if you want the car, it's yours, it's okay, you don't need to buy it from me!"

I thought longingly of everything I could buy for four hundred dollars, then shook my head. "Yes, I think I do," I said. "Come on, Al. Just take the money."

He still had that unbelieving expression on his face, but he reached out and took the envelope all the same. "How did you get this?" he asked hollowly.

"Roy gave it to me," I said cheerfully. "Because of that rocket thing I went to."

Al looked at the money. "I really can't accept this," he said finally. "You earned it, and you're my brother, you don't have to-"

"Don't argue," I said shortly. He looked at me once, his mouth still in a small 'o', then smiled and shook his head and said no more.

I sighed and sat down on the couch, rubbing the spider bite on my wrist. Al disappeared into our bedroom. There were a bunch of books lying out on the small table in front of me, along with a few sketches and one piece of paper full of crossed-out words. And, lying partially covered by an old, worn book, there was a photograph.

It was a small, pocket-sized framed photograph. I frowned and reached out to pick it up. "Al," I called. "Did you move this?"

He came out into the room I was in. "Move what?"

I held up the photograph. "This was on the windowsill next to my bed. Did you move it?"

Suddenly, he looked uncomfortable. He wouldn't look me in the eye. "Yeah." I raised an eyebrow.

"Okay."

I put the photograph down. He glanced up. "You're not…angry?"

I looked at him. "Why would I be angry?"

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but words didn't seem to come, because he just shut his mouth and stared guiltily at the floor. Al edged back into the bedroom again. My eyes strayed to the photograph again.

If I hadn't known better, I would have thought it was my own brother smiling dimly at the ceiling from the photo.

Then again, for a long time, Alfons Heidrich was my brother.

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There! Winnie just cleared up whatever lies Ed had heard about Michael.

Or did she?

Review, please. As usual, constructive criticism is very welcome. Thank you so much for reading.

(And no, the spider bite was not random).