Chapter Twenty-Two: Mirrors and Messes

Anne's arm moved in a graceful arc, much longer than any Al had ever done. She was using her wall as her canvas, something Shauna had convinced her to do. The first few minutes Shauna, Winnie, and I had watched her, and Irene had stood in the doorway with Daley's daughter in her arms. Gradually, the others had left, and so now it was only me, watching her hands move, creating a shadowed, chalky picture.

The illustration was barely halfway done, but stunning already. It was better than anything I had ever seen – anything professionally done, or anything Al had done. For a while, I hadn't been able to figure out what it was, then, as she finished another long stroke, it was clear.

It was a woman's figure, standing, her face tilted upward, her right arm raised to her eye level, her left arm turned outward at her side. She could have been dancing, or screaming to the heavens.

Anne continued to work, and suddenly there was another figure opposite to the one she had just finished, and she drew long marks around the second figure and I realized it was the woman's reflection in a mirror.

In the mirror, Anne drew a man holding the outstretched hand of the dancer's reflection.

And then, suddenly, the dancer began to move. She put her hands at her side and looked to the ground, then became still. And the image flipped. The reflection was no longer a reflection, and the man and the woman who had been in the mirror turned, walked away, and disappeared. Something inside of me cringed, and I felt like I had forgotten something, like there was something I urgent I had to do but I did not, for some inexplicable reason…

Someone gently shook me by my shoulders and I opened my eyes. "You fell asleep," said Margaret. She glanced at Anne, who was putting away her charcoal, and then leaned in. "Hell, I don't blame you. You do realize you watched her draw for at least six whole hours? God, I applaud your patience."

I smiled, then looked back at the shadows covering Anne's wall. I noticed something I hadn't before – the dancer was frowning, her face sagging a little in pain and sadness. The mirror image of the woman was smiling, with happiness.

I said goodbye to Anne and left the room. Winnie caught up to me when I was almost to the door. "I'll walk you home," she said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes, returning the smile. "Gee, thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you."

She laughed and took my arm. "Come on. It's getting dark."

"I don't want you to walk back here in the dark."

"Roy'll come get me."

"You could always just spend the night."

She leaned her head on my shoulder in a friendly, sisterly sort of way. It had been four months since the birth of Daley's daughter, and since there had recently been another addition to the family, I had decided a while ago that it was time to get my own place. With Roy's help, I had found a small flat that wasn't in exactly what you would call an affluent neighborhood, but it wasn't in the middle of any ghettos, and it was clean and roomy enough for a single person, and that was all I asked for.

Louisa, a cheerful, blonde-haired seventeen-year-old who was blind in one eye, had joined the family a few weeks ago. It was nice for a while, until everyone realized that she was really annoying. She got into a couple fistfights with Margaret, and then, suddenly, she truly was a part of the family.

Everything had changed, but still so much remained the same. Things were going smoothly – I had plenty money saved up, and I spent a lot of time with those people I liked. It could've been perfect.

But it wasn't. Because every time I saw Becca – which started to happen more and more, since apparently she and Winnie were speaking again – I was reminded that even though there was nothing I could do about the other world, there was something incomplete in this world…

Al still wouldn't even look at me. And I hated it.

All it would take for me to mend that rift and make it so we were friends, no, brothers again, would be to talk to him. But I just couldn't make myself.

Why not? Who knows. I've faced more frightening things in my life than confronting my brother. But every time I saw him, it was like my jaw was glued shut.

I reread Al's book. There was something comforting about remembering times when we had been so closely bound together. I reread it again, and laughed at the thing. It was so preposterous, all of it. Alchemy? Homunculi? A philosopher's stone? Ridiculous. No one in their right mind would believe that today.

So what does that make me? Crazy, because I believe it? Or enlightened, for the same reason? Al would've said enlightened. Would have. Past tense. I don't know now.

It was so silent in my new home, far more silent than I was used to. I hadn't realized how accustomed I had become to the gentle cry of a baby during the night, or whispered conversations from the room over.

Despite the fact that I had told myself I wasn't going to, I found myself spending all of my free time with Winnie and the others. Anne's art really took off, and I now had two works of art on my walls; Al's painting and a piece from Anne, not quite the caliber of the drawing on her wall that she had entitled The Dancer, but amazing nonetheless. It was a simple drawing of the piano that Winnie had sat at so often. It was incredible.

Now that Becca and Winnie were getting along again, Shauna took to following Becca whenever she was around. There was a drastic change in her behavior that I didn't understand. She had been so intelligent, so independent while Becca was gone… but then again, wasn't that what Becca did? Isn't that what Winnie told me?

Whenever Daley wasn't with her daughter, Irene was. She stepped back from every other duty she had done in the house to hold Faith. Lillian, on the other hand, got a job at a factory. She told me it was a mistake to leave England, and she was going to save up enough money to go back. I wished her good luck. Fiona's condition seemed to be getting worse. She made no sense when she talked anymore, and she didn't sleep anymore, either.

Helena was unchanged. Quiet, but not unwilling to talk if prompted. Everyone was still getting used to Louisa, but Margaret…

Well, I learned the truth about Margaret's past, finally. I have to say, it made me think about her differently, and it made a lot of sense.

Roy told me that Margaret was the youngest of sixteen children. Six sisters and nine brothers. From what he said, they were never too gentle with her, but apparently none of them cared about her enough to actually hurt her. Roy said that, after living fourteen years being virtually ignored all the time, she had ran away from home and lived on the streets as a prostitute. She had lived, for a year, with a man who had beat her viciously, until Riza had found her hiding in the back of the speakeasy, and brought her home, where she had lived for seven years, almost as long as Irene. Margaret, Roy told me, constantly craved attention, and envied Becca's ability to make people fall in love with her very much. I had never actually seen Margaret and Becca talk to each other, face-to-face, and I think this jealousy might have explained that a little.

Becca, by the way, was cold as ever to me. She treated me with a kind of contempt that I couldn't understand, and that made me want to talk to her alone, and tell her what I felt. And that's exactly what she wanted. It was so obvious that she was manipulating me, and the sad thing was, it was working. I was desperate for a chance to get angry at her, to tell her how harsh she was being with me. But I restrained myself, as best I could. I wouldn't let her get to me.

"That won't get you anywhere," Winnie said, after I told her this. "She's just going to lay it on you thicker and thicker 'til you break. Simple as that."

"Damn," I muttered. "But why does she do that?"

Winnie shrugged. "She likes being in control. But the thing is, she'll never admit she's doing it. It's almost as if she doesn't know."

"Of course she knows."

"I know she does. She's just so good at pretending she doesn't."

I shook my head. "What are you supposed to do? To make sure you don't fall for one of her tricks?"

Winnie sighed. "Pray to God, that's what I say."

There was a pause, then I said, "I don't believe in God."

She looked at me oddly. "Then how did you survive?"

"Survive what?"

"All of it. Everything you've told me, and everything you never will."

I smiled weakly. "You still think there're things I haven't told you?"

"I think there are things I haven't told you." She returned the smile.

"Like what?"

She looked away and thought for a moment, shaking her head. "My brother had the most annoying laugh."

"Really."

She smiled, saying, "Yeah, really. Now you tell me something."

I rolled my eyes, then paused in thought. There were so many things I could have said. Instead, I told her, "I used to be short."

She laughed. "You are kind of short…I never really thought about that before. Hmm."

"Oh, come on. I'm short compared to my brother, but he's just really tall. He gets it from our dad."

"So was your mom short? Is that where you get it from?"

Winnie was still laughing, but as my mother's face flashed across my mind's eye, I couldn't suppress the sudden silence and rigidness of my body at the thought of her. It was something that had always happened, when I thought about my mother. Even now…

Winnie noticed at once. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset-"

"No, it's fine," I told her. "It's been years."

She nodded wisely, as if she had any idea. "I know how it is," she said, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "I do, I really do."

This time, I laughed. "Somehow, I don't think you do."

She let out a little noise of exasperation. "Cut the crap, Ed. I know we grew up in different worlds, but… in the end, it's all the same. I do understand, and don't you dare tell me I don't."

I smiled. "You have no idea how right you are."

She looked pleased with herself. "Finally, you're making some sense."

There was silence. Then, as it was in the middle of a work day, Roy poked his head into the small office and said, "Lunch break ended half an hour ago, Ed."

I stood up, to get back to work. When we were out of the office (and Winnie's earshot), Roy said, "You know, it's kind of weird when you're with her. She's never taken to anybody like you… it's like you two have known each other your whole lives."

I shrugged, suppressing a smile. "Sometimes I get that feeling, too."

He looked at me oddly. "It's been – what, almost a year now, right?... And I honestly still have not figured you out."

With a smile, I turned back to the car I was working on. "Is that such a bad thing?"

The day ended normally. Winnie and I talked for a long while before I went home …home. It almost sounds funny. To think of that little flat in New York as my home. But it was home, and it felt like it, especially after a day spent with Winnie and Roy and the others.

Night had fallen by the time I entered the apartment, so I decided to call it a night and go to sleep. I was getting ready to slide into the small bed when there came a frantic knock at the door. Wondering why Winnie would call so late, after we just spoke, I opened the front door, frowning slightly.

I was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted me. My brother Alphonse stood in the doorway, pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. And his eyes – there was something strange there, something that made him look tired and beseeching, and there was also something familiar, something I hadn't seen in a long time…

"Can I stay here for the night?" he asked bluntly.

I nodded, temporarily stunned, and stepped out of the way to let him in. Finally, I regained control over my voice and asked, "What are you doing here?"

He didn't look at me. His hands were shaking. "It's… Becca."

"What happened? Did she kick you out?"

With a shake of his head, he sat down on the small, dark couch, leaning his head back against the top and closing his eyes.

"Then what is it? Did you have an argument?"

Quietly, gently, with a voice that made him sound like the child he was, he said, "I don't understand."

"What?"

He opened his eyes and looked at me. "Remember when I was going to ask for Becca's hand in marriage?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Not that easy to forget."

He put a hand to his head regretfully. "She said no."

It felt like something heavy dropped into the pit of my stomach when I realized what he was saying. "You asked her?"

Al nodded. "It was perfect. But she said no."

A part of me wanted to scold him, to tell him he was stupid was actually asking her, but it didn't seem like the right moment to bring it up. "So…did she leave you?"

"Of course not. I… I thought that if we got married, she wouldn't… things would be better… but I think, I don't know, but I really think she likes us how we are."

"And you don't?"

Another shake of the head. "You don't understand. You can't understand what it's like with her. I told you before, it's like she has this spell over you, I can't think or even breathe with her. I love her so much," he said. "But I don't understand what she wants from me."

"I'm not following," I said.

"Don't you get it?" he asked exasperatedly. "She acts like…" he looked away, as if ashamed, "…like I'm not even worthy of her. But she tells me she loves me. I…I just don't know."

Bewildered, but trying not to show it, I said, "You can stay here as long as you want." I paused, then said, "How did you get this address?"

"Winry," said Al. I looked at him questioningly. He caught my gaze, then shook his head. "Sorry. Becca calls her Winry. I meant… Winnie."

"I thought Winnie didn't like being called Winry. She said it reminded her too much of her brother."

Al grimaced. "Her brother. Michael. I've heard about him."

"From Becca?"

He nodded. "She said he was a hopeless drunk who used to propose to her every other day. She said he always scared her, and he would never leave her alone."

I frowned. This wasn't what I had heard from Winnie. "But… Winnie told me he was just a kid, there's no need to judge him so harshly…"

"You should hear Becca talk about him. He used to stalk her." There was a pause. Then, he said softly, "She won't stop talking about him. She misses him."

I thought about this for a moment. Becca still missed Michael? It had been more than a year – even Winnie seemed to have worked past his death. And if Becca had hated Michael so much, why would she refuse to let go of his memory? From what Winnie had said, it was Becca that had initiated the romance between Michael and her, so why would Becca tell Al something else? Could it be just that she wanted to hide the fact that she had once been with another man? But Becca didn't seem like the type of person to shy away from that. It had occurred to me that she was lying to Al, but could it be possible that the true Becca was starting to show? That she actually did miss Michael, and she had never found a way to get over it? Or was this part of her plan to manipulate Al? What purpose could telling him this serve?

Lost in thought, I didn't hear what Al said. "What?" I asked.

"I said… it's hard to even write. I've been working on something, for a while, and when she looks at me… I can't do anything but focus on her."

I paused. Writing had once been Al's passion – not just a hobby, but a true passion. I was silent.

"I'm exhausted," he said finally. "I…need to sleep."

He slept on the couch that night. In the morning, he was gone. The blanket he had used was folded and laid neatly on the couch. It was such a complete Al gesture. I smiled.

When I went to work that day, I felt like what had happened between Al and I had been a dream. In fact, I might have convinced myself it was, if it hadn't been for that blanket, folded and left on the couch. When he was there, I had forgotten how hard I had thought it was to talk to him. It had been so easy to treat him like a brother again. I didn't tell anyone he had come, not even Winnie, who probably would have been very interested to know what was going on between Becca and him.

For some reason, I also couldn't help but think of how alike we were. Despite being in different situations, neither he nor I really knew what we were doing, or where we were going, and we both, I think, got the feeling we were being lied to.

I couldn't decide whether I was happy for Al or now; I couldn't seem to tell if he was happy where he was or now. He said that he loved Becca… but did he really mean it?

The next day, Al didn't talk to me or look at me. He didn't act any different, when I saw him, than he had before. Either he was pretending it never happened, or maybe he just thought it wasn't important.

Becca was suddenly and drastically different towards me. When Al wasn't looking, she'd smile at me, or hold eye contact with me a second too long. Winnie saw this, I knew she did, and I could tell she hated it.

One Sunday afternoon, she sat with me in the kitchen at Roy's place. Something was clearly on her mind, and I was sure I knew what it was.

"It's not my fault, is it?" I asked. She looked at me wildly for a moment, then her face relaxed and she shook her head, realizing what I was talking about.

"What Becca's doing? No, no, it's not your fault at all. But she's being way too blatant with it… something must have set her off… You didn't talk to her at all, did you?"

I shook my head. "Not in a long while."

"I didn't think so…"

She thought hard for a moment. "Maybe… she's bored…"

I looked at her incredulously. "Bored? With what – Al?"

With a sigh, she nodded. "It happens with her. After a while, the thrill of controlling someone wears off, and she starts to think she's wasting her time with them. I bet she feels it's time to move on to bigger and better things."

I couldn't suppress a grin at that. "Bigger and better things? You can't be referring to me now, can you?"

She rolled her eyes and smiled tightly. "I'm referring to anyone who'll look at her longer that five seconds. And since we're all so used to her, we don't show her any more attention than usual… but you do seem to be slightly interested in her…"

"Oh, please, that's only because of what she's doing to Al," I protested.

"Be that as it may, Ed, it's enough for her. Just be on your guard. And try not to be alone with her. She's pretty damn convincing, as it turns out."

"What's she going to try to convince me?"

Winnie looked at me with a heavy, solemn look in her eye. "Same thing she swayed your brother with. She's going to make you fall for her, Ed."

I laughed. "Right. It might be tough for her though, now that I know."

"Laugh all you want. To say no to Becca… it's the hardest thing you'll ever do."

Rolling my eyes, I replied, "I seriously doubt that, Winnie."

"Just wait."

It didn't take long. Less than a week later, at the garage, while Roy was in the office with Winnie, going over some old paperwork, I turned around to wipe my hands on the rag, then jumped. Becca was standing a few feet away, holding the rag that usually hung on the wall. "When did you get here?" I asked suspiciously.

"Just now," she said, her eyes raking up and down my body. The way she stared at me seemed so primal, it was almost physical, and it was like I could feel her gaze.

I held out my hand. She gave me the rag, her fingers slipping out of mine as she handed it to me. For a minute she simply stood there, staring at me.

It was nothing like the way Margaret had tried to approach me. Becca had a look in her eye that was not pleading, begging me for attention, like Margaret, but instead confident, and also admiring.

"What do you want?" I asked. "Where's Al?"

"Alphonse is at a class," she said calmly. "He thinks I'm going to talk to Winry."

"Aren't you?" I asked.

She smiled. "Of course I am. I'm just always so hesitant to walk in on her when she's in the office. In case she pulls a gun on me, you know." She laughed lightly, as if it were funny.

I told her, "I'm sure you won't surprise her. Go right in."

Her smile disappeared. "I think I'll talk to you first." She brushed her fingers along the wall. "Alphonse told me he talked to you. Thanks. I feel like he really needed a friend, and sometimes I just can't be it all."

Her voice suddenly became weaker, and the confidence in her eyes seemed to be slipping. "It's like… he holds me on such a high pedestal, and I want to live up to what he sees in me… but I've thought that maybe I have nowhere to go but down. I mean, I'm so flattered by it, but… I don't want to let him down."

I felt a flicker of something for her, then I shook my head. She was just trying to handle me. "Spare me the speech. I know what you're trying to do."

She looked slightly confused, then, almost shamefacedly, she looked away. "Yeah. Of course. Winnie's told you over and over again how much of a bitch I am, hasn't she…? But I suppose I've acted the part as well." She looked back at me, and she did look like Margaret, with a pleading look in her eye. "I said some awful things to you. And, to tell the truth… Alphonse has never, ever said anything bad about you. He reveres you. He loves you; you're his older brother. He…he worships you."

"I…what?...no…"

Becca ran her thin fingers through her hair. "I looked in one of his journals once. More than once, actually. I didn't tell him, but I saw that he was angry with you and I decided to take advantage of that. I was angry too, I was out of control. You're so furious at me, I just know it."

"Wait, I never said I was angry at you-"

"Then you're a better person than I," she sighed. "But I suppose that's not hard. Winry's been telling me for years I'm scum, when it comes to human beings." There was a note of hardy bitterness in her voice.

"I don't think she meant-"

"Before you knew us, Ed, it was only ever when she was mad at me that the truth came out. You should have heard the things she said. I know that she was just too angry at me to think properly, but… I remember every horrible thing she's ever said to me. It hurts to think about it."

Al's words came back to me, sharply, and for a second I lost my voice. She was silent, as if waiting for me to speak. When I was finally able to speak again, I said, "It's strange. You're tied so closely to me through my brother but I really don't know you. At all."

"Seconded. When I think of you, I just think of everything Al's told me. You're strong, tough, and he says you care so much for everybody else. He says that you gave up so much for him." She paused. "He told me about a woman. He's drawn her for me. She's beautiful."

"…Noa?"

"Yes, that was her name. Noa. Well." She put a hand on my arm. "I can't believe that you would leave so much, for him…I could never have done that. I'm far too selfish."

Shaking my head, I said, "No, you're not selfish – and I shouldn't have judged you based on what Winnie said, I never really-"

Then I stopped myself. I noticed how close her face was to mine.

I stumbled backwards, away from her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demanded. "Did you really think this would work?"

She looked puzzled, frightened. "Did I think what would work? I just wanted to talk, Ed."

"No, you damn well didn't just want to talk, I know what you're doing, and I won't fall for it," I told her firmly. "You're not going to be able to mess with me. Your stupid tricks won't work."

She backed away. "I see," she said quietly. "I apologize if I was being too forward, I just wanted… I just want to be your friend."

"Yeah, right," I said, rolling my eyes. She looked at me, and I stared back at her, refusing to break eye contact. She looked… well, she simply looked sad. Not disappointed, or angry, just sad.

Looking away, she said softly, "I'll just go talk to Winnie, then," and turned towards the office. After a few steps, however, she turned back around and faced me. "Just one more thing." She paused. "When I look at you, I see… I see every mistake I ever made."

I raised my eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

She wouldn't look at me. "I've never told Alphonse about this, but… We're the same, Edward. The older sibling. You have Alphonse, I had… Rachel." She turned away, so I couldn't see her face, but I could hear her voice shaking. "I should have cared more about her. I should have put her first, and made sure she was always safe. I should have given up my life for her…" She shook her head, looking guilty. "But I was just too scared. I was frightened of what might have happened if I gave up everything for her. I… didn't love her enough. I should have been what you are. But I was a fool." She shook her head, looking around, everywhere, except my eyes. "I think, maybe, if I try hard enough…I can make it better, by loving Alphonse. But no. Nothing will ever make it better… wherever Rachel is, I swear to God, I hope she hates me. I hope she hates me for what I… for what I didn't do for her."

There was a moment of silence. Then she shook her head, murmured, "I have to go," and dashed out of the garage.

I stood there, gaping at the door.

What?

There was no way she was telling the truth…Winnie had told me again and again, she'd try to manipulate me, to make it so I love her and I felt for her and wanted to make her happy…

But, damn. I didn't write a book about our life before. Al never wrote about how I felt after… after all I had put him through. I don't think Al ever fully understood, for that matter. How did she know?

Could it be possible that she really felt that way? And that she did want to be friends? After all, she did make some sense. I had no idea who she really was – I just had a twisted version from Winnie, who seemed to have an odd love/hate relationship with her. Maybe I could try at getting to know the real Becca, instead of just the woman I had come to see her as. Maybe it was okay to care for her. She might be my future sister-in-law, after all.

There was just something so strange about Al and Becca. He'd always been too busy focusing on other things – I'd never seen him as one to fall for a woman so easily. It's not like he'd never been interested but… he was my little brother. It was supposed to be me first.

I shook my head. What a stupid way of thinking. There was never any supposed to be. There is just how things are. No what-ifs, no should-have-beens…

As Roy came out of the office and said something to me, then got back to work, I stood there, transfixed, staring at the spot Becca had just vacated.

…Al and Becca…

Hard as I tried, I couldn't get those should-have-beens out of my head. My thoughts drifted to the inked illustration Al had drawn, and I had accidentally seen, what felt like a thousand years ago. I could see Becca, lying on a bed, no, lying on my bed, completely undressed, a slight, mysterious smile on her face, perfectly in my mind's eye…

Repulsed by my sick imagination, I shook my head violently and Roy asked, "You alright, Ed? You look like a little pale."

"I'm fine," I mumbled, closing my eyes, squeezing them shut tight, but the mental image seemed to have been burned onto the back of my eyelids.

This wasn't love I felt for Becca. It was something else, something far more superficial, and so all the more dangerous. She and I were connected in so many ways, ways that she didn't even know, ways that nobody knew, nobody except for me…

As I lay in bed that night, arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't help but think…

Damn. She's good.

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I just finished rereading "Of Mice and Men" and "To Kill a Mockingbird" so excuse the attempt at forshadowing and/or symbolism in the beginning of this chapter.

Since I'm in the middle of the next chapter and kind of at a loss of what should happen next (I want a chapter or two before the beginning of the end), just a quick question: Does anyone really care about Michael? Do you want to know more about him or should I just let the dead man rest?

Thank you so much for reading!