Chapter Text
Mustang sat bolt right up in bed. His heart pounded and his head spun as the last remnants of a nightmare slipped from his mind. Desperately, he scrambled to cling to the details of what it had been about, even though he wanted nothing more than to forget everything. It was automatic. His mind wanted to know every detail as if it would help him avoid some tragedy that was set to strike in the next few weeks, days, hours, or minutes.
The nightmare itself, or what he could remember about it, was some odd mash-up of his time before Aunt Christ had taken him and Ishval. His knuckles were bloody from fights with bad odds while fire surrounded him and the scent of charred flesh choked his nose and throat. The spectators weren’t your typical mob type. Instead, they were a sea of blue uniforms and red eyes as he fought a seemingly endless sea of enemies, each with glass stuck in the tape on their knuckles.
Except, as if that nightmare wasn’t bad enough, it wasn’t him doing any of this. It wasn’t him experiencing any of this.
The rest of the details may have been fuzzy, they may have been slipping from his mind like water from a sieve, but he remembered that detail very clearly. He wasn’t the one fighting for his life day after day in hell. It was Ed and Al. They were the ones killing people, hurting people, forced to do horrible things to other people.
He felt like he was going to vomit.
He gagged and threw off the covers. His stab wound gave off sharp, shooting pains as the freshly healed skin pulled and strained while he staggered to the toilet, crashing into the corner of the wall and slamming against the counter. Despite it being rather cold outside, he felt like his entire body was on fire.
He heaved and gasped for air for a few minutes, his mind finally seeming to catch up with the rest of him. As he slowly came to his senses, he realized the stab wound wasn’t the only thing that was stinging. His hand was also hurting.
He looked down and winced to see the knife he always stashed under his pillow (old habits die hard) clutched in his hand. He was gripping the blade and now blood was seeping through the new cut and running down his arm.
He let it go and it clattered to the floor, sending off another wave of heart attacks. Finally, though, he was able to calm himself.
It was just a nightmare. Ed and Al were fine. They were safe. They weren’t forced to fight in Ishval or into dingy fight clubs to survive. They were fine.
He stood up on shaky legs and opened up his medicine cabinet to find his first aid kit. Luckily, the cut wasn’t that deep. It didn’t require stitches but it was still a bitch to clean up. It wasn’t the first time he had cut his hand on a knife either. There had been one particular incident with a member of the Xingese mob where he thought the best course of action was to grab the knife out of his attacker's hands.
Throughout the methodical cleaning and wrapping of his hand, his entire body felt like it was… well, not relaxing so much, but not as jumpy as he had been. He felt more secure, safer, steadier. Less likely to jump out of the window and run away screaming his head off.
But no matter how much his heart rate lowered, he didn’t feel better. His entire body felt like it had been put through the wringer and he felt so tired. He needed more. He wanted more.
After his hand was wrapped, he stumbled his way to the kitchen and opened up a cabinet, pulling down a glass. It was this that finally got him to stop and think. Because there was no alcohol in his kitchen. He had some bottles stashed away in his apartment; mainly peace offerings from various people who were afraid he was a bit too pissed off for comfort. And Niall, of course, who, even after all these years still sent him whatever bootleg alcohol he was manufacturing in the East. But those bottles were stashed away and hidden in cupboards and cabinets. He didn’t like to touch them for fear that they might be poisoned. And while Niall would never intentionally poison him, he still didn’t trust his ability to make liquor in some backwater town in the middle of nowhere.
He hadn’t bought alcohol for himself in months. And he hadn’t had a drink in…
Well, he hadn’t had a drink since the day he met the Elrics come to think about it. God, did he want one after seeing the state of those two boys. He hadn’t drunk, though. And somehow, he didn’t have one since.
He filled up the glass with water and gulped it down. Not remotely the same as whiskey or vodka, but better for his liver. He leaned heavily on the counter, the last of the nightmare finally slipping away.
His mind was still spinning, but he felt calmer now. More collected.
Damn, this was going to be a rough night and he wasn’t sure he could go back to sleep after everything. He glanced at the clock, hoping it was late enough that he could justify not going back to bed.
He winced. One in the morning.
He sighed and put the glass in the sink. He might as well try to get some sleep. He had work to do tomorrow. Now that the doctors had cleared him for active duty, the Fuhrer wanted him on the South Town Slasher Case. Hughes probably didn’t know that he was being reassigned yet. Mustang just found out yesterday right before he left for the day. He probably should have told his friend what was going on but was so exhausted from all the paperwork that he decided to just deal with Hughes’ inevitable sour mood later.
Nine months.
For nine months the killer had been terrorizing the streets of South Town. Hell, if he were being practical, the killer was likely at large well before then. The poor area and general crime rate meant that most people didn’t notice or care about an uptick in dead children found scattered around in decrepit parks, dilapidated buildings, or shoved underneath overflowing dumpsters that never moved. Death was just a way of life in that part of the city.
However, nearly fifty bodies were found, all with the same modus operandi. One single stab wound to the breast bone. Eventually, enough children were found that it caught the attention of the newspapers, which caught the attention of the public, which caught the attention of well-off people who were nowhere near the killer’s desired victims but still feared nonetheless that they would be targeted. This meant that they had started pestering Bradley about the case and he wanted it solved before the military looked incompetent.
But that was exactly what was happening. Despite Hughes being a brilliant investigator, he couldn’t seem to get any leads. The kids were all snatched at night and were all from South Town. That was all they knew.
Hell, they didn’t even have a concrete timeline as some of the kids were orphans without anyone monitoring their whereabouts and others were part of families whose parents were almost always out of the house. Half the time, the parents didn’t even know their children were missing until the military turned up to tell them as much!
Mustang wasn’t confident he’d be any help to the investigation. Serial killers and murderers weren’t his strong suit, but he was willing to help in any way he could. Despite him knowing that Ed and Al were unlikely to be targets of the killer, he felt the same thing that every other person with kids felt in Central: fear. Yes, the killer was focused on South Town now, but there was nothing to suggest he wouldn’t escalate. That he wouldn’t expand his hunting grounds.
Shit. Somehow, in trying to not think about his dream, he had ended up getting himself worked up over the possibility that Ed and Al might catch the attention of a serial killer. It wasn’t exactly doing wonders for his anxiety levels.
He took a deep breath to steady himself and then started making his way to bed. Then, he paused and went to the couch instead. Maybe it was childish, but he didn’t care. The couch was comfortable enough and he liked that it had a back and was near the front door so he could hear if anyone attempted to get in. He pulled his coat off the rack and flopped down, not bothering to turn off the lights.
Even with the location change, his sleep wasn’t easy. He kept dreaming about gold and soul fire eyes being thrown into hell and not making out the other side.
*****
He didn’t even make it into the office that morning. Just as he was about to go, he got a phone call.
“Sir, there’s been another body,” the lieutenant on the other end said.
Mustang sighed, glad he at least attempted to get a few more hours of sleep. The last thing he needed was to deal with a murdered child with no sleep and anxiety from nightmares.
He sighed and pinched his brow. “Where?”
“At the north end of Panhandle Park. It’s a pretty secluded place, off the normal footpaths. We got the call early this morning.”
“Who called it in?”
“We don’t know, sir.” There was rustling on the other end of the phone. The lieutenant was likely looking through his notes on the matter. “We think it was a homeless man. Whoever it was, he didn’t stick around. When we got there, no one else was in the area and the shopkeepers in the area claimed to have all been sleeping or in the back of their stores so they didn’t see anything either.”
Great. Just great.
“And you don’t think this was the killer calling to brag?”
“No, sir. He hasn’t done anything like that before and according to dispatch, he didn’t sound like he was bragging.”
He figured as much. While he was expecting an escalation soon, he didn’t think it would start with a random phone call to tell them where the dead body was. And, if he was remembering the layout of panhandle park correctly, where the child was dumped was a place where a lot of homeless gathered since it was out of the way and they were left relatively unbothered by the rest of the community.
“Alright, I’ll head down there immediately. Thank you.”
Just when he thought this day couldn’t get any worse (despite only being seven in the morning) he already had to stumble his way down to Panhandle Park and hike around that disgusting place to look at the cold, dead eyes of yet another murdered child.
He dialed Hughes to give him a heads up that he would be there. As expected, Garcia told him he had already left for the day, about fifteen minutes before Mustang called.
He pulled on his coat and winced. Sleeping on the couch last night made his neck seize up. God, he was getting old. And look at where his life had led him.
“I should have taken Naill up on his offer,” he grumbled, stepping out the door. “At least if I ran Central’s underground, I’d only be seeing the dead bodies of adults.”
Speaking of Central’s criminal underground, he wondered if he should reach out to Alexi again and see if he found anything. He trusted that he would reach out to his aunt if he did find anything. Alexi was not cruel and did have quite a soft spot for children. He was likely just as horrified by all the deaths as Mustang was. So the fact that he didn’t reach out either meant that he didn’t have anything or…
Petrovich might be interfering with the investigation. He didn’t know if he wanted to risk everything for this investigation. Besides, Petrovich never did like him and was likely looking for a way to get rid of him for good. He should probably steer clear of him and the Drachman mafia for now.
At the very least, the one good thing he could say about this whole situation was that Ed and Al weren’t in the city. Ever since the Slasher Case had started to heat up and leads were becoming few and far between, Mustang had been doing everything in his power to send them as far from Central as he could. Luckily, there seemed to be no shortage of mine inspections, crazed alchemists, and stone leads to send them after. As soon as they got back to Central, he would turn them right back around and send them out again. He knew those two would get involved if they stayed in Central for more than an hour. Normally, he wouldn’t mind. They were tough kids and they knew how to take care of themselves. Besides, they seemed to have a knack for sniffing out clues when no one else could. But the fact that the killer had been running circles around them for months, leaving dozens of bodies in his wake without a single lead made him anxious. There was something Investigations was missing. Something that was keeping the killer safe. Ed especially was within the target’s preferred age demographic. If he and Al were wandering around South Town at night, looking for clues, they might get the attention of the killer. And, because Hughes couldn’t even figure out how in the hell he was getting the kids, Mustang wasn’t sure he’d be able to help them should they get caught.
He called up Hawkeye to let her know he was heading to Panhandle Park to deal with yet another dead child and for her to get started on the work in the office.
Outside, it was dark and cloudy, the threat of rain loomed over his head.
“This day couldn’t possibly get any worse,” he grumbled. He knew better than to grumble at the sky, though. Whatever god out there who was trying to make his life an absolute living hell would hear that and shoot lightning at him or some shit.
He finally made his way to Panhandle Park. He didn’t have to look long to find the crime scene. MPs were standing around, talking amongst themselves. Wooden barricades were set up around the scene as citizens looked onwards, whispering in Drachman to one another.
Mustang stepped out of the car. An MP spotted him and snapped into a salute. “Colonel Mustang, sir, the crime scene is this way.”
He furrowed his brow. “Why are the barricades set so far away, then?” He asked as he followed the MP deeper into the woods.
“It’s to keep the public out. We don’t want any of them accidentally trampling on evidence.”
Mustang nodded and looked around. The park was surprisingly clean. Normally, this place would be swarming with homeless encampments. It was secluded and far enough from the road that it could act as a private sanctuary. The trees provided shelter from the blustering winds and snow in the winter. Park spots were prime spots when you were forced to live on the streets. So why was there not even a scrap of evidence that anyone had been living here?
“Did you clean up the homeless encampments?” he asked. There was some trash scattered about here and there. It all looked old, though. Abandoned.
The MP turned to him. “Sir?”
“Were there any homeless encampments here that you cleared out?” Mustang resisted the urge to snap. The men and women on the streets could be valuable eyewitnesses, even if most people thought of them as nothing more than crazy scratchers who were a drain on society and who would be better off dead. He sometimes wondered if Hughes and Hawkeye thought that. He was afraid to ask.
“Um, not that I know of, sir.” He replied hesitantly.
Mustang was inclined to believe him. Strange. Where was everyone? As far as he knew, Petrovich wasn’t chasing them all out. There were no symbols around here to suggest this place was off-limits for some reason. He didn’t get much of a chance to wonder, though, as Hughes saw him and stormed over to him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Hughes yanked him from his thoughts and back to the present.
“Congratulations, Hughes, I’m helping with the case.”
“No, you’re not! You were stabbed. You can’t go running around yet!” Behind him, Knox was kneeling on the ground next to what was undoubtedly a child.
“The doctors cleared me. The Fuhrer assigned me to the case yesterday.”
“And you didn’t call to tell me!”
“You were busy,” he shrugged nonchalantly, walking up to the dead child, steadying himself for what he was about to see.
“You are such an asshole. You planned this; I know you did.”
“Hughes, listen, I’m fine. I’m capable of doing my job. And you need all the help you can get.”
Hughes sighed and removed his glasses to massage his brows. “I know. You’d think seeing all the dead children would eventually get easier. But it doesn’t. I want this thing done as soon as possible. Come on, Knox will fill you in. You know all the details?”
“Single stab wound to the chest with no signs of sexual assault. Some bruising to suggest she’d been tied down but other than that, nothing?”
Hughes nodded. “Yup. Same as always. We also know that the killer removes their clothes and then redresses them. None of the clothes have ever had evidence of stabbing, but Knox says the wounds do have fibers in them.”
“So they were dressed in something else?”
“Possibly. I have to admit, Roy, this thing makes no sense. I can’t figure out what the hell is going on here or what his end game is. I don’t even know how he’s getting these victims or when.”
“That’s why I’m here to help. Besides, I’m not doing any fighting. I’m just looking at a dead body. I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much.”
“No, you won’t.”
No, he won’t. He didn’t voice this to Hughes, though. He was trying to get this over and done with.
He took a deep breath and steadied himself and then stepped forward to look at the victim. She was a little girl, maybe only a year or two younger than Al. That was the part that hit him the hardest. He knew all of the ages of the victims, usually from ten to fourteen. Knowing and seeing were two different things. It hit him, staring down at her body, how young fourteen was. How young ten was. She was so small and thin. Very fragile in a way that only a child could be. And this was even though she had been dead for several weeks at least.
“Knox, got anything?” Hughes asked.
Knox grumbled a bit before standing up and stripping off his gloves. “Same old, same old. I’d say she’s been dead for about a month.”
Mustang furrowed his brows and looked around. “And no one found her until now?”
Hughes shrugged. “No, why would they?”
“It’s just odd that not one homeless person would stumble on her. This place is normally crawling with them and a lot of them are mentally fit enough to pick up the phone to report a crime, especially a dead child.”
“Yeah, well, maybe they’re all off doing something else.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
He didn’t buy that for a second. What else would a homeless person have to do? Even if some of them managed to get jobs, this place was constantly gaining new people. Immigrants from other countries who thought they might have a better life here. People who had lost their jobs or who had succumbed to the throes of addiction. People who had been kicked out of their homes. Someone should be here. Someone should have seen something. Even if it was just a scratcher looking for a quiet place away from people to shoot up.
He tilted his head to look at her. Missing two fingers on the right hand. Her hair was cut short and he could see cuts littering her face and hands. She was wearing a very nice dress that was a soft pink color and had shiny buttons up the front and red trim around the sleeves. The dress itself was well-loved and well-worn. There were frayed patches around the knees of the skirt and elbows. Some of the trim had fallen off and parts of it were stained. So, it wasn’t exactly expensive. Probably only a few cenz if he were being honest. He furrowed his brow, his mind working through the problem. Something was off here.
“Do you know who’s clothes she’s wearing?” he asked, and then immediately felt stupid for asking. Of course, they didn’t know. If they did know, they’d be looking for that person.
Knox and Hughes looked at him.
“I’m assuming her own,” Hughes said.
Mustang snapped his head up. They didn’t know? How could they not know? It was so obvious. “That’s not her dress. I guarantee it.”
“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Knox grumbled.
“She worked in a textile mill. There’s no way she could afford a dress like that. And we know it probably belonged to someone else before her because it’s too dirty and worn to be new.”
“And how do you know she worked in a textile mill?” Hughes says, glancing back down at the body.
“She’s missing a few of her fingers. It’s pretty common for kids to have their fingers snapped off when they go to work in the machines. And as for how I know she can’t afford the dress, let’s face it, no one sends their kids to work in a factory unless they need the money. Also, she wouldn’t ever wear that dress to work. It’s got too many pieces that could be caught up in machines. That isn’t her dress.”
Hughes huffed and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well, I’ll be damned. I don’t think I ever would have gotten that.”
“If she’s a factory worker,” Knox said, “they work in shifts. That could narrow down when she was grabbed.”
“One in the morning,” Mustang replied. He should be working to hide just how much he knew. It’d look suspicious and people would start to talk. They’d start to whisper and come up with their own conclusions, conclusions he didn’t want them to come up with.
As he stared down at the girl's dead brown eyes, he couldn’t help but picture Ed and Al in her place. If either of his kids were dead, he wouldn’t care about the investigator’s desire to keep ahold of his reputation. He’d want the case solved. Maybe those boys did make him lose his head and sight of his goal.
“If she’s like the others,” he continued, “she likely lived in South Town. There’s only one textile mill around here and unless they’ve changed the shifts, the only shift that gets off at night is the one AM shift.”
“That’s great! We got a lead!” Hughes clapped him on the back and directed them away from the girl. “How’d you know all that stuff?”
“Hughes, I grew up here, remember? The textile mill was one of the places they’d take anyone, no questions asked.”
“Did you ever work there?”
He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I’m not missing any.”
“I know that you ass, you still could have worked there.”
He shook his head. “No, thank god. There’s a reason the mill will take anyone. I don’t think there’s any job more dangerous than being a four-year-old crawling between the machines to sweep out the dust.”
Though, to be fair, what he actually did for a living wasn’t much better. Or any less dangerous. Not that he’d ever voice this to Hughes. He never told Hughes about everything he did as a child and he was hoping to keep it that way. Besides, there was no need for him to know. The past was in the past.
(Except for the angry Drachman mob doctor that stitched him up on the side of the road after he got stabbed in front of two kids and the Aergonian Mob Boss that sent him bootleg liquor and still stopped by his aunt’s bar for a chat now and again).
Hughes sucked in a breath. “They start them that young, huh?”
“They’d probably start them even younger if their hand-eye coordination was good enough.”
“God, I couldn’t imagine sending Elicia to work like that.”
“Sometimes, you don’t have a choice,” Mustang said.
“They get off all at once, right?”
He nodded.
“Then, that means we have a ton of witnesses who could narrow it down even more. We should get started interviewing the kids.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Mustang sighed.
“Why not?”
“Because these kids don’t trust the military. They certainly don’t trust adults. And, even if they did, you’d have a hard time getting access to them. The foremen of the factory likely won’t let you in without a warrant and most of the kids are going to be too scared to say anything. A lot of them are illegal, Hughes. They’re afraid to be deported.”
“But this isn’t about their citizenship. Surely, they must all be scared of the killer who’s been stalking them for months and killing their friends and neighbors.”
He shook his head. Sometimes, it smacked him in the face how different life could be depending on where you were born and what your parents did for a living.
“It’s not that simple. If they talk to the military, the chances of them being reported are too high. They’ll take their chances with the killer. Besides, it’s not like he’s grabbing them all at once. And, as you said, they all get off at once which means safety in numbers. Trust me, you won’t get anything out of them.”
Hughes scratched the back of his neck and cursed under his breath. “Well, we have to try. This is the first lead we’ve gotten in a while. If we can just narrow it down to a street, then we can have patrols out. I’ll have some of the MPs stop by the mill and ask to interview the kids. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have some stationed around tonight at one AM to see if we can’t catch any of them.”
“It’s not going to work.”
“Unless you have a better idea, that’s all we can do at the moment. I’ll go back to the office and look back through the clothes. If she’s not dressed in her clothes, it’s likely that the others weren’t as well. I’m not sure if any of the parents or guardians would be willing to come in for another interview, but if we can get even a handful of them, then we might be able to get something.”
“Okay, I’ll stay here.” Not that he wanted to. Every second he spent looking at the dead girl was a second she morphed into looking more and more like Al before he lost his body.
Hughes paused to look at him. “You should come back with me.”
“Hughes, I told you before, I’m fine.”
“Physically, maybe. But emotionally? You don’t have to hide it, Roy. I know looking at these kids affects you. Especially now that you have your own.”
He glared at him, thankful that all the other MPs were scattered about and not listening to them.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s not obvious to anyone else, but it is obvious to me. Ever since you got stabbed, something’s changed with you guys.”
Mustang sighed, knowing he couldn’t lie to his friend for long. “Fine, you got me. Still, just because I can’t help but picture Ed and Al lying dead on the ground, doesn’t mean I can leave whenever it gets to be too much.”
“You got that right. But that isn’t the only reason I want you to come with me. I hate to admit it, Roy, but I’m not sure I can tell the clothes apart. All of them look…”
“Like trash,” Roy finished for him.
“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“That’s what you were thinking.”
Hughes shook his head. “No, Roy. It’s not what I was thinking. I was thinking they all look poor.”
He rolled his eyes. He knew what ‘looking poor’ meant. It meant looking like trash. He got those comments a lot as a child. This is why he made sure all of his clothes as an adult were impeccable. He couldn’t help that he was Xingese. He couldn’t help that he grew up in the gutter. But he could control how he dressed. And dammit, he was going to be the best-dressed person in the room. He was going to make it difficult for people to whisper about him. To think that he was some stupid piece of shit that was a drain on society.
“You don’t have to be ashamed of it,” he continued. “It’s a good thing you don’t know what a kid who works at a mill looks like.”
“Still, sometimes I feel like I know what’s going on and then you slap me in the face with evidence that they’ve got four-year-olds losing fingers for twenty cenz a day.”
Mustang couldn’t help but laugh. Hughes glared at him.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just, these kids are probably making at most one or two.”
“Per day?”
He nodded. “Like I said, desperate families will do anything. To you, one or two extra cenz isn’t a lot. To someone who’s starving, that can be some rice to keep them alive.”
“Fuck, I hate learning how shitty our country is.”
Mustang shrugged and followed him out of the park. This was one of the many reasons he wanted to lead this country. If he could just get enough power then maybe he could stop things like four-year-olds losing their fingers because their family was desperate for an extra cenz or two.
“And you’re keeping an eye on Ed and Al, right?” Hughes asked. “Ed’s right in the killer’s target age range and you know how he goes looking for trouble. Al too, but I imagine the suit of armor isn’t going to entice a killer to go after him. One of the few benefits to being stuck like that, I suppose.”
“I know that. I’ve been keeping them away from Central as much as possible. They’re supposed to be coming back sometime this afternoon. Luckily, there is no shortage of things that need to be done away from here to keep them busy.”
Hughes let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I know they’re capable kids but we know nothing about this killer.”
“You’re not the only one that’s worried.”
He had a feeling his increased nightmares had to do with the fact that this killer was targeting kids like Ed and Al. He wanted to get this case solved as soon as possible. It was the only way he could ensure his two boys were safe.