Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. Hiromu Arakawa does. I only own the OC characters.

-------

This was the last thing that he needed. After the discovery that his youngest subordinate had been abducted, by The Skinner no less, it left a sinking stone settle in his stomach, a ferocious need to storm the city and end the bastard who would dare touch the Fullmetal Alchemist. And then a report came in that another body was found.

The knots in his abdomen refused to unwind as he arrived on the scene, hiding his clenched fists in his pockets. His boots sank into the damp mud lining the riverbank. It was there that the woman was discovered, lower half still drifting along in the current, upper half resting on the tightly packed earth. He subconsciously wrinkled his nose at the sight, the display gruesome and brutal.

Just like always, the victim's eyes were removed, and pieces of flesh were missing from her body. Except some of the lacerations were deep and wide enough that tendrils of intestines and other internal organs poked through, glistening with red, dark ochre. He vaguely registered Hughes sidling up next to him, a weary sigh escaping him.

"Can't be a day old yet," the investigations officer stated. "Decomposition hasn't even started yet." Mustang cast a side glance towards his friend. "You mean to say that this was recent?"

"The time of death, no." Maes put a hand to his chin, eyes still fixed on the corpse. "As for how long ago they dumped it, I'd have to say ten hours." The colonel grunted in understanding, surveying the surrounding area. He caught sight of something conspicuous, nudging his coworker to gain his attention. "Have you noticed where we're close to, Hughes?" The other man followed Roy's gaze, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline once he noticed it. "Stockholm Street," he muttered.

Mustang nodded, fixing the wrought-iron enclosure of the small neighborhood with an intense glare. Maes adjusted his glasses next to him. "I suppose this confirms it." The colonel's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he responded, "now we just have to figure out which one."

-------

He stumbled into his humble apartment, migraine returning full force. He suppressed a groan, craving a hard liquor to numb the pain. After removing his jacket, he made his way to his spirits cabinet in the kitchen, pulling out his supply of whisky.

He had just poured himself a glass and taken a swig when a knock on his front door interrupted. Puzzled, he set the barely touched drink on the counter, making his way out into the main hall. A quick look through the peephole showed him that no one was outside. Even more confused now, he cautiously inched the door open, peering around the edge. An unassuming brown package sat on the front step. He only noticed the red, wet stains on the material when he picked it up.

Apprehension hammering through his chest, he shut the door quickly and locked it. He came back to the kitchen to his abandoned drink, setting the package carefully on the smooth counter surface. The squelching noise it made unsettled his stomach.

It took a few deep breaths for him to realize that he was stalling. He slowly gripped the edges of the wrapping, gently tugging on it to loosen it. He hoped to whatever god was up there that it wasn't what he was dreading this entire time. He tried to carefully unroll the material, but the contents inside easily slipped out, slapping hard onto the counter.

He rushed over to the sink to vomit, the pieces of his subordinate's skin laying congealed nearby.

-------

He wasn't sure when he lost track of time, or when the world became a hazy fog of pain. His body constantly ached and felt like it was being set on fire, every strip of flesh removed leaving behind a gaping memory. It was too much for him to handle, this constant agony. It felt like that was all he was.

He had cried and screamed. He had thrashed and strained against his bonds. The man was doing the same thing to him that he had done to Lily. He probably wouldn't last more than a few days.

He choked on another strangled sob. He was going to die in this dim, filthy room, in the hands of a madman. He struggled every time the man came to fulfill his satisfaction, ripping off the tape gagging him. He had begged so many times, desperately trying to avoid the torment coming for him. But, inevitably, it came anyway. His pleas had changed to wanting to be put out of his misery.

"Everyone dies, boy," the man chuckled, sealing his mouth again with the tape. "You'll get yours soon enough, don't worry." He left, smirking to himself, leaving Ed to wallow in his muffled sobs.

This time was like any other time. He was woken from a fitful doze by the door to his prison opening. He easily fell into a panicked state, writhing and shouting behind the tape. The familiar sting spread once it was ripped off once again, effectively silencing him, except for the occasional whimper. He squeezed his eyes shut, loathe to look into those demented eyes.

When he opened them again, the man had returned with his knife. He whined at the sight of it, fresh tears spilling from his eyes. Loud, broken sobs wracked his body.

But the man didn't make a move. He just stood over him, contemplating. Then he flashed a grin, one that was disguised as warm and friendly but was, in truth, sadistically cruel. "You know what, I'm feeling generous today," he said. He then directed his gaze to the far wall, the one that Ed was chained up to. The wall filled with final words. The psycho gave it a longing look. Or was it admiration? He couldn't tell.

"Honestly, in my opinion, that's way better than a trophy case." The man inclined his head towards the wall. "It would be a pity if there was no trace left of you." He looked down at Edward. Raising the tip of the knife. "That's why I've decided that I'll do it for you." With that, the man made his way over to the scratch-filled wall.

This sent him into a spiral of confusion. This insane serial killer was going to be kind enough to leave behind some last words for him? Then the man's previous comments came back to him. This psycho wanted another kill, another "trophy" to record, so he could bask in the intoxicating feeling of having power over others. He started sobbing again. But, he knew that this was his last chance to say anything, before he couldn't say anything anymore.

"C'mon, kid, there's got to be someone who'll miss you." The man's voice startled him from his thoughts. Another sob begged to be released by the remark, but he swallowed it down instead. He took a deep breath, steadying his voice. "M-my brother. Alphonse," he rasped.

A hum of intrigue sounded from the wall. "I see," the man said, beginning to scratch the message into the wall. Ed's mind scrambled to think of what to say, eventually settling on something simple. "T-tell him," he hiccupped, "that I'm s-so sorry about the things I did. Please f-forgive me. I love you."

The man finished after several seconds, making his way over to the work bench. "Now that that's taken care of," he said, setting down the knife, "let's get back to business."

The large cleaver flashed in the dim light, his heart racing once again.

-------

Author's Note: Another chapter, as promised. I tried to make this a real tear-jerker.

It's Halloween! And, also, Day of the Dead has officially started. Out of all my Spanish classes in high school, I only know a little Spanish and the proceedings and customs of Day of the Dead. Four years well spent. I did get to go to Spain, though.

You checked out the video I linked last chapter? Go do it, if you haven't

Praise is appreciated and constructive criticism is encouraged.

See you next time!

-The_Mayflower