CHAPTER 36: Who Are You, Edmund Creed?
(MELANIE'S POV)
I spent three excruciating long weeks trying to identify where exactly the Fitzgerald Brotherhood of Troubled Youth institute was. When I finally did intercept a grid line, through a mere paper trail as pathetic as it was, the more secretive it was, caught my attention. So, I set up a rather unauthorised visit from the local PD, essentially making the headmistress of the Institute believe I was studying a specialised case that required the utmost of confidentiality in the mix.
It was cold, it was freezing cold as I walk towards the building, the asylum, another fucking asylum-looking building, only this one-it wasn't empty, there were lights on, there were people, students, adults inside. I fold my fluffy trench coat tighter around my body and I move forward, my head hammering before me at the sign above, The Fitzgerald Brotherhood of Troubled Youth.
It was engraved deep on the gravestone.
F. B. Y.
I took one deep breath and another step forward towards the door, with Roman locks and strange markings I couldn't recognise. The door opens, revealing a women my size, but not my age, "Mrs McLaren, it's lovely of you to visit so soon." She was an older woman, white hair with the occasional black strands, a tightened turtleneck with a nun pearl in the middle of her collar, I nod once, she gestures me inside.
I turn to her, "I prefer Detective Elizabeth, if you'd be so kind." I use an American accent, using a monotonic tone of voice. She nods strictly as my jacket is removed by one of the guards, who strictly stare anywhere, but my eyes. Which were green, green contacts and a brunette wig, short with professional curls along my shoulders.
The headmistress smiles tightly, "Welcome Detective Elizabeth, my name is Headmistress Zoysia." She nods my way, gesturing down the darkened hall, the lights were old fashioned, everything looked freshly polished as I glance down when one of the boy's in a tight grey one-suit stands, lonely and watching me.
The headmistress notices and gives me a tight look, "This is Kahn, one of our youngest. Poor boy, he struggles with his speech. Don't mind his staring, he does that as an observational tool, and expresses it in his love for the arts." She tells me, gesturing to one of the guards, who closes the door on the child in one of the dark rooms, with one lone, cranky bed, no desks, paperwork flown on the floor.
I furrow my eyebrows and turn back to the headmistress, "I understand you have set paper records of past substituents here, that is what I've come to look for, but I'd like to understand what it is the children are learnt, among wither extra curricular activities that have been rumoured?" I ask her.
She pauses in her short, sturdy steps, turning to me, "Of course, the extra curricular are used specifically for sixteen years and older, their rounds help endorse this facility, as you can see, this is not the kind of institute many foster parents will come to. We help in brain development, exercise attributes and perhaps a few religions along the way, to properly discipline the children." She tells me, glancing down the hall as she lifts a heavy set of keys and opens the door.
The sound of cheers on the other side worry me as I look inside, she moves in, closing the door, but thankfully not locking it as she gestures to the window, "We have many American celebrities who contribute anonymously inside the unit, not illegally of course, the American head PD have allowed our source of discipline to remain over the years." She says, watching me closely as I give a long long down into the ring, that looked more like a cage in a secluded, abandoned swimming pool, with VIP stations above, cheering for the current fight down below.
She smiles over to me, the headmistress, "You already know of our ways, do you not?"
I give the glass a stoic raised eyebrow, "Doesn't mean I've seen this in action. Are the students here given appropriate medical attention afterwards?" I ask her. Holding the urge to shove her head against the glass as she smiles strangely down at the ring.
"We do, but some students are weaker than others and don't last long in these fights. Down there, is our best and brightest line, with Sampson Seer as the head of that particular group. They're known as our brightest Warriors." She informs me, I make sure my phone is pressed on record as I look at the six men, that shock me when I see their faces.
That picture of the eight figures from Edmund's wallet, that included Talon. Those other six, unknown males, are here.
I furrow my eyebrows, "How old are those men?" I ask her, gesturing with my glove to Sampson, the one who had been sending me information through a loophole in one of their internet connections that I couldn't locate so easily, yet I managed to get his name and details.
Sampson Seer. Family was unknown, he was in his mid-twenties, pitch black curls and dark blue eyes, he was currently half naked, bleeding along his cheeks and temples with his fists up against a tanner opponent, who looked far worse in his state. Both were equally muscular though.
"They have been here since their mid-teens, now they're in their mid-twenties. It is not uncommon that many treat the elder ones under a rehabilitation unit, instead of a general foster home." She says, gesturing back to the door, I look quickly to the VIP, watching and trying to understand just who they are, focusing on faces, rather than anything else.
She must have thought I was a trusted detective within the New York PD, a stranger couldn't possibly learn this much, especially with the way she watches each opponent hurt the other, like an outside victor of her own. It was sickening to see when I cool my expression as she turns to the door, "There was a specific file you were looking for?" She questions.
Here was the hard part... "Edmund Tiberius." I say his name as stoically as possible.
Her eyes flash, "The PD are still on that case. He died over three years ago, has there been a connection?" She asks me, I think fast.
"Possibly, which is why I need to know all the details of the case. How long had he been here before he passed?" I ask her, knowing enough of the possible facts to make her think I was who I said I was.
She straightens her jacket, "Please, let's discuss this case in my office, it is highly confidential." She says, a worried eyebrow raised as she basically struts down the hall and towards a set of stairs. She opens the double doors and steps inside, I follow after her, looking around the room of highly adapted punishment tools, rulers, whips, books of large quantities as well. My nostrils flare, she doesn't notice as she moves behind her desk, using a key to unlock a specific cabinet.
She shakily sighs, "Edmund was a troublesome child. Quiet when Oswald first brought him in, that was his biological father, but Oswald was no father to his son, Edmund had already been abused when he attended the institute. Oswald dropped him off at the age of ten or eleven. He was a large boy, most foster kids were lanky from starvation, but this one, eleven years old and he already had muscle. He started the fights when he was twelve years old, one year with us and he learned the ways of discipline quickly. His group was wit the Warriors, in fact." She says to me, placing a file in front of me, I make sure that the chair was positioned in a way where my peripheral vision could see the door, and her, clearly.
I open the first file, and am horrified when I see sharpened silver eyes staring back at me, the boy, supposedly eleven years old, was Edmund with a cast on his arm, a black eye and eerily short pitch black hair.
I look up to the headmistress in shock, she sighs, nodding, "Oswald wasn't the best parent role model. He used his son as a whacking boy for the employees who disobeyed him in his oil manufacturing company. Oswald didn't explicitly say, but we knew Edmund was born from a low life woman in her teens, someone Oswald had a one night stand with, or so the rumours here say. Edmund was his only child. One he didn't know about until nine years later when the orphanage created an online website. Oswald was a great investor for the institute, we took Edmund under our wing when hospitals began filing reports of the abuse that was suspected." She whispers, showing me another file, a picture of their graves when she opens it.
"Edmund was a known leader here when he grew older, before he passed at the young age of sixteen, he was fighting for so long. He was such a bright kid too, with so much potential, but the amount of violence in his life was too much. He killed himself, consequently on the same day his father passed from a severe heart attack. The warrior team suffered heartily by Edmund's loss. We believe the Creed company runs under a manager of sorts, nothing too explanatory unfortunately." She explains, I turn towards the next file.
It had been just under ten years since Edmund was here, he was the true heir to the company, yet before he didn't take the 'Creed' name, I look up, "What was the boy like when he was here?" I ask her, making sure to maintain my act.
She closes her eyes, "He had many problems, I'm afraid. Due to his childhood, and Oswald's abuse, he struggled greatly with social interactions, he didn't like talking and eating was a struggle, he was always finding ways to escape, before meeting Sampson and his group. They made a close bond, their team. I can give you files on them, as well, but talking to them would be rather difficult. Other officers were sent straight to medical after speaking to them, personally." She whispers.
I look through the files, maintaining a blank expression, but overwhelming feelings passed through my chest at the pictures of Edmund as a child were clipped in sections. His writing that improved over time, his motor skills were always excellent, but social skills and writing and reading was a struggle.
He adapted quickly, overtime and during slow processes, I look up, "Was there any closer relationships he had sustained?" I ask her.
She shakes her head, "No one of significance, his case was the most complicated. Most of the children that attend the institute hasn't gone through nearly as much abuse as he has, we didn't endorse too much of it on Edmund, but when he was difficult, electro-therapy was used." She says.
I gasp at her, "What?!"
She sighs, "In those times, Detective Elizabeth, many of the guards who worked here were under the Cordial Matrix." I blink three times.
She leans forward, "They own this institute, the local Police Department in New York and multiple other companies. No one knows who owns whatever they are, just that they hold strong leadership in these parts, and high funding for the people who work here to remain." She whispers, almost pleading for me to find reason. There was nothing reasonable about whatever this place believed itself to be.
I grab the file, "I'll need these for my report. Along with files of the workers who knew this case. Who ruled the teenagers case as a suicide?" I ask her, afraid of the answer when she looks over to me.
"Detective Ace Johnson. He was British, he disappeared seven years ago, something about being an incompetent Detective in the force." Son of a bitch. Detective Johnson.
Edmund couldn't have known. At least I don't think. This was giving my backlash, whipping my brain around in circles as if it were a bowl of candy floss, I was so troubled and confused, frightened. Edmund was hardened when we first met, but his protectiveness and warmth-it showed me something different, something I was falling for and hard. His history, it took a toll on me that I couldn't explain, one I couldn't understand how someone who has dealt with so much heartbreak, to be as strong as he is now.
I knew there was more, I just didn't think it would be this.
I look down at the files before me, nodding towards the head mistress, "Yes, I was misinformed by the signs of such violence. There has been a death connected to the detective who ruled out the teenager's suicide, the case had been re-valued, which is why I am here for a follow-up." I explain, using quick use as she sighs in utter relief, I watch her nod towards the door, where a guard must have been standing by, the door closes fully this time.
She hands me another folder, "This was Edmund's association with the Warrior team, he was second in command under Sampson's lead. There were eight individuals in total, there is only six now, another went missing, Talon Sorenson. He was third in command, our three strongest. He's most likely passed too. His past wasn't as troubling as Edmunds' was, those two bonded quite well when Edmund turned thirteen. They were our youngest ever to be included in the fights. There were multiple problems between Sorenson and Edmund when it came to Edmund's death. It is why Sampson was kept here, we're not so certain Edmund's death was a suicide." She whispers, looking down at the desk.
I furrow my eyebrows, "Why is Sampson here and not in jail?" I ask her.
She furrows her eyebrows, "Surely you know, dear. The Cordial Matrix make millions off of Sampson's fights, along with the Warrior team. Each fight against other opponents and many known criminals in the district are a win."
I nod, "Yes, of course. That was in the file, I must have bypassed it." I say, she nods in understanding.
I turn to the next file, opening it and seeing pictures of a room, I look up, she explains, "That was Edmund's room, the boy never decorated it. He was into drawing, the snow and trees he loved very much. Apparently when he was younger, and lived in hotter conditions, he was bullied often for having red cheeks during the summer, an insecurity we were able to eradicate during the time of training for the fights. He got flustered easily and was temperamental often, couldn't find reason to simple tasks like participating in activities, he'd prefer to work alone. He was of course, scarce of other children. We have files from his time at the orphanage, the woman who had taken ownership of the place was an intoxicated witch, very strange, and dark, the children in her care were almost completely starved, before most of the children either ran or died off." She explains to me.
My god, Edmund.
He had been through more than I could imagine, just looking at his past made me sick to the stomach, I was frightened by it. I had never been through anything like this, the Myers family is built on connection, love, and so much more. Learning was a happy environment, we never fought when getting taught several martial arts, it was for self-defence, for confidence and security.
Edmund was taught to use it as a sense of survival, between life and death, a forceful task, not one of care. It was barbaric reading about his fights. I collected the paperwork, ready to leave as soon as possible, telling her the department would review for a few months before deciding on how to handle the connected cases.
When I walked down the hall with a guard holding the box as I ready my gloves, I hold the urge to still when I turn to collect the box, only to make eye contact with none other than Sampson Seer, who stands down the hall, alone in the dark corridor. His eyes pierced the green ones I used to cover my true identity.
I watched him move forward, "Another detective who won't leave Edmund's grave alone?" He says, lowly under his breath as four guards move forward, holding a taser to the male's bruised neck.
I grab the files, not bothering to thank the headmistress for telling me the truth, I hear Sampson scream, "You filthy detectives will burn in hell one day for what you do here! YOU'LL ALL BURN IN HELL!" He screams uncontrollably.
The doors close behind me, my heart races when I move down the icy steps, the snow ranging in the surface of the stone walkway was testing my levels of fear in this moment. The place had a sickening feel to it, leaving me cold and empty, and afraid. I walk quickly, moving towards the boot of my car, I watch my surroundings, when a red laser was detected to my right.
I slam the boot closed and screech as I duck at the first attacker, twirling around, I kick their back, slamming them against the boot of my small black SUV, they grunt as two large arms surround my frame, "What police department do you work for?" I hear a male growl lowly into my ear, a butter knife is held to my throat by a rather large male behind me, I count five figures forming a circle around me as I dangle from my feet, choking.
Shit.
Shit!
I swallow, shaking my head, or at least trying to, I watch the middle male holding a sharpened knife in front of my face, he squints at me in the low light, before flashing a torch in my face, "She doesn't look like someone from a police department." One of them whisper, in a strong American accent, a darker voice comes into picture, the middle one moves and a sixth person steps inside.
"Alright, Elizabeth McLaren. You're going to follow our exact instruction and in fifteen second, if you don't make a decision, you're dead. You're going to drive us the hell out of here without contacting anyone from your unit, understand? Unlock the fucking car." Sampson spits at me.
I swallow, knowing how outnumbered I was, but I hold steady as I unlock the car.
Four of them get into the back, Sampson nods to the one holding me, "Get her into the driver's seat and make Edison move the guys over, I'm taking the passenger, let's go." He instructs, growling under his breath as he watches a few guards forcing students into the main eating area. The one holding me shove me into the driver's door and opens it as he gently moves me inside, closing the door and getting in the back.
Sampson was already in the passenger seat with the gun pointing at my head. I stare straight forward, my fingers tamed from the trembling in my bones and the crushing sensation each beat of my heart makes, "Start the car." He says to me, harshly.
I start the car, revving the engine just as the doors of the institute slam open, I don't think, just reverse sharply with a series of grunts in the back, I knew they were close to Edmund, they had history and just the sight of that place made my skin crawl.
The least I could do was this.
I skilfully skid the car, shoving it into gear with a silent huff under my breath as I take a scenic route, one off the grid from the first one, activating snow protected tyres, I zip through the tree line, the accelerator punching faster, Sampson grunts as he holds the windshield, "Fuck sake, who the hell are you?!" He yells at me.
I don't answer him, shutting the lights off and using an x-day vision shield over the front and back glass, I was running along edges of cliffs with the main road above me, after going downhill thirty metres, "If you want me to get you all out of here, you'll point that gun away from me." I tell him, briskly missing a log on the road, the yells quiet when the rustling stops and I zip up to the main roundabout after fifteen minutes of silence.
Sampson stares at me, closely, "Who the hell are you?"
I clench my jaw, "It really depends on whose side you're on." I mutter, slowing to a pause in front of traffic, I remove the x-ray vision shields on the screens. The males behind me struggle to make room, though my windows were tinted.
Sampson stares at me closely, "We know Edmund's grave is fake and I know you're the one I emailed about it. No one has visited that institute in years and you shouldn't have tried so hard in helping us escape, meaning, you know on a basic level of just who we are." He says, a slight tinge in his voice, a roughness I could detect as the males behind us are quiet. Watching the outside, as if, for the first time in so long, they're out of whatever they were stuck in all these years.
I swallow, "I don't know what you're talking about. I am a detective, just not one who works for those who fund the institute." I say, carefully. He was studying me, probably to see if I was lying.
The largest one who held me dangling in the air not thirty minutes ago grunts, "Nice job, Sampson. You just told a detective Edmund's grave is staged." He says, giving away his name too.
Sampson glares over his shoulder, turning to me, "I'm going to type in on your navigational system a specific address, you are going to take us there, understand?" He says to me, clicking the gun for emphasis.
I take a long inhale, "Or you'll shoot me?"
"I know it was you I emailed the location to the graves too, I don't know what you have to do with all of this, but you're messing with greatly powerful people here." He says to me, typing in the code.
I bypass the access denial systems, the navigational system on mute as it silently instructs for me to take the main motorway, heading to New York City by the looks of it. The ride is silent for five minutes as I indicate over a few lanes into the fast one, I keep my eyes on the road as the males sigh behind me, "We actually did it." The shorter one says, looking to be about twenty-two.
Sampson keeps his dark eyes penetrating my profile, "Who are you and what do you have to do with this case?"
I side glance him, "I just saved you and your team, you want answers, then you're going to have to answer mine." I tell him, maintaining speed on the main road, which had a long trip ahead.
The biggest one behind my seat gives out a clearing of his throat, "You don't look like a general detective?" He says.
I look at the back mirror for a moment, "Have you seen many?" I ask him.
He shakes his head, before saying, "No. I'm sorry for choking you, by the way. I didn't think you would help us." He whispers, leaning back, squished in with the other males.
I rub my temple, "I didn't anticipate you threatening to kill me." I mutter.
Sampson never once removes his eyes from me, "Why would you help us? You were there, for what?"
I glance over to him, "Were you a friend or an enemy of Edmund's?" I ask him, considering they already know he isn't dead, if he is who he says he is.
"We were great brothers, all of us. Until those two escaped, we helped them, thinking we were able to as well, we didn't make it. That was eight years ago." He whispers. For once, he looks outside his window.
"You no longer see him as a brother?" I ask him.
"You're British?" The one behind me, the youngest asks me.
I swallow, "Yes."
"How do you know Edmund?" The biggest one asks next.
I clench my jaw, "Are you friends or enemies of his, yes or no?" I ask again.
"He deserves a kick in the ass for leaving us behind, but he will always be brother." He says, the one who had a choke hold on me.
I sigh, "I'm not a detective, but a close friend. I was merely looking into information and I have only seen all of you once in a photo." I say, turning to Sampson when he unfolds the photo, obviously finding it.
"You mean this photo?" He asks me, staring at me. I nod.
"What are all your names? Believe me, I'm not part of any FBI or secret unit of a government that runs part of the New York PD. I wouldn't have gotten you out otherwise." I say, holding my tongue, from the chattering of my teeth as I check the gas on the car, a full tank, I was alright for now.
Sampson gives me a secure look, "You saved us, the least we can do is give you our names. My name is Sampson, Edison is the youngest in the back, and the smallest."
"Dick, I'm the brightest." Edison grumbles from his squished seat. The weight of the car must have really tainted my tyres.
Sampson continues, "Our muscle, the one who held you up as Christian, the other three is Merritt, Knox, and Atlas. My name is Sampson, and you are?" He asks me.
I cringe, "My name is unimportant. It really is better if you don't know, just that I am a friend and I will help you. I'm not a detective, but I am trying to understand..." I trail off, not wanting to say it.
Christian grins from the back, "Edmund's found his rock, huh?" He asks me.
I shake my head, profusely, so as to take them off path, "No, I'm just close friends I his group. I'm merely here to help."
Sampson snuffs, "So you keep saying. We've known Edmund since his childhood, including much about his empire and his ELITE as he calls them, what do you have to do with it?" He says, I glance over to him, slowing down when traffic arises.
I sigh in defeat, "Like I said, I'm a friend. What do you know about those who funded the institute?" I ask him.
He watches the road, checking the navigational system, "Not much, unfortunately." He says, but that was all.
"Why did you send me to the Creeds' graves?" I ask him.
"How did you know it was me? Your stance changed, especially in the corridor at that wretched place. You recognised me, meaning you knew it was me who sent you there, I wan to know how?" He asks me.
I keep my hands on the wheel, my eyes on the road and the cars around me, "I'm good with computers." I say, quietly.
"How did you pose as a detective?" He asks me.
I blink, slowly, a second to long as he cocks the gun at my head, "Answer quicker." He says, harshly.
I blink twice, carefully, "I created a false identity, making it seem like I was a check-in and used what information I knew to my advantage. Put the gun away, Sampson, or the lives of the people in this car will be put in jeopardy if you continue to threaten the driver." I tell him, in all honesty.
He lowers the gun to his lap, clicking the safety back on as I arrive up to the main shoreline rout to the New York City bridge, silence filters the car quickly as their eyes gulp in all that they can. Shock. Fear. Disbelief. Hope and doubt shattered the atmosphere as six males find immense enjoyment in what they see.
The wig on my head is removed slowly by Christian, "I didn't think you were a brunette, you have the skin tone for a blonde." He whispers, removing it as my curls flow down my shoulders.
Sampson gives me a long look, "I still don't understand why you're helping us, blondie?" He uses a new nickname as I pass through the city, half an hour away from what I believe to be the Creed estate, the abandoned Creed estate if my navigational algorithm is completely correct, to which it is.
I designed it, after all.
I glance over to him, "I wouldn't want to live my life where you all were, where you didn't have a choice. It's wasn't right." I whisper, turning back to the main road as an hour past midnight chimes on the clock.
I stare out at the darkened place, Christian sighs, "He said it would be ready for when we managed to escape." He whispers, to the others especially. The gates open when I drive up the long windy road, slowly towards the darkened castle-looking structure.
I gulp down my fears, the place looked horrifically dark as I pull up and turn off the engine when a set of lights turn on, I unlock the doors, Sampson allows the others to step out and greet the staff members who seemed to recognise the five members.
He turns to me, "Thank you for what you've done tonight. Helping us out of there could get you into big trouble. I thought you were a detective, not a friend of Edmund's, I would have rethought my strategy at getting the guys and I out of that place if I had known." He whispers, still sitting in the passenger side, the others wait, even in the cold, where staff members throw blankets over them. This all looked to be a long term plan. One they all knew about with the 'Creed' crest on the castle-like structure.
I turn to him, silently surveying him, "Just tell me one thing, is the grave real? Edmunds' that is?" I ask him, holding my breath.
His dark eyes look to me, he shakes his head, "No, that was part of a plan. Edmund's death was staged to get him out of there with one of our own as well. His father's grave is real. Edmund's-he's the real Edmund Creed, the one you know. No one took his place, after everything he's been through, no one took his place in that company. We"re a brotherhood for life. I'll keep you confidential when we call him, but I'd suggest you ditch the car, they have your license plate and the people who fund for those fights, they're not to be played around with, or underestimated. Do you understand?" He asks me, lowly.
I nod, lightly.
He gets out of the car, "Thank you. I wish there was a way of contacting you, but it would be safer for you if I didn't." He says, stepping away from the car as he gestures the others inside.
I stare down at my phone, seeing messages from Lorraine about when I was coming back home and from Marvin, about more information he has found.
I was ready to confront Edmund.
I message Marvin, 'I want my dorm room back'. I told him, revving the engine and leaving behind the people I was sure I'd meet again, but this was bigger than anything I'd ever seen and something, something raw and deep and low, told me it had something to do with both the institute, the academy and the unknown...known as...
The Cordial Matrix.
******
A | N: This is getting scarier, creepier, deeper than I ever thought it could, so much has happened and there is so much more to come. To all my perfect readers, please tell me what you think, are you enjoying the secrecy and the plot twists that I keep using in every chapter! Let me know. Don't forget to vote and comment! I absolutely adore each and every comment!
Thank you all so much!
Cheers, darkblonde1