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Edgar feels starved. Of food but also of love, of company. He’s maybe eighteen, he doesn’t know how old he is now. He remembers he was freshly seventeen when the fight broke out. He lashed out at his parents, his father mainly. He felt like his male guardian failed to ever emotionally care for him, he ceased to recognize the talents the soon to be author had, and failed to validate his achievements he worked so hard for. His mother, who wore a face that failed to hide anything, was heartbroken. How could she let her child feel like this, the baby she was supposed to protect.
The fight broke out, because Edgar had been bottling up irrational pent up feelings, felt unpraised and was hurting himself. Yet he told that to no one. He decided, like an idiot, to wear that mental pain in a physical form. Not that he had stopped. He used his knife more on himself than to protect himself. The ragged clothing he wore did not hide it. He felt lonely, as if no one in the world could possibly love him. He tried to end it all, and his mother found him before it was too late. A miracle her maternal senses were active, telling her something was about to happen to her precious boy, something very unfortunate. That was what, a year ago? Maybe. To Edgar, it felt like another life.
Here, he sat, hungry and defeated. His instincts to survive were battling his urge to die, on one hand, now truly no one would miss him, no one knew him but on the other hand, was there something or someone worth living for? He was on the last thread of hope. His arms were littered with large scars and tiny ones, deep ones and shallow ones.
***
Francis Scott Fitzgerald, a wealthy blonde, decked out in gold jewelry, watches and a tan suit. He had his sunglasses over his eyes, annoyed by the glaring sun. Damn associate just had to meet all the way out here, where the lower class was placed. Louisa begged him to be kind to the unfortunate homeless, some disgraced with even more unluckier misfortunes than himself. He was slightly irritated at it, not at the young girl, no she was precious. Such a sweet girl. She slightly reminded him of his own daughter. What irritated him was, the fact there were worse things in the world than losing your daughter, to watch such a precious die. For such a jewel to exist and then one day, not.
A dark gaze caught his attention as he walked past. It wasn’t the young boy’s eyes that caught his eyes but the pain. He stopped in his tracks, surprised by the injuries. His mouth was agape, not terribly however.
“Hey kid!” He says walking over, with a slight jog to his steps. He slows down, almost to a halt when the kid retracts. He kneels beside him, he wants to get up, he can’t believe he’s dirtying his clothes for a homeless kid. Wow, he sounds like an asshole.
“Hey.” He says again, but softer. Like he used to do when his daughter was in hysterics, over something she was upset about.
Edgar looks up at him with tired eyes, eyes that haven’t known a good rest in years. He looks at his clean face through tangled bangs. Hair that once used to be so smooth, so beautiful. Fuck, his parents who gave everything to him, would be incredibly disappointed.
“Ye-.. Yes sir?” He probably hasn’t talked in months, his voice is strained from thirst. Even around his neck, there were faded scars. He looked like a thug until you took a second glance and realized every scar was self-inflicted.
Well. He has manners. Francis notes.
“You look- well- hurt.” He says. “It’s alarming.”
Edgar opens chapped lips to speak but is then stopped. Francis’ phone rings.
“Give me one moment,” Francis answers the call, not bothering to stand up. Edgar is intrigued by the call. He can hear the bare whispers of the voice of the caller.
“Yes. I will be there.” Francis answers.
Edgar coughs. His lungs feel heavy on him.
His eyes feel so tired, he finds it hard to keep them open.
Francis glances down, he’s still on call. He bites his lip, his rational side yelling at him to leave the kid, who has so far been an inconvenience to him.
He stands up, his knees popping from kneeling for quite some time.
He shuts his phone.
“What’s your name, kid?” Francis asks. He opens up to Louisa’s contact.
“Uh-uhm.. Edgar Allan,..” He tries something new. “Poe. Edgar Allan Poe.” He had never introduced himself with his biological surname, he had always been Edgar Allan, he felt rather detached to his biological family, since they were dead. They had been dead since he was three.
“Alright, Edgar. How old are you?” He asked, not that the information was very important.
“Eighteen. I think, I don’t exactly have a calendar.” The boy answers. He’s still quick witted, with a sharp tongue.
“Alright. Well I have this assistant. Her name is Louisa, she’s a very sweet girl. She’s sixteen, close to your age. She’ll come get you and make sure you are cleaned up.” He says. “Just, stay here so she can come get you.” Francis starts to text her a paragraph of orders.
“I don’t exactly have anywhere to go.” Edgar replies, and Francis frowns. He too, knew that feeling.
***
Louisa steps out of the car , wrapped in her wool cape.
“I will be right back. Then bring me to my apartment.” She says, looking inside the car to her driver.
She walks around the street, she analyzed the text message she got from her dearest boss. Dark hair, light purple eyes, scars, rags.
She spots him. She sympathizes with his position. She walks over.
“Are you um.. Mr. Poe?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
Edgar likes that, he likes the soft tune of her voice. He didn’t like loud noises, and her sweet voice was the perfect pitch. It was calming.
“Po- Oh yes. That’s me ma’am.” He answers. He was used to being called Allan as a child, he was the ‘Allan’s kid’.
Louisa smiles at his manners, he’s very polite, she notices. She’s also very interested in the boy. He’s not very much older than she is, and yet has gone through so much more than she has.
“Francis sent me to retrieve you.” She holds out her hand, for him to grab.
He grabs it, standing wobbly. A breeze brushes past them, the boy shivering under nature’s cruel hands.
Louisa notices this, and gives him a gentle tap. She took her wool cover and placed it over him.
He looks at the brunette, a gentle smile tugging his lips. It had been a very long time since someone had been so kind and gentle towards him.
They walk to the car, it is warm against the cold outside, Louisa sits next to Edgar.
Edgar keeps the cape against himself, it provided him some comfort, one he lacked for too long. Louisa really hopes he doesn’t have fleas or something.bt
“So.” She speaks up. “I assume you don’t want to follow me blindly, so I planned on educating you on what’s going to happen.” She says, she means to come off professionally but everything she says is shaky and nervous. Edgar looked at her through the side of his eye. He pushes a gentle laugh down, she was identical to him when he was sixteen. Nervous and unable to speak up, not that he was any different even now.
“Okay.” Edgar replies. A single word he speaks.
“Well- okay- gl-glad you agree then. I’ll get you washed up, then I'll take you out for some clothes. You don’t seem to be much bigger than me,” she says, at the time was true. Edgar was skinny, had ragged flats, so he wasn’t the near six feet he would be with heeled boots.
“Okay.” Edgar says, and gathers they will be driving for a while as Louisa pulls out a book to read.
Edgar jolts as he sees it, and it startles Louisa. She hopes she didn’t scare the boy, with sudden actions perhaps.
“Is that the tenth anniversary?” He asks, straightening his posture.
“Wha- Maybe? A friend lent it to me.” She says.
“Oh god, If i had a tenth anniversary edition I’d never lend it. These are very rare, they only printed two hundred editions.” He says. “The author had a theory, even if the book wasn’t that interesting, the fact that it would be a rare collection made wealthier people want to buy it so they were able to sell it at a higher price!” He ranted, most people couldn’t keep up with him as he talked about books. Louisa could however, just out of being a good listener. She wasn’t that interested in books, not like Edgar.
“Really, it wasn’t a mind blowing theory. The author took inspiration from supply and demand, if the quantity was lower and the demand was higher, then they could raise prices. It’s a basic concept but the effect of it was major to the book-selling industry.” He ranted, and god he could talk about books for hours. He adored them.
Louisa smiled. “I take it that you like books then.” She says, relaxed, as her posture says. Her shoulders are down and rested against her seat in the car.
“Oh, I love books. You can probably give me any book and I’ve probably read it.” He jokes, and Louisa decides to challenge it.
“Hm. A mad man’s room.” She chooses. It caught her attention in a bookstore the other day while she was getting a book that would help her find new marketing techniques to help her boss. She mentioned it to Francis and he offered to buy it for her, she had then spent ten minutes saying how she didn’t need it and she didn’t have space in her apartment. She noticed ever since his daughter’s death he had been spending more on her, a mere apprentice under him.
“Ah, It was okay. The vocabulary was incredibly difficult to understand, but the author illustrated insanity rather creatively.” He said, there was a certain sparkle to his eyes when he spoke of books that returned, which was not there before she pulled out the novel.
“Hm.” She says. “Well I haven’t read it.”
“I know.” Edgar says, with a knowing look.
“You do?” She says, surprised. Perhaps this homeless kid had more layers under him.
“Anyone who has read a mad man’s room would not call it hard, it’s a popular one among university classes that deal with literary analysis however.” He said. He was a teacher’s assistant for that class after all.
“Oh? I didn’t know you were a university student. I thought you were close to my age, that’s what Mr. Fitzgerald said.” She said, looking embarrassed.
Edgar scratched the back of his neck, bashfully.
“Yeah. I’m eighteen, I was taking college level classes since junior year.”
Louisa's mouth falls agape. Her brows furrow. “Si-since junior year??”
He nods.
“And I'm fluent in French, Italian, Japanese and german. I know latin too.” He said. “I only know French and Italian due to my parents. A tiny bit of Scottish gaelic.” He said.
She can’t believe it, someone with so much high grade education? On the streets?
“How are you homeless? You-” She starts but is cut off.
“I want to be, well, not that it’s pleasurable but, I won’t ever be enough for anyone so why even try? I’ll always be the try-hard that someone sucks everything out and when I’m out of fuel they’ll leave me dry.” He looked down, his aura was thick with self loathing, he had spent the past year sulking in his self loathing. When you hit very rock bottom, it’s too terribly hard to climb out by yourself.
Louisa feels bad, horribly so, for the poor kid next to her. She places her hand on his arm. She says this on a whim, without thinking.
“What if there were people to blow you back up when you are completely deflated?” She usually isn’t one to help the unfortunate, she feels bad for them, but does nothing like the majority of people. She feels inclined to help this one, perhaps fate? Maybe one day, Edgar would end up being her other half.
Edgar stares at her. He’s trying to decipher why the hell she’s doing this, and what she has to gain. This is a complete gamble. The cards are stacked against her.
“Well. probably not.” She says, the cards are laid and she’s about to watch her money be gambled away..
“Mr. Fitzgerald is making an organization of gifted both in supernatural abilities and their mental and physical capabilities.” She sighs.
The die is cast.
“Well I’m smart, there’s no denying that. Quick witted, um, I can bring people physically into my novels.” He said.
Louisa wins the gamble that is helping this kid.
“Really? Oh that is amazing!” She exclaims happily. She hopes this will give Francis hope, of course Edgar will need help adjusting to such a difference in environment. She decided she’ll be the one to help.
Edgar is shocked by the excitement, unused to someone being so excited over having his presence. Never in his life has someone wanted him, other than maybe his parents.
“I-I guess it is.” He mumbles, he fights a smile.
****
Edgar is wet, for the first time in ages. Well, that he can control. He’d been rained on before.
He sits in the bath, his hair was tangled enough where Louisa had to come and massage products in it to detangle the mess.
The fact that Edgar is naked and she is not, makes him uncomfortable. She assures him by this, she’s practically doing charity work. She would never take advantage of him in his position, or ever. She notices scars across his chest, they were faded. The surgery had been performed a while ago.
“Were your parents supportive?” Louisa had lit a single candle, and the lights were dimmed. She wanted it easy on his eyes. She rubbed his scalp, hoping to rid his thick hair of all dirt.
“What?” He asks, confused.
“Your surgery scars? Did they kick you out because of it?” She wonders.
“Oh god no.” He let out a small laugh, it hurt his vocal cords to do so. “My parents just sort of always knew I guess. I remember my mom asking me if I didn’t like my name, my deadname. I said yes. She asked if I wanted to be like Edgar, a character I made up for a story. A self insert if you will.” He explained.
“Sometimes it feels like my mother knew me better than I did.” He reminisces.
“Why don’t you live with them then?” She asked.
“Sometimes I didn’t feel like that.” He said, it was vague but Louisa understood.
She hummed in acknowledgement.
“So do you like girls?” She asked.
“No,” He answers, closing his eyes.
She smiled.
“I do.” She says. “Only girls.”
He hums. “Only boys, but books have given me unrealistic standards.”
“I understand that. When will someone recite poetry to me?” She laughs.
“Oh, I have to show you Victor Hugo and other French poets.” He responds, and she nods eagerly.
Edgar sits on her bed, wrapped in a towel. He’s dry, his hair no longer dripping water. It had taken about ten minutes of drying his hair with a towel before it stopped dripping water.
She shows him a white blouse with tiny cat paw prints.
“I love cats.” She says, shyly.
“I like cats too.” He says. “They aren’t rowdy like dogs, calm, and mean sometimes. What’s better than a black cat though? I had a cat named Pluto, he was two when he died.” He says.
“You’re a very morbid person.” She notes, lightheartedly. “Always quick to talk about death.”
“There’s something quite poetic about death and insanity. I find it calming to live in it, it makes me feel sane.” He says, with a quiet laugh.
She throws him a shirt.
“I’m looking for pants, I’ll have to get something longer for you.” She’s deep into her closet. Edgar pulls the towel down and places the blouse over his chest then torso.
She tosses dark brown, straight legged pants to him.
“I’ll leave so you can put them on.” She says, and Edgar nods.
Edgar and Louisa’s shopping trip was quick, Edgar knew what looked good on him and what he liked. He didn’t pick cheap clothes but watched for prices. Just out of courtesy for Louisa’s wallet.
They were in the car, driving back. He looks down at the three large bags of clothes, and looks over at Louisa.
“This isn't the way back to your apartment.” He’s nervous to bring the fact up to Louisa. Oh god, this is where he dies.
“Oh yeah. We’re going to the moby dick. There we’ll talk to sir Francis.” She says.
“The whale? From the book?” He raises an eyebrow.
“It’s a ship, named after the whale I think?” She laughs, he laughs, they laugh softly together.
***
A few days past, Edgar had finished his work, the first task Francis had assigned to him. Begrudgingly he met a few of Francis’ associates. Miss Mitchell, Sir Melville, and a man from the country, John Steinbeck. Out of all of them, Margaret was the most kind. Mr. Steinbeck was awkward to talk to, he didn’t have much in common. Sir Melville was a bit better, older people had always tended to enjoy Edgar’s company, compared to most of his peers he was hard working and intelligent. He listened to his elders to, loved their stories. However he was too stubborn to take most of the advice for himself. Margaret reminded him of the sweet southern ladies his mother had tea with as a child.
Francis calls Edgar to his office, he got lost on his way there but found his way in under ten minutes. He stops before touching the door knob. He feels sick. He knows he messed up, but is reviewing everything he did. Oh god. ’ he wonders. He must’ve been too slow. He’s let Louisa down too, but this is Francis. Francis, the man who was initially the one to help him and well, was an older male, he could only wish was his father. Almost as if his memories replaced his father’s voice with Francis’.
He opens the door, he struggles to make eye contact so he doesn’t, Francis doesn’t mind.
“Ah, Edgar!” He says cheerfully. Edgar waits for the tone of disappointment. He knows it’s coming.
“Tea or coffee?” Francis asks.
“Tea. Coffee spikes my anxiety.” He replies, staring at his lap. He’s already fighting tears, he’s used to that feeling. When discussing things with his adoptive father, he was usually holding back tears the entire time.
“Alright.” Francis pours them both a teacup of mild tea. He places them at a coffee table, surrounded by a couch and another chair. They were comfortable.
“Come sit.” Francis offers, and cautiously Edgar obeys. He sits on the chair while Francis is propped up politely, sipping his tea.
“Edgar,” He starts.
Edgar can feel panic set in, a tangled mess of darkness curls in his stomach. It’s biting at his heart and ribcage, he knows the feeling well. It’s fear. Fear that could eat him alive and it is. It’s causing his heart rate to increase. Edgar’s fingers curl around his thighs, a grip that even hurts himself. His mouth tastes dry
but his ears pound with the sound of his heart beat. He can’t focus on the dryness of his mouth or the beating of his heart. Dread comes over him like a dark cloud, threatening to ruin him. He feels as if he’s on display, and everyone’s going to jump out to laugh at him.
“Good job! I’m very pleased with your abilities, not just your supernatural but your work ethic and your intellect. You have mighty fine critical thinking skills.” He said, placing his cup down. He wasn’t even looking at Edgar, just ranting. Edgar stared at him, his brows furrowed, what the hell.
“I mean, compared to like everyone but Louisa, you blew them out the fucking ball park.” He smiles and pats Edgar on the shoulder.
He rubs his forearm, as he did with his daughter when praising or congratulating her.
“What?” Edgar says, it ends in a whisper, he can’t help it. He can no longer hold back tears. At first it’s slow, at first, Francis doesn’t even notice until the light reflects in the salty solution.
Edgar hiccups, cries falling out of his lips.
“H-huh?” Francis says, alerted by the tears and hiccups.
Edgar can’t bring himself to speak up. He feels like his emotions put him on mute. His fists thrash against his thighs, as if trying to communicate that he was upset.
“Um, try drinking tea.” Francis says, holding Edgar’s tea cup to his lips.
Edgar does as the blond suggests, drinking the tea as the older male pressed it against his lips.
Francis doesn’t force him to speak, or anything he doesn’t want to do. It feels like Francis is truly helping him only to benefit Edgar. He pulled away, a few drops of tea falling onto his shirt.
“Better?” He asks, he recognizes this feeling. It’s a paternal one, a feeling of cradling someone. He knows he’s trying to fill a void, and he should mature through his stages of grief but he can’t. He misses being a dad too much.
“Y..Yes.” He croaks, quietly.
“There's dormitories in the west wing- well fin? Herman loves his whale jokes.” Francis explains. “We have them because getting down from the whale can be tedious, especially if you come here on a daily basis. Feel free to sleep there.”
Edgar nods before standing up.
“Sorry,” Edgar mutters, dread is still hovering over him. Edgar is reminded by the sadness, the presence of his knife.
He follows the electronic map on every corner, he swears he sees. They lead him to C-11, his room, or guest room. It’s not officially his.
He lays in the bed and stares. He stares at his arm and he can’t help pull out his knife. He doesn’t do anything he freezes.
Footsteps approach and he hears Melville’s voice?
“How’s the kid doing?” Herman says, presumably to Francis.
“He’s an amazing mind.” Edgar was right. “But he has mental issues. I don’t know the root but we all have troublesome pasts, do we not?” Francis sighs. Edgar puts away his knife, guiltily.
“Are you going to invite him? I haven’t seen you become so fond of anyone since Louisa joined.” He says, and Edgar feels surprised. He refuses to believe someone could like him how Francis adores Louisa. He had spent some time analyzing their relationship, and he concluded “father-daughter” bond.
“We’ll see. I’m about to find out, hopefully, if he’s not asleep. Socializing wears him out.” Francis says, and Edgar smiles that he found that out. To have someone actually notice and validate him feels amazing, like cold water down an endlessly dry throat.
“Goodnight lord Fitz.” Melville laughs.
“Sleep well, Herman.” Francis chuckles, walking away.
He knocks on the door, quietly, loud enough to where if Edgar were awake he could hear it, if he were passed out, he would not.
“Edgar? May I come in?” He whispers at the door.
Edgar sits up.
“Why not.” He says.
Francis opens the door, in one strong arm he holds a water basin against his side.
“Hey.” Francis looks at him, and Edgar looks down.
Francis sets the large bowl on the dresser. He walks over to the lamp.
“May I?” He asks. “I’d like to see your handsome face.” He says light heartedly, trying to cheer the kid up.
Edgar laughs. “You may.” He’s weak under the words of a kind man.
Francis turns the electric lamp on, it was a shallow light source but enough.
Francis sits on the bed, it dips with the well fed man’s weight. It did not do the same when Edgar sat down.
“I know a little about knives.” Francis is the first to speak, per usual. “May I?” He’s polite, matching Edgar’s speech patterns.
Francis holds out his hand, and Edgar reaches under his pillow. He places it in Francis’ hand.
Francis examines it closely, shifting it against his palm.
“It’s an okay grade knife, made with standard metal, and the handle work is mediocre. The blade is dull, most likely from use- ah.” He looks over at Edgar. “Sorry.” He hands it back.
“It’s fine. It’s not like I’m hiding it.” He chuckles, it’s not a good laugh.
Francis placed his hand over Edgar’s, comfortingly.
“Well, I hope one day, you won’t have any scars to hide.” He says. “And when I put my mind to something, I do not lose easily!” He chirps, brightly with a snap of his fingers. Edgar laughs, with a melancholy tune.
Francis pulls a wash rag out, it was fine material.
“Let me?” He asks. Edgar nods and he brings the basin over.
Edgar doesn’t refuse or protest when Francis grabs his arm gently. He soaks the rag for a moment.
“I’m just going to wash the newer cuts, there’s not anything I can do for the healed scars.” He says, dragging the fabric against reddish cuts. Edgar bites his lip, instead of squirming or crying out.
“I had a daughter.” Francis says.
“Past tense.” Edgar says out loud, and by that he understands that the child is no longer with him.
“Correct. She died. Ever since, I wish I could've made her happier, and now, that’s why I couldn’t let you sit on that street in misery. I can’t make my child any happier, but what’s stopping me from making someone else’s child happier, when they can’t. Voluntary or not.” He explained, it also felt as if he was rationalizing his own irrational decisions. Well, at the time it was irrational. Now that it was found out, he was an ability user, it made much more sense why Francis recruited him.
Francis takes out a roll of bandages from his pocket, and starts to rotate them around Edgar’s arm.
“That makes.. Sense.” Edgar responds with.
Francis looks at him sternly.
“I do not know who has hurt you, or what, but you do not deserve it.” Edgar is taken aback.
“If anything hurts you again, tell me, and I will deal with it. You are under my protection, I promise. You’re free to hang around here until I can either hire you or you’re back onto your feet.” He said, Edgar could tell he felt very strongly about this and realized, as if the world emerged in color for the first time in years, an adult cared about him, and he regressed back into a child who gladly fell into the arms of protection and guidance.
Edgar shifted forward and hugged francis.
“Thank you sir.” tears wetted the front of Francis’ shirt. Francis smiled, and massaged Edgar’s hair. It was thick and wavy, much like his daughter, and as if a hole was healing, his smile grew.
“Call me Francis.” He laughed and so Edgar did.
He pulled away. “Thank you Francis.” He smiled.
“Of course, Edgar. What do you say?” Francis asks, asking if he would join.
Edgar smiles, oh, he would be a fool to decline.
“Yes, please. I’ll join you side by side.” Edgar smiles, he doesn’t even care what their objectives are, who was he to decline a family? He was desperate for one afterall.