FBI Special Agent Edward Cullen (Psychic)
Summary: Edward Cullen is the unacknowledged grandson of Harry Houdini from whom he's inherited strong psychic abilities. Together with his closest friends: a Hoodoo man, two Witches from the Louisiana Swamps and an honest to God Guardian Angel, they work to solve crimes that ordinary law enforcement is unable to solve.
Disclaimer: Ms. Meyer started it all. I've borrowed her characters, but this storyline is mine.
A/N: Please remember this is a work of fiction, and as such I've taken "liberties" with some things. However, there are Hoodoo men or Root Workers in real life who can do unbelievable things. There are also powerful psychics who prefer to call themselves witches as well as Guardian Angels but I have never seen one myself. So with the above in mind, please just accept this as a work of fiction and enjoy the world I'm creating. If it's well received, there'll be more to come, so here is the introduction to my version of Edward Cullen, psychic FBI.
Translations: Cher = term of endearment by Cajuns.
Just who is Edward Cullen, you might ask? I am a 32 year old FBI Special Agent with a double degree from Harvard Law and Business as well as a minor in Psychology and Anthropology. I managed to graduate as the Valedictorian of the School of Business and Salutatorian of the School of Law.
I am married to Sara Jane Cullen, my highschool sweetheart and we have one child, a boy we named Ethan Edward Cullen.
My older brother, Emmett Cullen is a Captain in the Chicago Police Department and our baby sister, Alice Cullen-Whitlock is the Fashion Coordinator at Saks 5th Ave in Chicago.
My father, Carlisle Cullen has his own very successful law firm; my mother is an interior designer with her own thriving business
You could say, I come from a very upper middle class family that was filled with love, although financial security has not defined my life. The fact that I am the grandson of Erik Weisz, determined who I was destined to become. Everyone else knew my grandfather as Harry Houdini, but the fact that he was my grand sire is not public knowledge. The FBI felt it wouldn't look too good when they sent my resume to the other law enforcement agencies that they lent me out to from time to time.
What I know to be true, I must be able to define in ways that a court of law would accept. Therein lies some of my biggest challenges.
Men and women in law enforcement tend to see things in black and white; what can either be proven under a microscope, from a picture and presented in a court of law.
Currently, I am assigned to the FBI Headquarters in Washington, DC with the designation of "floater." This "designation" means I'm sent to places where a particularly disturbing, i.e. unexplainable, crime has been committed—and I solve it. The Director doesn't want to know how I discover my sometimes startling evidence, he just wants to take these crimes off the books. It looks bad for unsolved crimes to be on the FBI's resume, you know.
The Director tells himself that I'm so good at my job because I am thorough and am able to see clues missed by others. This is true, but it's not just because I'm thorough... I use my very strong psychic and telepathic abilities, as well as some very special "help" from my Guardian Angel, Michael.
When I was a child I didn't realize I was different. I thought everyone could hear what other people were thinking, and I loved the pretty pictures I could see in my mind. Seeing ghosts wasn't that bad either, once I realized they wouldn't hurt me.
It wasn't until I was in my pre-teens that I began to think I might be crazy. However, because my mother knew I was a psychic - just as she was - she convinced me that I wasn't crazy, and she taught me how to control it.
One day, my mom was trying very hard to listen to just one thought at a time as she interviewed a difficult client, trying to get a feel for what they really wanted in their new interior design. I asked her later, just so I could understand better, "Mom, how do you know how to do this stuff?"
Smiling sadly she answered, "My father was a very strong psychic, only they called it being clairvoyant back then." Sighing heavily, "His name was Erik Weisz, though publicly he was known as Harry Houdini."
"Why haven't you talked about him before? You talk about grandma all the time, but you've never mentioned him." Edward's eyebrows scrunched up, forming little lines on his beautiful teenaged face.
"No, I haven't Edward, and that's because your grandfather never married your grandmother. He was already married when my mother, Marie, became pregnant with me, so he could not acknowledge me as his daughter to the world at large. His name is on my birth certificate but it was never made public." Again, smiling sadly, "He did, however, make provisions for my mother and we were taken care of very comfortably, although he never saw Marie. Your grandmother died when I was eighteen years old and I inherited the bequest, so I was able to go to college and that's where I met your father."
I never asked again, but I now understood why I was such a powerful psychic. Harry Houdini was and his powers were passed on to my mother, and then to me.
I discovered on my sixteenth birthday, that I also had a real, honest to God Guardian Angel, whose name is Michael. Now, whether or not Michael was sent from God, I don't know, because he's never confirmed nor denied that fact. As far as that goes, I don't really know if he's an angel or something else.
It doesn't matter because what might be good for one might be bad for another.
But that is another story.
On my 16th birthday, I was still agonizing over my ability to read minds. On this particular night I was with some friends. We'd had a couple of beers, and then one of the bright little idiots broke out a bottle of Wild Turkey. We were all sitting on the catwalk of the water tower closest to our school. Another one of my idiot friends decided we should all try to walk on the hand railings around the catwalk. Everyone else had taken their turn, when it became mine.
I knew better.
Everything was was spinning because I was drunk.
"God hates a coward," I mumbled as I tried to climb onto the hand railing.Sure it was flat on the top but it wasn't more than a couple of inches wide, if that. My friends helped me up and cheered me on as I Wobbled and started to fall. Their cheers turned to screams of terror.
I screamed as I fell.
I was going to die.
I stopped falling.
Was I dead?
That was it?
I was dead.
I kept waiting for that tunnel of light to appear and suck me up to heaven.
However, that's not what happened.
I found myself sitting in the branches of a very old and large oak tree. Next to me was a middle-aged man all dressed in black. He was very distinguished looking; graying at the temples and all.
"Hello Edward. I'm sorry we have to meet like this, but I couldn't let you die. It's not your time." The stranger's voice was a very mellow baritone.
That was good.
I don't like higher pitched voices.
"Hello?" I managed to croaked out. "Who are you?"
The stranger smiled broadly. "You may call me Michael. I'm your Guardian Angel."
"My what?" The terror from the fall had burned almost all of the alcohol from my system.
"That was a very stupid thing you just did Edward." The Angel named Michael chastised him.
"Em. Yeah, I know." I mumbled.
"Well, Edward, you're going to live to accomplish great things. You're going to be a tool to help maintain the balance between the forces for Light and Dark. So, you have been assigned to me to keep you from killing yourself or being killed before your time is up. Now I'm going to let you continue your fall, which has been broken by this tree. You'll break your collarbone and your right arm. This is to remind you that all actions have consequences. See you later Edward."
With a smile, the Angel pushed himself off the tree limb and waved goodbye.
When I came to, I was on my way to the hospital.
Sure enough, my collarbone and right arm were broken.
I never forgot that. Actions, stupid or otherwise, always have consequences.
Angel, Guardian, Seraph, Seraphim, Grigori—whatever. Frankly I don't care.
What I do know is that Michael is capable of protecting me from bullets, speeding cars, and all other physical attacks. I'll not, however, go into the details here now... just, suffice it to say—he can, or I would not be here today.
But again, those are stories for another day.
My best friend, Samuel Laveau Uley, just happens to be the 7th grandson of Marie Laveau, who was also known as The Witch of New Orleans. Sam is married to Angela John Dee Weber. Yes, her birth certificate actually bears "John Dee" as part of her name. She and her sister, Lauren John Dee-Weber-Mallory, are many greats removed from their grand shire, the famous John Dee who was the astrologer to Queen Elizabeth I of England. It was also rumored, strongly, that Dr. John Dee was an alchemist and a practitioner of the "dark arts".
Together, the four of us: Sam, Angela, Lauren and myself, make for a very powerful psychic force that I've come to depend upon for research when I'm investigating a crime that has, shall we say, mystical or occult overtones. It happens more than you'd think.
I met Sam when we were about five years old. My parents moved us to New Orleans, where my father, Carlisle, was doing a stint at Touro Infirmary. We'd found a nice little house in Algiers, across the Mississippi River; one of the older bedroom communities in the New Orleans area.
One hot muggy day, I was playing in the backyard when another boy, about my age, was walking down the wide alley way He stopped and watched me through the chain linked fence.
I felt this pull in my solar plexus toward the other boy. I left the toys I'd been playing with, and walked to the fence. "My name is Edward. What's yours?"
"I'm Sam. I live just there." He point to the left of Edward's house.
"Want to come play cars with me?"
"Ok! Let me go tell my mama so she won't worry about me. Don't go away. We're going to be best friends!"
That first meeting had been about thirty years ago, and Sam's prediction was true. Regardless of where I was, I managed to keep in very close touch with Sam. We'd call each other often and visit during vacations and holidays. No matter where in the world I was, Sam knew and talked with me almost every day.
As I began to investigate my "gift" I shared it with Sam. Sam had gifts of his own. He had inherited many of Marie Laveau's talents, and some were one hundred times stronger than hers. If Sam hadn't been been my best friend, I would have been scared of him.
Sam's gift is what is known as being a Hoodoo Man, Root Worker or a Greegree man.
The four of us, Sam, Angela, Lauren and myself, worked together successfully on some very strange cases. The occult information we've garnered has caused the departure from this physical plane, many a dark and evil soul.
I have learned through my own facilities that when my three friends made a statement about some one, to believe them and act accordingly.
While writing my final report on the latest unexplainable crime I'd been investigating, which I tried to write from a clinical point of view with as few words as possible. Trying to describe how I'd managed to find the clues and evidence that had allowed the tracking down of the unsub or unknown subject, and how as a result of the investigation, it had ended in a pitched gun battle where I shot and killed the unsub in self defense.
I ran my hands through my unruly hair, knowing I'd have to face a board of inquiry regarding this shooting, but I also knew it'd be found as a "good shoot" simply because there were other law enforcement agencies present at the time to witness said shooting. A "good shoot" means that I had not deliberately murdered the suspect, but had only defended myself.
The last sentence was typed onto the report when my cell phone vibrated.
Checking the incoming call display I didn't recognize the number.
"Agent Cullen, this is Deputy Sheriff Williams. Are you married to Sara Jane Cullen?"
"Yes" was all I could gasp out because I saw in the calling officer's thoughts the vision of Sara's car overturned in a ditch that ran along side of what looked like a freeway.
"Mr. Cullen, where are you currently located?"
"Why are you calling me officer?" I already knew, but I had to hear it.
"It's my sad duty to inform you that your wife has been involved in a car crash. She's been taken to Mercy Medical Center along with a child that was in the car with her."
All of the air that had been in my lungs left me. My body went cold, but I managed to choke out, "I'm at the FBI Headquarters in Washington DC at the moment. I'm leaving right now and should be there in a couple of hours."
I disconnected the call as I ran from my office.
"Sally, please print out the report that's on the computer on my desk." Just as the elevator doors began to close, I gasped out, feeling lightheaded. "My family has been involved in an accident and I need to be there. I can be reached on my cell phone."
As soon as I could get out of the elevator, after it reached the ground level, I was out of the building and into my rental car, in what felt like hours later.
I gripped the steering wheel, and closed my eyes tightly.
I knew my family - my wife, the light of my life, along with my baby boy - were dead.
Their lives snuffed out in just one moment.
How it happened was not clear. It was a clear night - no fog, nor was the pavement wet. Apparently there'd been no other vehicles involved in the accident. There were no skid marks to be seen on the roadway. The witness reports stated that Sara's car just seemed to rise up into the air, and flip over and over, until the roof was smashed into the body of the car. Then it exploded.
The rescue workers managed to extract the two bodies that were just barely recognizable as Sara Cullen and baby son Ethan. Cause of death had been undetermined by the autopsy, but the medical examiner assumed COD had been extreme concussive force and/or inhalation of smoke and toxic fumes.
Sam knew almost instantly what had happened and within an hour of my being told that my family was dead, he called me. "I'll be there as quickly as it is possible to fly out to where you are, and help you get home...or shall I meet you there?"
"Sam, they're gone. They're dead. Sam..." I let out a strangled cry of pain, like nothing Sam had ever heard come from me.
"Edward. Where are you?" Sam asked.
"I'm on my way to the airport and will be flying home within the hour." I choked out.
"You're not driving are you Edward?" Sam asked.
"Yes, I'm okay to drive Sam. I guess I'm still in shock."
"Ok. Cher, I'll be with you in a few hours." Sam said.
"Thanks Sam. I don't know what happened. I'll need you to help me figure it out." My voice was almost faint.
I was so devastated by the death of my family that I was unable to function at my job effectively. Eventually I asked for and received an extended leave of absence.
A year passed and during that time I deeply mourned the loss of my wife and baby boy. My family was obviously very worried about me, and insisted that I try grief counseling.
Because of who and what I am, I understand the process of death better than most. I just knew there was no such thing as "death." It was actually a change of energy from one form to another, but the loss of a loved one causes a rift within the psychic and energy fields to those closest that are left behind. People usually describe the feeling of loss as a giant hole in their hearts. This description is very apt.
This rift; this gaping hole, needed to have time to heal.
Sam insisted that I come back with him to his floating home within the Atchafalaya Swamps. Together we spent many hours just "being;" fishing and talking into the wee hours about "things." We polished off his whole stock of Dixie Beer, emptied a copious number of bottles of Jack Daniels and enthusiastically consumed all of the wonderful Cajun foods that Angela and Lauren cooked up for us.
Together, with Sam's wife and her sister, we found out with all the certainty a psychic investigation could have, just how Sara and Ethan had died.
Because of the nature of my work for the FBI, I'd made some very powerful enemies. With hatred in their hearts, these criminals worked through some of the most powerful dark forces that could be brought to bear on this physical plane.
Knowing that killing my wife and child would be far more devastating than the satisfaction of killing me, they'd conspired to do just that. How it was actually accomplished had not, as of yet, been discovered, but we did find out where to start looking.
As a rather strong and powerful occult foursome, we began to put out "feelers" for more information about just who, or what, was responsible. It would not happen overnight, but retribution or Karma would be served in the best possible of ways.
When I was deemed fit for returning to work, a year had passed. In that time, I'd moved back to Chicago where my family was. My mother surprised me by purchasing a condo for me in a prestigious area and leasing a car that she knew I would enjoy. She'd even bought me a cat to keep me company while I was not traveling.
So I began another chapter in my life. I was going to throw myself into my work with the Bureau, and try to find peace along the way.
Hopefully, in the process, I'd come across the trail of those who'd taken my family away from me and bring them to justice. I would never stop until the murders of my family were brought to retribution, and Karma served.