Work Text:
CNN BREAKING NEWS: New Details Emerge Surrounding Edgar Allen Investigation.
Jeremy: its nothing
Jeremy: same old story
Jeremy: come downstairs, Alverez made dinner
r/Exy
r/TheNest
user555834
look in this screencap from their game against the Bearcats you can see his fingers are taped
exyworld81
shit your right.
exyworld81
and here #17 is limping before the game even starts
gamer4life
managed to fine a clip of an old little league game, check the bruise on his leg
user555834
how did no one notice?
exyworld81
ohmigod
exyworld81
you can see him puke off screen and he keeps playing
user555834
holy fuck
NBC BREAKING NEWS: Tetsuji Moriyama Speaks Out Amid Leaked Autopsy Report “...the harassment of my family is sick and unfounded...”
David Wymack: Andrew don’t let Kevin look at the news
David Wymack: Call me. Now.
“I’ll see him when I’m in hell” An Exposé on The Nest: Edgar Allen’s biggest secret .
Talia Nguyen
The hospital is a sterile environment, bright white lights and yellowed linoleum. I can’t help but recognize its lack of color opposes the dark images taken at the so-called “Nest” (see fig. a). Located under Edgar Allen Universities Exy Stadium, ‘The Nest’ housed the notorious Ravens, an elite Exy team known for foul play and their numerous championship titles. While many athletes filtered through ‘The Nest’ over the past decades, who were the people keeping it running? What truths may they expose on this institution shrouded in mystery?
William Stevenson, former member of Edgar Allen University’s janitorial staff, has agreed to meet with me out of no obligation nor compensation. I arrived at his hospital room in the early hours of morning, before the sun rose, by his request.
“I do best in the mornings” he stated. “And I have a feeling I’ll be talking all day.”
Drowsy nurses shuffle down the hallways as the hospital never really sleeps. The beep of the heart monitor greets me as I enter Stevenson’s room. Hooked up to an I.V. drip, he still gives me a hearty wave, gesturing to the chair beside his bed. He’s made it clear that while he remains in the hospital, it is purely hospice care.
“I don’t have any family left to take care of me” he says simply. “That’s part of why I can talk to you, not much someone can do to me for opening my mouth.”
I ask him what he means by that, if he feels threatened by anyone. Stevenson waves my question away.
“Forget about me. I won’t justify my actions by saying I was afraid to speak up. Who cares if I was? It’s those kids you want to hear about right?”
I tell him I’d appreciate anything he wishes to tell me and then ask if he’s referring to the players.
“Yeah, I suppose they were all kids, huh?” Stevenson’s words cut off as he has a coughing fit, one of many throughout the interview. He declines assistance, and after with a few self-applied chest thumps he is determined to continue.
“No, I mean the actual children. Well, they were. Now they’re all grown up.” Stevenson laughs. “It started with R (names have been redacted for privacy). He was there when I started working, what was it? 15 years ago! Shit, I’m old. Yeah, there was never a time he wasn’t around. He had nannies when he was that young, but by the time K showed up, they were all on their own.”
(fig. a)
(A dark hallway. A stain in the corner of the image has been marked for evidence.)
“So, yeah. You got a kindergartener growing up in a place like that, if you can believe it. He was like a little ghost. He always wanted to be by [----] side, but you could tell he wasn’t supposed to be. Gave those poor nannies the slip more just about every time I saw him. I suppose that’s probably the only times I would see him. I worked nights and I would see him tiptoeing around. Saw him get caught too. [----] busted his lip open. At least the kid still cried back then, it was worse to see them just take it.”
The timeline is getting confusing at this point, so I ask Stevenson to clarify.
“Yeah, of course. The first three years, it was just R. He quieted down by the time K showed up. That’s when thing really changed. He had a friend, I was happy for him. Never had kids of my own, but seemed like a good thing, for a kid to be around people his own age. Those two where little spit fires, again, sneaking out of their room at night while I was cleaning up. But they didn’t get caught anymore.”
“It was still rough, seeing the bruises on those kids. At least with the players, they’re almost grown up, have thicker skin. But what were the boys at this point, ten?”
But it didn’t last. As the years went by, I knew it was going bad. I think it was the start of the “perfect court” bullshit. R and K, they thought they were special. Like they were ‘chosen’. They made a game of it, drawing numbers on each other’s faces, challenging the older players.”
I asked him how the older players took it.
“At that point, they were still too young to be taken seriously, but yeah after a few years some of the players didn’t take it so easily. But I guess that’s when J showed up. Things were already turning rotten before then. R had been happy to have a friend but that wore off and he realized that K wasn’t just a companion, but someone lower than him, someone he could spit on.
I ask if he means figuratively or literally. Stevenson shrugs.
“K was family. They were friends, you know, if you hit your friends. Nah, it was fucked up. Maybe not from the start, but it got there eventually. Nothing compared to everything with J though.”
Stevenson’s eyes darken. A nurse brings in styrofoam cups of tea for us. He sips his tea and continues.
“Sure, K cried at first, his mom had died for Pete’s sake. But he got with the program quick, he figured out the game. J didn’t.”
“Perhaps that’s not fair. He was also too young when he got there. They were all 13 then? 14? The years can blend together, when you get old like me. J was always a tall kid though, skin and bones. I don’t remember when I first saw him, but, oh, I heard him. I knew it was him because of the French. Screamed himself hoarse, I could hear it over the vacuum.”
Who would exert these punishments? I asked. Stevenson grimaces.
“On the players? It was always [----] back then, or each other. But with J... Look, I know [----] put R up to it. That’s why things went the way they did. [----] knew his players, he beat them like dogs but somehow, they came back more loyal. Part of me thinks [----] knew them better than he knew R. Maybe he wouldn’t have given J to him if he knew... I don’t know what R did to tame him back then, but it took too long.”
What did he mean, give J to R? Stevenson’s answer was simple.
“I mean just that. Or at least that was I was led to believe when I heard him say it. One night, R had dragged him into the hall, kicked him in the stomach. J was making all these noises, like he couldn’t breathe, like he was going to throw up. He looked up at me as I walked by and R said ‘you’re mine. He’s not going to help you. You belong to me.’”
Stevenson takes a moment after this, drinking more tea.
“Now you see why I’m talking to you. People knew it was bad. I knew it was bad. Should’ve said something then, but shit, I guess whoever hired me really knew how to pick ‘em. There’s no place else that would hire me with a salary even remotely close to what Edgar Allen offered. I was lucky to get hired period, with my history. Jail was hard, but I’d rather there then be one of those players.”
I ask about the public appearances, the grooming for success.
“Well obviously they were talented. They better have been with the way they worked ‘em. All those night practices... I’ve tried to keep away from the news stories, but they’re right about those 16 hour days. Anyways, I may not know much about Exy, but I didn’t need to in order to know how much R and K were revered.”
And J?
“Like I said before, it took him longer. I don’t even know if he spoke English when he got there and he fought like hell to leave. I was glad for the screaming to stop but I was stupid for thinking it was over.”
Stevenson pauses again, considering his words. He apologizes to me, for what he’s about to say.
“The violence...At this point, I was used to cleaning up blood. A few drops on the carpet, blood-soaked towels from bloody noses and laundering clothes stained from when [----] decided to beat any one of them with that awful cane of his.”
I ask if he means the players or R, K and J.
“Both. I mean with the players… The blood was on their gear, it was on the court, everywhere. It’s the nature of the sport, sure, but I think it was excessive.”
I tell him the Raven games are known for bloodshed. He nods.
“Their practices run the same way.”
“But what I was saying before, things...escalated. R had been taught how to hurt people from when I first saw him in the Nest as a five-year-old. He watched people just destroy each other on the court. [----] showed him too, whether he meant to or not. Those beatings were a lesson in more ways than one. Even when R got to try it out on K, there were limits. He was family, he was a friend, he was a future Raven. I don’t know if R ever saw J as any of those things. I doubt it though, I don’t think if anyone could see someone as a person and go on to treat them in the way he did.”
Stevenson is visually struggling at this point. I ask him if he wants to take a break. He asks me to open the blinds and crack the window. The sun has risen. We can hear the birds. He continues.
“That’s when I started having to scrub blood out of the shower drains. There was more than just specks on the tiles or the occasional ‘freak accident’ during practice. There was blood oozing from the carpet, splattered on the walls, in the sheets.”
Stevenson shakes his head.
“Every night I’d go in there and expect to find him dead. The things they would do to that boy...”
Which boy?
“J”
What did they do?
“I- They were sixteen. J was getting the hang of it, or so I thought. Half my memories I think I just lied to myself to, I don’t know, make myself feel better? I guess J did complybetter than before. But then something went wrong- he did something wrong. God, I would never know what actually happened, I would only see the aftermath.”
“The state of the room, it was disgusting. Hearing it was bad enough but being in there. It was-it was fresh. Seeing it, smelling it… I’m sorry, I can’t relive it anymore. I’m just thankful he got out, I hope it’s not too late for him.”
Why did R do it?
“Who knows. But I know why they did.”
They?
“The other players. God, did I not say? That was half of it. After he got that tattoo, I mean, he was #1. R had so much power he could say anything to any of the players and they would just do it.
Even K?
Stevenson falters.
“Yes. From what I saw, yes. But I didn’t see everything. It’s sick to say but I’m grateful for that. You can’t tell when it’s night or day in The Nest, but when I left, I could always see the sun shining.”
“One time I was cleaning the locker room and I heard the shower still running. I walked in to turn it off, no one was supposed to be there. J was on the ground. I thought that was it, that he was dead, that it finally happened. I had this sinking feeling that...never mind.”
I urge him to finish his thought.
“I was just thinking ‘no one’s gonna know what happened to this kid. They’re gonna hide it.’ I don’t know why I thought it, but... Then I saw him take a breath. I dragged him out of the shower, it was ice cold. I was panicking, just a second before I thought he was gone. I wrap him up in some towels, the kid’s not making any sense. Black and blue all over. Couldn’t fucking stand, couldn’t speak hardly with a swollen lip and broken teeth. Must’ve chipped them on the tile.”
“I’d never spoken to any of them before, I wasn’t allowed. It was in the contract, believe it or not, but now I was just babbling to this poor boy. Anything that came to mind, that he was going to be okay, that I was going to help him, he just needed to warm up, get himself dried off and he would be okay. What a lie, what a lie.”
And after that?
“I hate to say it, I really do, but I think that’s what it took. He got it together. From that point on he fell in line, you could say. Got inked shortly after, made himself untouchable. What else can you do in a situation like that.”
Did J ever hurt anyone?
“I don’t think he was allowed to. At least not off the court. On the court, I mean, I don’t have to tell you.”
So he wasn’t involved in the breaking of K’s hand.
“Oh God, no. As soon as he heard the screaming, I’m sure he heard the same time as me, he ran out the door. He tried to hide it. Imagine that, pretending to care less when your -friend? teammate?- is screaming their lungs out. But he had to. So he slowed down before he left the common room. I kept wiping the same spot on the counter, I wasn’t even trying to wait, not really. But then they came back, blood drizzling down his arm and onto the carpet I just vaccumed. It had been years since I’d seen K cry and he was a mess.”
Did J get him out?
“Sort of... I heard him begging, K was. ‘If you were ever my friend, you’ll distract him.’ And J did, whatever made him, who knows. Maybe he didn’t know K was gonna run. J paid for it later. K left a trail of blood as he left. I cleaned it up before anyone saw.”
So, you helped him escape?
“No. I can’t say that. That’s giving me too much credit.”
When did you stop working at The Nest?
“The next night, believe it or not. J got his punishment, and I was on clean up duty. I passed out, my heart gave up. It was a long time coming, I haven’t exactly treated my body well all my years. I woke up on the floor. The kid was still in the room, I didn’t even realize. My last memory of The Nest is him trying to help me. His hands were fucked up, his fingers bent all wrong. I think he remembered the time in the locker room. He told me hold on and that help was coming.”
Stevenson trails off, moved by the memory.
“I tried to stay away from the news after that. Only so much you can do about it at the end of the day, but I was glad to hear K was with a new team. Now the word is that J got out too. Maybe I can die happy now, be at peace and all that.”
And R?
“Yeah, I saw that. A lot of people mourning him, maybe I would too if I could picture him as that little kid again. That’s hard. I’ve cleaned up too much blood, I’ve scrubbed that image away. Now... I guess I’ll see him when I’m in hell.”
Powerful words, I’m taken aback. Stevenson notices.
“There’s gotta be some sort of penance for what I didn’t do, right? If I share this, maybe more people will speak up. Maybe they’ll be justice. Or maybe not. You never know with these things.”
We sit together a moment longer, in case he has anything else to add. He thanks me for the visit. I ask if he has any questions for me and he thinks for a moment before asking when the Trojans play next. I pull up the schedule and tell him they play the Foxes next week.
“I may have to stay around a bit longer to catch that” he states before we part ways.