Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Laurel
I obey The Order. You obey me.
I obey The Order. You obey me.
I obey The Order. You obey me.
Carrson’s words from the morning cycle on repeat in my mind all day. The more I think about our conversation, the more questions I’m left with.
What exactly is The Order? Who runs it? What happens if someone disobeys? Are my professors in on it, since they’re giving Carrson A’s for not showing up? Is Carrson at the top of the pyramid or just a well-dressed pawn with great abs? What does more mean? More power? More control? More what?
It’s like I’ve been dropped into the middle of a novel everyone else has already read, every twist spoiled, every character assigned, and I’m the only person still flipping through Chapter One, trying to catch up before the ending blindsides me.
My unease isn’t helped by Stevenson, who follows me around all day. He’s creepy as hell, always lurking ten feet behind, blending in with shadows and dodging around trees. Close enough that every time I look up, he’s there but too far away for me to talk to him.
In lectures, one of Carrson’s brothers always ends up near me.
Front row. Back row. Two seats over. Doesn’t matter.
I used to overlook them, just more entitled jocks in letterman jackets, but now that I’m paying attention, it hits me.
Not a single class passes without one of them present, and the way they cluster around me doesn’t feel random.
No. It feels planned or, worse, assigned.
Like there’s a “Watch Laurel” chore chart taped to the wall of the frat house, and they each get a gold star for taking a shift.
A few weeks ago, I was sulking about how no one knew or cared about me.
Now?
I’d give anything to go back to that sweet, carefree anonymity.
In my organic chemistry class, I take a seat near the back.
One of the fraternity brothers sits down next to me, the closest any of them have gotten so far.
I recognize him. He was right behind Carrson on that first night when I delivered the pizza.
Smaller build, light-brown hair, hazel eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses.
He gives me a brief nod and then faces forward with his hands neatly folded as he waits for the lecture to begin.
All day, these frat guys have stalked me, but none of them have actually spoken to me. I decide it’s time to change that.
I twist in my seat and stick out my hand like I’m running for Student Council. “Hi! I’m Laurel.” I beam, giving him my best let’s be friends smile, the one I haven’t used since senior prom. It feels weird on my face, like a mask I forgot how to wear, but I force myself to hold it.
He startles like I’ve thrown a knife instead of a greeting.
After a long blink, he hesitantly reaches over and shakes my hand, his grip gentle like he doesn’t want to hurt me. “Thomson. Nice to meet you.”
“You live in the house, right? The plantation-looking one. With—uh—me?” I ask, like I’m not fully aware we’re technically roommates, or housemates, or whatever.
“Yeah, since freshman year,” he answers.
“What’s the deal with that place?” I continue brightly. “Is it like Hogwarts for future senators? Or more Eyes Wide Shut but with better lighting?”
“What?” Thomson glances around like he’s expecting someone to pop out and yell gotcha.
I press on. “How do you know what to do?” I pause.
“You know…the rules. The expectations. Who decides what.” I take a breath, try to sort out which questions are the most important.
“I’m just curious, you know, since I live there now and all.
So far, no one’s really explained anything.
Like what exactly is The Order? Why do you have to obey it? ”
The effect is instantaneous.
Thomson snaps his head toward me, eyes wide, the blood draining from his face. “Who said that word to you?”
“Which one?” The smile slips off my face, “Rules? Obey? Order?”
“The Order,” he whispers so softly I can barely hear him.
“Carrson mentioned it this morning, but he didn’t explain what it was.”
Thomson rubs his hand over his face, groaning. “He shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why?” I whisper, becoming alarmed.
Thomson hisses, low and urgent. “You can’t ever say that word in public. I’m serious. You don’t understand.”
“I’d like to,” I say, my tone still light, but my pulse is hammering. “That’s kind of the whole problem.”
He glances left and then right, like he’s checking to make sure no one heard. Since the closest person is two rows ahead, we’re most likely in the clear.
At the front of the room, the professor clears her throat and begins her lecture, asking us to open our books to Chapter Twelve.
Thomson turns away from me. He stares straight ahead. Doesn’t meet my eyes. Barely moving his lips, he mutters out the side of his mouth, “Meet me after class.” A beat. “I’ll tell you what I can.”
***
The minute class ends, I stand. So does Thomson. We don’t speak. He just gives me a look, tight, unreadable, and heads toward the side exit. I follow, slinging my bag over my shoulder, heart pounding in my ears.
He leads me down a back hallway and out onto a side path behind the biology building, where the trees are thick and no one ever goes unless they’re smoking or hiding.
He stops beside an old stone bench, its surface streaked with moss and spotted green with lichen, like something pulled from a crumbling garden behind wrought-iron gates.
Thomson glances around until he spots Stevenson.
They have some kind of unspoken conversation that ends with Thomson jerking his chin back toward the main campus.
Stevenson nods once and turns, disappearing without a word.
I’d assumed Thomson wasn’t that important.
He seemed like one of the quieter ones, but the way Stevenson followed his silent order without hesitation?
Yeah, I might need to reevaluate who’s actually pulling the strings around here.
He turns to me and says, “What do you know? Let’s start there.”
I shrug, trying to sound casual. “Not much.” A beat and then I say, “I know what I hear, that your fraternity runs everything around here. The school. The town. That you control all the illegal stuff. Drugs. Guns. Gambling.”
He says nothing, just watches.
“I know what I see,” I continue. “You’re all rich.
Good-looking. Privileged. At first, I figured you were just spoiled brats throwing around daddy’s money and always getting your way.
” I pause, swallowing. “Then I saw…that man. When I delivered pizza.” I glance at him.
“Carrson, he keeps talking about bonds, obey, and The Order.”
My voice drops, quieter now. “It made me realize how much I don’t know. I’m going to be around for a year. I feel like I need to have at least a basic understanding, so I don’t get myself, or you, into trouble.”
Thomson stretches his legs and stares down at his shoes like he’s weighing something. Like he’s deciding just how much rope he can give me without hanging us both.
“What you said was true,” Thomson says quietly. “The Order controls everything. All the illegal stuff and most of the legal things too, but there’s a lot more to it. I can’t tell you everything, and, honestly, there’s a lot even I don’t know. They keep things from us until we’re older.”
“Who’s they?”
“The Fathers.”
“You mean your dads?”
“Yes, but it’s more formal than that.” He glances at me.
“They’re the Fathers, and we’re the Sons.
Over at the sorority house, it’s the same, Mothers and Daughters.
Together, we make up The Order, an organization that goes back hundreds of years.
Pilgrim days. Most of us can trace our ancestry back to when this land was first colonized and even earlier. The Mayflower.”
He pauses, watching me.
“The town and the college, they know we have control. They follow our lead because they like the results and they’re afraid of the consequences if they disobey, but they don’t know about The Order specifically. Not really.”
“What’s the goal?” I ask. “To make money?”
“Money’s just a byproduct of what we do.
” He leans back, his voice steady. “The main goal is power. Our members hold positions in government, business, and law enforcement. Every industry. Here, across the state, even globally. Every year, we don’t grow in size, we grow in influence.
We’re trained to help each other, to boost each other, so we all climb higher. ”
“Like a rich guy version of you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“But why?” I ask. “More power, more money, for what? What’s the endgame?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitates. “There are rumors of a higher purpose, something long-term about building a perfect world, whatever that means. There’s a chant they make us learn, starting from when we’re young.” He points a finger at me and says, “You can never, I mean never, repeat this, okay?”
He waits until I nod in agreement, then Thomson straightens. He sits up tall. In a deep voice, low and steady, like he’s reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, he recites:
“We are THE ORDER.
We BOND in blood.
We rise in POWER.
We seek PERFECTION.”
The words send a chill down my spine.
“What does that mean?” I ask, exasperated.
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. They keep it vague.
Don’t give us details. Not yet. Right now, we’re foot soldiers.
We’re trained from birth, both the Sons and the Daughters, to fight, shoot, handle knives.
They make sure we’re lethal. When we’re older, we get orders from the Fathers, and we follow them. ”
“No questions asked?”
He nods, slowly.
I stare at him. “What kind of orders?” A beat. “Like…to kill people?”
His silence is deafening.
I go still. “Is that why Carrson murdered that guy?” My voice drops. “Did a Father tell him to do it?”