The Elite, page 11
She looked hesitant, but still eager to help. “All right, which fraternity?”
“Tri Zeta.”
The woman's eyes shut as soon as Annie said “Tri.” It was a question she'd no doubt been asked a thousand times before.
“I'm sorry dear. I don't have any information on them.”
Annie leaned forward on the counter with her palms upturned. “Ma'am, I'm sorry, but how do you not have any information on them? They're one of the most popular fraternities around.” Most popular might have been a bad choice of words, but it was the simplest way of saying it she could come up with.
“Sweetie, it's like I said, I have no information on them. I know who they are, but I can't help you. They like to keep their little group very hush hush, if you follow me.”
“What about their annual write up? Aren't all frats and sororities subjected to inspection to make sure everything's on the up and up?”
The large woman sighed. Judging by the sweat on her brow she was clearly uncomfortable talking about them.
“Those records are up on three,” she said, “but don't think you'll find anything on Tri Zeta. I've looked, dear, trust me I've looked. It's not there.”
Annie thanked her, went to the elevator, and hit the button marked 3.
Half a minute later the doors opened on the third floor. She stepped out, her footsteps muffled by the thin carpet. The smell of paper was in the still air; the silence like that of a crypt. Before her were rows and rows of files and records. Reference books, the kind you couldn't check out, found their homes off to the left in an open area. She exited and immediately felt that urge to be as quiet as possible that often accompanies libraries, as though at any moment a librarian will put a finger to her lips. Shh. Being up here was like being in space, completely cut off from the rest of the building. On the third floor, she thought, no one can hear you scream.
She made her way down a seemingly endless row of files and folders. School records dating back to the early 1900's adorned the shelves, but what she was looking for had its own section at the end of the row. Here she found several thousand files on various fraternities and sororities that had set up residence throughout the years. Annie slid a finger along the folders, examining the plastic tabs that showed what each one contained. The T's were located near the bottom. She dropped to one knee on the carpet.
And thanks to that carpet, never heard the footsteps coming up behind her. She screamed when a hand fell upon her shoulder.
“My goodness!” a woman shouted, nearly stumbling back. Annie turned to face her. She was gray-haired, late sixties probably, her blouse barely hiding the sagging boobs underneath. She had a hand pressed to her chest and a look of shock on her face.
Annie caught her breath and shut her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she said, “I'm so sorry. You scared the crap out of me.”
The old woman smiled, revealing a mouth full of dentures. “I'm quite sorry myself. I didn't mean to startle you.” She looked at the bottom shelf, to where Annie had removed a particular folder. “Might I ask what you're looking for?”
“Nothing,” Annie said, “Just a little information on a local frat. My boyfriend just signed up and I--”
“Tri Zeta?” the old woman said.
Annie's eyes lit up. “Yes, but how did you--”
“You didn't close the window on the computer downstairs, hon. I didn't want to pry, but most folks tend to stay away from them. Are you sure it was Tri Zeta your boyfriend applied to?”
“He didn't apply,” she said, “it's more like he was drafted.”
She gave a solemn nod of understanding. “Well, you won't find much here. As far as I know, no public record is kept on the Tri Zeta boys. But if you want an old lady's opinion, and no one ever does, you should tell your boyfriend to leave them far behind. Nothing good ever came from them.”
“Yeah. I guess that's why I'm here. I was hoping to find something to get him away from them.”
The old woman had a sudden look of understanding; the kind usually reserved for when someone realizes they're among friends.
“What did you say your name was?”
“I didn't. It's Annie. Annie Salm.”
“Rose,” the old woman said, “Rose Harris.”
Annie offered her hand, and Rose happily shook it. “Nice to meet you, Rose.”
“Come with me,” Rose said, that friendly look of understanding never fading from her face. “I have something to show you.”
Annie was hesitant, but there was something about Rose that she trusted instinctively. Maybe it was her age, or maybe her calm demeanor. Maybe she just sounded like an honest person. Either way, Annie followed her through an EMPLOYEES ONLY door, and down a concrete hallway. It was similar to the maintenance corridors she'd been through when working at the mall back home. Long stretches of drab concrete with light bulbs dangling from overhead wires. At the end of the hall stood a large green door. The kind of door to which you'd never give a second look. Nothing back there but brooms and cleaning supplies, no doubt. Rose opened the door and held it for Annie. The room beyond was dark, but a flick of a switch brought it to life. Here there were filing cabinets, a table stacked three feet high with books, and a microfilm reader.
“Your office?” Annie asked.
“You could say that. I've done a bit of private research back here, mostly with campus history. I used to attend Bryerson, you know. Class of '59. When all my friends moved on to start their lives, I stayed behind. I guess I've never left.”
“No offense, but it's hard to believe anyone would want to stay here.”
“Oh I had my reasons...”
Annie grinned. “What was his name?”
She ignored the question and walked to the microfilm machine. “You said you were looking for Tri Zeta. What you're looking for you'll find here.” She picked up a cardboard box that looked to be filled with rolls of microfilm. So filled, in fact, that it strained her to lift it.
“Here,” Annie said, about to help.
“I'm fine.” With the box on the table she started rummaging through it. “I can't say you'll like what you see, and I can't verify the accuracy of what you might find...just know one thing. If anyone asks, you were never here. You never saw any of this, and I never showed you. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Rose removed one reel of film in particular and handed it over. “Start here. When you're done, please lock the door.”
Annie thanked her and sat down. As Rose went to leave she said one thing more.
“Tell your boyfriend to stay away from them. Tell him to stay far away.”
She left, the door clicking shut behind her. Annie looked at the roll of microfilm and noted the label on the side of the canister.
MISSING PERSONS: 1979-2010
NINE
Trey had dozed off at his desk, but awoke to a knock at his door. It was only 8:00 pm, but he'd been asleep for at least three hours. He couldn't remember drifting off and awoke with the confusion of where he was. Through the peephole he saw Annie looking back at him. Even with the distorted image that gave her face an hourglass shape, he could see she was noticeably upset.
He opened the door. “Hey. You okay?”
“I need you to come with me.”
“Are you--”
“Please.”
Something in her eyes told him it was serious. He grabbed his coat and followed her.
They walked to the commuter lounge in the student center, a place that was peacefully devoid of company. They sat on a yellow couch against the far wall, beside a window overlooking the parking lot. From here they could see the open land that surrounded the campus. It was no wonder the commuter lounge was so desolate. It was almost a sixty-mile trip to and from town. The only commuters were a few locals that didn't want to pay the housing fee to stay on campus.
“So what's going on?” Trey asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
She leaned closer, as though having any space between them could allow this sensitive information to escape. “If I told you something, something crazy, and swore to you on my soul it was the truth, would you believe me?”
Hell of a question, but he nodded. “Sure.”
“No,” she said, “Not sure. Would you believe me?”
“Yes.”
She looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity there. He was a good guy, and a good friend. But what she had to say she couldn't trust with just anyone. Just by telling him she might be putting him in danger.
“I found some old records on Tri Zeta, things they'd rather just disappear.”
“What kind of records?”
“Unexplained deaths, accidents, all things they tried to sweep under the rug. And for the most part, they did. No official record of Tri Zeta exists.”
Trey held back a laugh. “They're a little eccentric, and I don't doubt a little fucked up, but how the hell can they cover things up?”
“You tell me,” she said, “You warned Devon not to join them. If there's something you know and you're not telling...”
“There's nothing. I mean, besides what I've heard. But come on, you can't honestly believe all the rumors and shit that people come up with. I just think Devon should be careful. Who knows, they might want him to sacrifice a goat or something.”
“Or something.” Her lips tightened, she looked away. She felt like she was about to throw up.
“Hey, come on, what is it? What's bothering you?”
She dug into a black bag that sat beside her. From it she removed a manilla folder with several sheets of paper sticking out. She handed it to him without explanation.
The cover of it read: MISSING PERSONS 1999
Trey took it. “What the hell?”
Inside were several articles, the first of which one that caught his eye.
STUDENT – 19 – MISSING FOR SEVEN DAYS
“Annie, what's this all about?”
“Read it.” And he did. When he finished, she reiterated the key elements.
“A boy who got into a fight with the Tri Zetas went missing. Here's another,” she said, turning the page to a new article. “This time a body turned up near the Old Road Bridge not far from here. It washed up on shore with seventeen stab wounds.”
“Okay. But this is from almost ten years ago. And what the hell does it--”
“They both had altercations with Tri Zeta. The brothers were questioned but nothing ever came of it. Nothing ever comes of it.” She flipped through the pages for him, revealing more and more missing persons. Trey's face was stoic as his eyes scanned through each article.
“You think Tri Zeta covered these up? That they're a bunch of--”
“I don't know. But anyone that crosses them turns up dead or missing. And then the records of it are wiped clean. I couldn't even search for them at the library--it's like they've cut themselves off from the world.”
Trey handed the folder back to her. “Annie, I said I would believe you, and I do. I believe you found something damned interesting to show to Devon, but it really doesn't prove anything.”
“Professor Murphy,” she said, although speaking his name formed a knot in her stomach. “He...” she tried to think of the right way to say it, “He had an altercation with them. Where is he now?”
Trey leaned closer and lowered his voice. “...you said it yourself, the creep tried to attack you. The dean probably booted his ass to Alaska. Shit, can you imagine what would happen if he let it go? The school would be finished.”
“Just like that? One day he's here, one day he's not?”
“Yeah. Just like that. I mean, you're either fired or your not fired. Murphy probably got the hell out before his name got dragged through the mud.”
“What about Danny Tomms?” she asked, “Did you hear about him?”
He shook his head.
“A friend of mine was in English Lit with him. He went missing a month or so ago. Never been seen since.”
“So?”
“So there are a lot of people that go missing. Most never turn up. Those that do are usually dead.”
Trey shook his head, “You’re taking this too seriously.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.” He put his hand on top of hers. It took her by surprise, but she didn't remove it. “Just let this go. I'll talk to Devon again, make sure this is what he really wants to do. He's not going to do anything stupid, trust me.”
“Trey, one last thing.” She handed over another sheet of paper. It was another article from a local paper, this one dated 2001.
“What's this?”
INITIATION BY MURDER? - FREDERICK FITZGERALD. The headline read.
Trey let out a nervous laugh, “You think their initiation is murder?”
“No, they do.” She tapped the paper with her finger. “That reporter, Fitzgerald, wrote three more stories just like that. Each documented Tri Zeta and what they were really up to, at least until...”
“Let me guess,” Trey said, “He went missing.”
She nodded.
Trey patted her hand once more and stood. “I'll keep an eye on Devon. Try not to worry too much, okay? I'm sure this is nothing.”
Trey went to leave, but she stopped him by saying one thing more.
“Who's Raven?”
Trey turned on the heels of his feet, “Raven?”
“The Fitzgerald articles talk about a leader of Tri Zeta. Someone given the name Raven. Who is he? Is it Sage?”
Trey shook his head, “Ya got me.”
“I need to find out.”
The color faded from Trey's face. “Come on Annie, please, just let this go. You don't want to push these guys if you don't have to.”
“Everyone talks about this Raven guy like he's some sort of god. If I knew he was just some college guy with bad skin and glasses I'd probably feel a lot better. Until then, this whole thing freaks me out.”
Trey sighed. It was obvious her mind had been made up long ago.
“I'll see what I can find,” he said, “But don't get your hopes up. As far as I can tell, no one knows who Raven is. He could be the god damn dean for all we know.”
“I know. But I have to find out. Devon hasn't been himself lately.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. But like I said, don't get yourself too worked up. I'm sure this is nothing.”
“Thanks Trey.”
He smiled, nodded, and went for the door.
In the hall, a figure in black decided he'd heard enough.
Night.
An autumn breeze chilled Devon to the bone. He walked in his long, black coat (a gift from the brothers) through the open grasslands surrounding Bryerson University. The school itself was now far enough behind him to be only a few twinkling lights on the horizon. Out here things were quiet, deserted, isolated. Birds, or probably bats, cast themselves across the night sky. Trees rustled, and the grass moved in slow, steady waves. Out here, miles from the school, Devon saw a campfire. It was just beside the Old Road Bridge. The very bridge he'd crossed on his way that first night at Bryerson.
He walked slowly, mindful of every footstep. Out here there were likely to be rocks and crevices unseen to the naked eye with nothing but moonlight to lead the way.
He found his brothers sitting on the incline that led down to the river just beside the bridge. Their fire had been carefully nestled among an outcropping of rocks. The flames licked the night air like flags caught in a breeze. The light produced flickered and faded, casting moving, ghostly shadows on the rocky walls.
Devon appeared just above them.
“Devon!” Sage said. The other brothers came over to greet him, slapping him on the arm and patting him on the shoulder. All but James. He sat alone at the side of the river, skimming stones across the water.
“James,” Sage said, “Get over here.”
“Good where I am, thanks.”
Sage decided not to push him. If Devon and James could at least sit in the same general area without going for each others throats, that was a start.
Devon sat on a boulder half buried in the ground. He accepted a beer from Kail, twisted it open, and chugged down half of it in a single swig.
“Glad you could join us,” Sage said.
“Kinda cold out here,” Devon replied.
“Fuckin A right,” Carter said.
Devon kept an eye on James for the first twenty minutes he was there, but soon realized he was harmless. Sage's message to him about accepting Devon--whether he liked it or not--apparently got through loud and clear.
The brothers spent their time laughing it up, throwing rocks in the river, and simply reveling in their status. Devon eventually grew tired, and a bit bored. He helped himself to another beer, making that beer number five, and walked a bit further down the riverbed. Sage followed.
“What's on your mind?” Sage asked.
Devon kept his head down and his free hand tucked in his pocket. There was a lot on his mind. “Annie I guess.”
“What about her?”
Devon shrugged.
“Ah come on now, something's on your mind. Let's hear it.”
“I've never been the popular guy, ya know? I've never gotten to the front of the line or sat in the front row. Honestly, I thought Annie would like that. I mean, hell, she was with Curt for Christ's sake.”
Sage gave a long, slow, understanding nod. “Well, she was afraid of Curt, and didn't want to piss him off. She's not afraid of you.”
There was a moment where Devon almost took that as an insult, but he quickly changed his mind. “Good. I mean, I don't want her afraid of me. But...”
“You want a little respect?”
Devon paused at the thought. “Well, no. I just want to know when I became the bad guy.”
“You never became the bad guy. It's something you just have to get used to. Being with us, being one of us, people are going to hate you. They're going to look at you like you're some snobby, stuck up prick who thinks the world owes him something. Is that what you are?”
