Our Illustrious Charter
We, the inaugural members of the Black Raptor Society, hereby present the charter of our esteemed organization. Let it be known to all who follow in our footsteps that each member of the Black Raptor Society shall epitomize the qualities thus defined by our fraternity: Loyalty. Integrity. Passion. Wisdom. Strength.
The charter went on to address each of the aforementioned qualities in an alarming amount of detail. The gist of it was clear. To be awarded membership with the Black Raptor Society was a high honor at Waverly, despite its disreputable methods of bolstering its “brothers” through the university’s ranks. Those involved considered themselves above the honor code and above the law. If this were not apparent in the body of the charter, the last disclaimer at the bottom of the page cleared up any doubts for the reader:
Our society exists to benefit those within our brotherhood. That which one brother achieves, we all achieve. That which one brother accomplishes, we all accomplish. That which is given to one brother is given to all brothers. That which is not given to our brothers, we must seize by force.
Beneath the morally ambiguous closing statement, the original members of BRS had all printed and signed their names in loopy, ostentatious chirography, as though each of them were a Founding Father and believed their document as righteous as the Declaration. I took out my smartphone, which had no service underground, and snapped a picture of the charter and the names of the original members. Then I flipped through the rest of the volume. For every year since the Black Raptor Society’s conception, its new members had signed their name in the book. Some of them had etched the words “council member” next to their signatures, and every few pages, one name boasted the title “Chief of Council.” I took note of the pattern of surnames, especially when a new Lockwood or Davenport joined BRS’s noble ranks, then skipped a few generations to reach the latest list of members. Orson Lockwood was the current Chief of Council, and Donovan Davenport was a council member. I took several photos of the most recent signatures then closed the book and laid it to rest in its original position on the table.
I browsed through the rest of the library, checking my watch every few minutes to make sure that I wasn’t spending too much time in BRS’s clubhouse. It was unlikely that their business hours were the regular nine-to-five, and the last thing I needed was for one of its members to clock in and discover me rifling through their private business. Swiftly, I combed the other material within the room, pausing here and there to investigate anything of interest. It was more of what O’Connor had already discovered. The Black Raptor Society kept tabs on all of their activity. They had catalogued newspaper articles, bank logs, student records, spreadsheets, and even personal journal entries written by the members themselves. These in particular attracted my attention, as they often explained the necessity of some sordid plot or another in order to further BRS’s impact on the local society. Again, I located the more recent entries and skimmed through them. When Jo Mitchell’s name appeared in hastily scrawled handwriting, I paused and backtracked to decipher the journalist’s notes. Unlike the others’ entries, this member of BRS wrote in short spurts of bullet notes rather than long, detailed paragraphs.
-Applied for job in student record office in order to access Jo Mitchell’s files. Waiting to hear back. Dean Hastings to encourage office to accept my employment.
-Secured position in record office. Starting Monday.
-First day. Trainees not permitted to access current records. Must find work-around.
-Second week in record office. Still no luck. Dean Hastings promised to look into it.
-Phished the secretary’s login information. Too easy.
-Dean Hastings “dropped” record office key; returning tonight to assess situation.
-Caper successful. Accessed records no problem. Security interrupted. Will complete task tomorrow.
-Altered Jo Mitchell’s grades. Donovan’s to follow. Inform Dr. Thornton to remain on call for Mitchell’s reaction.
The frown on my face intensified as I realized what I was reading. This was the beginning of the end for Jo Mitchell’s college career. The Black Raptor Society had engineered her breakdown from the very beginning, and from the looks of it, Dean Hastings and Dr. Thornton, the school psychiatrist, were both in on it. The entry went on to log Jo’s reactions to her inexplicable accelerated failure and the decline of her mental health, until finally the journalist concluded with:
-Jo Mitchell contained and under surveillance. Donovan to graduate valedictorian tomorrow.
Lauren Lockwood. 8 May 2015.
The princess of the Black Raptor Society herself had been in charge of Jo Mitchell’s academic defeat. As Orson Lockwood’s daughter, the fact that she was in charge of such a task shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but the sight of her penmanship describing with such precision the ease of her assignment left a bitter taste on my tongue. I slammed the journal shut and returned it to the shelf, willing myself to take long, steadying breaths. Despite my prior knowledge of BRS’s depravity, there was something different about discovering firsthand accounts of what they had done. How many unknowing, diligent students had suffered at the hands of this society, all to further the egos and careers of those less deserving?
I leaned against the bookshelf, listening to my pulse pound in the space between my ears, and waited until the cadence had slowed before setting off again. Without looking back, I abandoned the library. Continuing my raid of it would only bring more terrible things to light, and I wasn’t prepared to deal with the consequences of those things right that minute. I wandered farther down the stone hallway, peering into the other rooms. Some of them were empty, as though BRS hadn’t found a use for them yet. Others appeared
