What's your favorite #, color, season, etc.? - Favorite numbers: 3, 16, and 99. Color: don't really have one but if I had to choose, white or Tiffany blue. Season: Winter or spring. Animal: elephants!...and my doggies, they're the best.
What is your favorite book in the Divergent trilogy and your favorite part? - I already answered that it was Insurgent but I love the truth serum chapter, when Tris and Tobias both get it. My all-time favorite part of the series is when he writes the letter to VI and signs it from IV. I almost died from swooning!
Shoutouts to prnamber3909 (you're da bomb) S (you reviewed twice for one chapter, that's shoutout worthy) lilythemermaid (because mermaids are so fantastically awesome) and Lady Unimportant (I love your name)!
"The What-Ifs and Should-Haves will eat your brain." - John O'Callighan
There were soldiers already beginning an investigation into Dr. Feierman's death when she drove back to the history building. The wing where his room was located had been taped off, with students gathering at the barricades to try to find out what was happening. America maintained a façade of nonchalance as she went to the research wing.
She had poured over the books in the palace vault for hours and she knew that there was no mention of the Masons in them. Just like she had planned, the guard was too distracted with the goings on in the other part of the building to notice her slip behind his desk and steal the key to the restricted section.
Walking so that her boots didn't clap against the wooden floor, she slipped through the old wooden door and locked it behind her. Just like in the palace, all of the books had red slashes on their bindings and some were even encased in glass. She needed a computer but the only one she knew of in Illéa was in the palace so she was out of luck. Running her fingers over the bindings, she read the names to see if any of them would help her.
After about ten minutes, she came across one that didn't have a title, just a symbol on the binding. It was an eagle with its wings spread and holding a scroll in its mouth. She pulled the book down and found that it was not really a book but a journal with the last entry dating back to the year 2031. Looking out the window she noticed that it was getting dark so she switched on a lamp at a desk nearby and sat down with the journal to get comfortable.
The writer's name was Samuel Snyder. In the year 2031 he was somewhere in his forties from what she could tell. He had a wife and two young daughters.
"Stephanie is growing impatient. She wants to leave the United States. I can understand. She hasn't been paid due to the government being shut down in over three months. She wants to pack up the girls and for us to move to Europe – probably Sweden where the rest of her family lives. But how can I tell her that I am stuck here because of my duty not to my country but my brotherhood?
My brothers have discussed making me Worshipful Master of the Chester Lodge next year. I want to assume that leadership. I believe I'm ready. Now the Asians want to come in here and demand their rightful place in authority but I'm not letting that happen. I have a gun in my truck and a cabin in the mountains; they're not making me back down. But really, I just want my country back."
America flipped to the back to read the last entry.
"This will be the last time I write. I know I'm going to die soon. Stephanie called a couple weeks ago and said that she and the girls arrived safely in Sweden and that they are staying with her parents until I arrive. I didn't tell her that I'm not going to arrive though.
Last night at our meeting we were attacked. As I write this I am lying in the bed of my truck – now littered with bullet casings – in the parking lot of Six Flags because it's the only place I won't have to move. I don't think I'll make it up to Tim's cabin in the Appalachians; mine has probably been searched and destroyed by now. Kelly Carraway has been trying to contact me but I threw my cell phone in a trashcan back at a truck stop in New Jersey. He should know – he deserves to know – that our lodge was destroyed but I don't want to risk calling him. The last I heard from him is that he has a good candidate in mind to overthrow what little is left of the United States and to make it a monarchy. His name is Illéa, I believe. Young, but charismatic. Most importantly, he hates the president as much as we do."
America looked up, checking the door to make sure she was still alone. She withdrew the index card stuck inside the journal before slipping the book into her bag. On the card was an address to something and she was going to find out what it was.
The building she followed the directions to was nondescript. It had a gravel parking lot and cracked steps leading up to the door. She parked a few blocks down from it and watched for hours until she saw someone pull into the parking lot. An older man got out, his balding head gleaming in the weak moonlight. He disappeared into the building and inside she saw him light a few candles in the windows but that was all.
More men started showing up, all looking quite similar to the first. Then she saw Sawyer walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the road. She quickly slid down in her seat but knew it was too late; he saw her.
He tapped on her window until she rolled it down. "What're you doing here?" he demanded angrily.
She held up the journal. "You know a Samuel Snyder?"
"He's been dead for about one hundred years. I should've known you'd go looking for something like this." He reached for the journal but she pulled back.
"Is that a masonic lodge?"
He shrugged. "What's it matter to you?"
"I wanna go to your meeting," she told him decisively.
The corners of his mouth twitched like he was trying to not to laugh. "You can't go."
"What? Why not?"
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "The Masons are a brotherhood, not a sisterhood. Have you seen any women go in there? No. If you want to come to meetings you have to at least be part of the DAR?"
"The DAR?" she repeated.
"That's in our next history lesson, young grasshopper. Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to be late."
She quickly jumped out of her car to run after him. "Wait, wait, wait! Okay, look, you said Maxon is like, the leader. Doesn't that make me leader by default? I should get to go." He considered for a few moments. "I'm not just a stranger that wants to be part of this," she added.
He sighed and surrendered. "I need to ask them if you can come in first. Just wait here, outside." He opened the rickety wooden door and she felt a gust of warm air come out, so welcoming that she almost stormed in without waiting.
She heard Sawyer call everyone to order, followed by his muffled voice talking. He talked for a long time and for a moment America was scared that he wasn't asking them permission for her admission but that he was just talking to them about something else. Then she heard all the men start yelling angrily and she knew that he was telling them about her.
The yelling quieted down as he started talking again and then in a few moments one of the men came to the door and cracked it open. "You alone?" he growled to her.
She frowned and looked around her. "I think so."
He opened the door wider and let her step in, closing it as soon as her back foot crossed the threshold. Inside it was warm and the room had an orange glow from the candle light. On both sides of the room were two elevated platforms, one higher than the other with men seated at a long table, facing the middle aisle. It was quite similar to the court room they had in the palace, just not nearly as luxurious. She looked at the end of the aisle and saw Sawyer not just standing in the middle, but seated in the middle and elevated above everyone else.
She looked at him in wonder. "You're the Worshipful Master, aren't you?"
He did nothing but shoot her an impatient look and motion to the floor beneath him. "The floor is yours, Queen America."
She took her place and faced all of the men. She could confidently say that never had she faced a more intimidating crowd. She swallowed and cleared her throat. "Well, gentlemen, first I have to thank you all for allowing me to come here tonight. I know this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I promise not to waste it." She dared to meet some of their eyes. "I'll get right to it then. I would like your help. I want to start a rebellion."
That led to an uproar. Some of the men even sprung out of their seats and started yelling angry accusations at her, calling her a traitor and a tyrant. "Please, please, brothers let her talk," Sawyer called. He didn't have to raise his voice; from his seat ten feet above them his voice carried over them easily.
"I don't want this to be a rebellion that will cost lives. I need it to get my husband, your king, back in my hands. He's in terrible danger. If you all just help me stage a strong enough opposition against King Clarkson to get Maxon back, he and I will have the men to start our own true rebellion and you all can get right back to lying low and hiding from the world," she proposed. Some of them looked insulted. "Okay, that was a poor choice in words but please, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't desperate and I know that you have the men and supplies that I desperately need."
She looked around and only saw a few that seemed convinced. She bowed her head. "If you don't help me, than I am a person who knows all of your secrets and my knowledge would be for naught. Help me and I will keep your secrets. I will never speak of you all to anyone and I will never repeat the story of Maxon's parents to anyone."
"Are you blackmailing us?" Sawyer demanded. "I trusted you!"
She looked up at him. "You said you had me under your thumb but it's quite the opposite. I have everything I need except for supplies and men to fight but I still have all of the information."
"We let her have what she wants," a frail man seated toward the front said. "We can't risk it. For the betterment of our country, I say we give her what she wants so we may move on faster."
She walked to him and shook his hand. "Thank you," she whispered to him earnestly.
The man nodded and called out, "All in favor, raise your right hand and say 'aye.'"
Slowly, the men raised their hands and spoke but in under a minute everyone's hand in the room was up – except for one. Sawyer was slouched in his seat, fuming and staring at America with daggers in his eyes. "You're using my own plans against me."
"I never said I'm an angel, Sawyer. You should know that," she said, inferring to what he knew of Dr. Feierman.
He took several deep breaths but then he nodded and said, "Aye." He brought a gavel down on the table in front of him. "That will be all on the topic. I will get you what you need, Queen America."
She curtsied. "Thank you, Sawyer." She started to walk away but he called her back.
"Won't you have a seat? You must curious about what else we do here." He nodded to a chair sitting on the floor below him and she nodded and took her place in front of them.
I loved learning more about the Masons while writing these past couple chapters. None of this is true...or is it? We'll never know. haha. review and send me love in questions please!
P.S. Who else is watching the Bachelor? I'm so stoked. I can't help but think of the Selection when I watch it. Juan Pablo actually kinda reminds of Maxon because he's so charming and handsome and awkward. I love him!