It was imperative that she find much information as she could before the night was out. This wasn't simply research for a paper; no, it was research that would reveal the truth about a great many things in her life. Once she had everything she needed, she could unveil the truth, take the bastards down. Yes, once she was able to find the evidence that proved everything she knew, she would avenge the vast discretion done to her.
Everything started with a simple story her Uncle Bernard always told her. The Order of Zebulon, one of the most notorious leagues of demons, was responsible for the death of her parents. As a young girl, she listened closely to every detail her uncle remembered; Elizabeth and Michael Stevens weren't killed by a drunken truck driver as the police reports stated. No, they were murdered, the command given by the Order. "They knew too much", Uncle Bernie said, "They couldn't leave well alone. They just had to know what The Order was about, had to expose them." As a result, The Order took care of the complication threatening to reveal their underground community. Elizabeth and Michael Stevens were murdered before their car was pushed off the road, an innocent truck driver framed for their deaths.
"How do you know all of this, Uncle Bernie?" She would ask.
"Because I used to work for them." Was all he said.
It was incredibly easy for her to believe when she was seven years old, especially after seeing the coin he kept in his room. It was a special coin owned exclusively by those who worked for The Order, used as a form of identification. Uncle Bernie was the only family she'd ever known. After her parents were taken from her, she was given to him, a fate she would always be grateful for; she was never left wanting but at the same time, was brought up with the knowledge that earning everything she had was more rewarding than simply receiving it. Though his bedtime stories were often filled with demons and very scary beings, they always ended happily while at the same time informing her of what he deemed very important. At seven years old, Bernie's scary stories and odd behaviors were funny but as soon as she turned thirteen, she began to understand that his actions were more abnormal than she was comfortable with.
Soon after her fourteenth birthday, Bernie stopped leaving the house. If groceries were needed or errands had to be run, he would have one of the neighbors' older sons do the work for him. Because he worked from home to take care of her, there was always a steady flow of income to support them. She didn't care; if her Uncle Bernie did not want to leave the house, then he did not have to. It was his right. Though it often made her uncomfortable to watch him pace the length of the living room for hours, she said nothing, figuring that his work had him anxious.
When she was fifteen, she was no longer able to ignore the fact that he spoke to people who weren't there. In the shadows, she watched as Bernie had full blown arguments with no one and once went as far as to hold an obscure looking crossbow to the mantle. As much as it worried her, she remained silent, even after a very strange looking woman in blue robes came to the house. She was sent to her room for three full hours, the entire time wondering what could possibly occurred downstairs that she had to be sent to her room. She never asked however; her uncle was always on edge and it seemed as if at any moment he would take his frustrations out on her. She cried herself to sleep that night, and many nights afterward, praying that things would work out; Uncle Bernie simply had a rough time and would eventually be the carefree man she once knew him to be.
As time went on, Bernie became progressively worse. The day before she was to turn eighteen, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. She wondered how he could have been diagnosed when he never left the house. She later learned that Bernie neglected to end a call to one of his superiors and was overheard having another argument with one of his imaginary adversaries. Concerned, a psychologist was sent to see him and within only a few minutes he was committed. He fought to stay in the house, screaming that he had to stay, to protect her from those who wished nothing more than to harm her the way they did her parents. The doctors didn't listen.
"Remember the stories, girl!" he shouted as they dragged him out of the house, "Never let your guard down!" That was the last time she ever saw him.
Within a week, Bernie had committed suicide.
She was now twenty-two, a senior in college, desperate to start her life outside of the college/town she'd called home for four years. Yes, she lived in an apartment complex a town away, but her life was in the university library. As a pre-medical major, there was little room for anything else.
There she sat in the library, furiously working on gaining any information she could on The Order of Zebulon. Not only was it the main topic of her final paper, but it was the only clue she had to learning whether or not any of the stories Bernie told her were true. Once he was committed, she turned her back on any belief of his stories. How could she believe a diagnosed schizophrenic? There was no reason for her to believe someone who spoke to people who were not in the room.
That was of course, until she encountered the Myths and Legends of the Supernatural course she was enrolled in. It was coincidence which brought her to the class; she needed one more elective to graduate. Looking through the list of electives being offered during the semester, she stumbled upon the extraordinary course and would have looked passed it - had she not glanced at the course description which named a few mythical demonic avenues, one of which was The Order of Zebulon. It was the first time she'd ever seen or heard of the name since her uncle died. On a whim, she enrolled and soon became obsessed with learning everything she could about The Order. In the few short weeks she'd been in class, she'd learned more than enough to believe her uncle's words once more. The Order of Zebulon was real and they had something to do with the death of her parents.
If she was right, they had something to do with the death of her uncle as well.
The Order was the basis of her final paper, a paper which would unveil everything about them. She would bring them out of hiding and would find a way to not only bring them to justice, but find the man hired to murder her parents. Their lives were not worth the protection of The Order's existence. Once she was done with the task, she could move past the obsession.
"Nadia, are you working on that paper again?"
She turned to her left and nodded at Spencer, her Comparative Anatomy laboratory partner. He was a pleasant boy with cropped copper hair, brown eyes, and a warm smile. But he was too nosy for her comfort. For three weeks he continually questioned her on what she knew about The Order, often asking if she could name anyone as a member. She lied, saying that she did not know much, when in fact she knew that there were members everywhere. She knew that The Order was capable of terrible things, all through the guise of humanity. They possessed humans, devoured their souls for energy and life, then used the bodies to carry out their demonic missions. In the beginning, their simple purpose was to devour souls, to increase their power enough to fight those who hunted them but in recent years, they'd began walking the earth in possessed bodies, learning the ways of the human world. Through their knowledge, they'd become thirsty for power, manipulating humanity by taking over the bodies of the most powerful people they knew. There were also regular humans under their employ, humans so desperate for power that they would do anything they were told. There were probably members at the university - a legitimate reason for her to remain as quiet as possible about the subject. It wasn't safe to share her secrets until she knew everything.
"Yes, Spence, I am." Nadia turned back to the mountain of books before her and began to flip through pages. She'd skimmed through those very books every day for nearly two months and could recite many passages by memory. Still, she continued to look through them, each time hoping that she'd overlooked something important. "If I want to get an A on this paper, I have to work on it everyday." She did not look toward Spencer and did not catch the skeptical look he gave her.
