The House of Grey: Volume 1

by Collin Earl

  ***

  The rest of that first day — the classes, people and interactions — were disjointed and distinctly new. Given his memory loss, this fact was probably a safe assumption. However, there was nothing familiar about this traditional school setting. It was definitely something new for him, even if he couldn’t remember for sure.

  His lack of memories notwithstanding, Monson felt his next two classes were relatively...well, normal, at least compared with his first class. His Applied Mathematics class, taught by a sickly looking but very nice woman named Sally Masters, felt like a necessary evil. The class was hard, very hard in fact. Sally herself looked like she was falling apart at the seams. Monson was almost positive that she was at least partially blind. Despite her appearance, however, Professor Masters was vigorous. Vigorous to the point where she made students do push-ups if they answered a question incorrectly. (Monson end up doing a lot of push-ups that day.) She also gave them a boatload of homework.

  Next was Science, which took the freshman students to the far side of the campus. A massive building that doubled as the county’s hospital housed one of the most advanced health care facilities in the nation. In this facility, students received the rare privilege of learning from a range of leading experts in both the social and physical sciences. Monson learned that for their first few weeks, Professor Scott Lucas, a Bioengineer from the University of Washington, would handle their Biology class, while Dr. Henry Cast, a Ph.D. and professor at Bowling Green University, would lecture them on sociology. The two professors were very knowledgeable without a hint of personality. It was all very impressive. Yet, it was so—

  “Boring!” yelled Casey, as they walked out of the building an hour and a half later. Monson scanned their surroundings, hoping they were far enough away that they would not be overheard.

  “Ugh,” continued Casey. “If we have to sit through another one of those lectures I might have to take myself to the top of Mt. Rainier and jump off!”

  “Well, that’s just silly,” said Monson amusedly.

  “Don’t try and stop me, Grey,” said Casey dramatically. “I have no intention—”

  “Casey.”

  “Of allowing their artistic repression—”

  “Casey!”

  “To dampen my poetic spirit—”

  “CASEY!”

  Casey abruptly stopped talking. “What?”

  "I don’t plan on stopping you.”

  “What?”

  “I said, I don’t plan on stopping you.”

  Casey looked baffled at this.

  “What do you mean, you don’t plan on stopping me?”

  Monson sighed. “If you want to throw yourself from the top of Mt. Rainer, I don’t plan on stopping you. I was just going to say that any of the buildings here would suffice for a venture of that type. You only need a couple of stories to fall from, especially if you go headfirst. Going all the way to Mt. Rainer would be a waste of gas; you should be more worried about global warming.”

  They looked at each other, then without warning started to laugh. Others joined in, which surprised Monson. It seemed that already Casey was very popular. Actually, people who probably did not even hear their exchange started to laugh, including a girl with short, sassy brown hair and light brown eyes. She smiled at them as she passed, and made eye contact with Monson. Her smile was a bit on the wicked side.

  “Who is that?” Artorius turned to Monson “Grey, do you know her?”

  “Can’t say that I do.”

  “She’s really pretty.”

  Monson started to reply, but stopped when he noticed a strange glint in Artorius’ eye.

  Artorius advanced very quickly, leaving Monson and Casey in the midst of Casey’s adoring crowd. Monson leaned toward Casey.

  "What on earth was that about?”

  Casey looked a little uncomfortable. He sighed.

  “Artorius...he wants a girlfriend.”

  Monson waited, thinking that surely that could not be all there was to it, but Casey did not say anything else.

  “He wants a girlfriend?”

  “Yeah,” answered Casey. “He wants a girlfriend.”

  “Umm…I feel like I missed something there.”

  "It’s a long story.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “That would be best.”

  The two of them did not see Artorius again until well into lunch. Monson and Casey found a spot in the back corner of the cafeteria where they tried to remain unnoticed by their fellow classmates. Monson felt this said something about Casey. He was not the type of person to bask in the admiration of the others, For the most part, people sat apart from them with the exception of the boy in the wheelchair that Monson attempted to help earlier that day. Wheelchair boy ignored them and they him even though they were sitting next to one another. About forty minutes after they sat down, Artorius finally showed up.

  “Where were you?” exclaimed Monson and Casey in unison, the latter actually spitting out food.

  Artorius did not say anything. He just sat and arranged his food, but instead of eating he just stared at his plate looking happy.

  Monson spoke to him. “Artorius …are you OK?”

  Artorius turned to look at him. “OK? I’m freaking great!”

  “You didn’t answer our question,” said Casey. “Where were you this whole time?”

  Artorius gave him a devilish grin. “It's a surprise, you’ll see.”

  Monson hated when people said things like that.

  They finished their food, Artorius eating with gusto, as he did not have much time. Twenty minutes later, the boys found themselves at The GM’s main entrance. Casey stopped there and gestured.

  “We’re down this way.” He pointed towards the direction of The Barracks. “You gonna be all right on your own? You sure you don’t want us to walk with you?”

  Monson eyes narrowed, but he smiled. “Of course not. I wouldn’t want you to ruin my rep.”

  Both Artorius and Casey laughed. “All right, we’ll meet up with you later. Don’t get lost.”

  They left, Casey still attempting to force out of Artorius where he went.

  Monson watched them leave, feeling slightly apprehensive. Going to Mr. Gatt’s history class by himself had seemed like a good idea when he signed up, but now they were actually leaving — no, he should not think that way. He would be fine.

  It took some time to find, but eventually Monson neared a small brick building surrounded by a grove of trees and a hedge. Detached from the main portion of Coren’s campus the classroom seemed out of place on Coren’s campus, but nice at the same time. The scenery was very peaceful, and the combination of pine, weeping willow, and a variety of flowers created an unusually lovely and fresh aroma. It lightened Monson's heart a great deal, making him forget his worries ever so briefly.

  His mind drifted for a time until a voice rang out from under a patch of trees, interrupting his solitude. Tentatively, he spoke.

  “Hello?”

  No answer came. He echoed his greeting.

  “Hello?” Again, no answer.

  He moved closer to where he thought the sound came from, when he heard it again. A beautiful voice rang out, clear, clean and harmonious, as if it was creating its own accompanying notes. Monson wandered, searching, as the music rose and fell. He stopped and peered through the drapes of a willow tree and saw a girl with long dark hair standing maybe fifty feet in the distance. Monson wished he could make out the words as he found the melody very appealing; though he was standing close enough to hear her voice, he was too far away to hear the actual verse. Monson continued to listen and allowed his mind to wander. Suddenly, the girl turned.

  Oh crap! thought Monson as he ducked behind a tree. Luckily, the girl turned away from him. She must not have noticed him standing there. Something odd crept over him. A feeling, the murmur of a heart pulsating within him. It brought up imag
es of faces and places he did not recognize. He closed his eyes, and the last thing he saw was a tree-covered mountain that seem to call to him from a distance.

  The girl stopped singing and the sight vanished. Monson opened his eyes and chanced a look, hoping to see the girl’s face. He wanted to know who she was.

  “What are you doing?”

  Turning quickly, Monson slipped and fell hard on his rear end. It hurt. Embarrassed, he twisted to see the boy in the wheelchair staring at him with mild interest on his face. Monson recognized him immediately and cringed, thinking about their earlier encounter. The boy had dirty blond hair, light blue eyes, and soft features, which gave him a somewhat feminine appearance. Monson made a mental note not to say that. Beyond this, his eyes projected strength, and Monson comprehended a single dominant feature emanate from the boy’s countenance: Intelligence. Overwhelming intelligence.

  As he looked into the boy’s eyes, Monson’s vision blurred, which forced him to blink. The boy’s eyes did not so much as flicker, but Monson sensed a certain degree of remorse. Remembering the girl, Monson spun on his feet hoping to get a glance. She was gone. Monson turned back towards the boy and finally answered the question.

  “Yeah…that wasn’t what it looked like.”

  The boy smiled at this. “So you weren’t spying?”

  Monson thought about it for a moment, then sighed. “OK, maybe it was exactly what it looked like.”

  “At least you picked a cute one.” The boy looked close to laughing.

  Monson shrugged. "I wouldn’t know. I didn’t see her face.”

  “Too bad for you. Shall we go?”

  The boy turned abruptly. Moving his chair with amazing speed. Startled by the sudden end of the conversation, it took Monson a moment to recover, by which time the boy was already quite far in front of him. Monson scrambled after him ignoring his clothes, thoroughly disheveled from falling down. They moved quickly up the path toward the front door of the building. As they neared the entrance, Monson hesitated, not knowing if the boy would accept his help this time. Monson decided it did not matter and rushed forward, catching the door handle and swinging it open right as the wheelchair rolled through it.

  “Nice one, Grey.” The boy continued rolling down the hall.

  “Thanks,” Monson muttered, stepping through the door himself. He rushed after the boy and caught up to him halfway down the hall.

  “You’re really fast on that thing,” Monson stammered this through puffs of air as he struggled to keep up with the wheelchair.

  “Have to be,” answered the boy. “They don’t give us very long between classes, do they?”

  “That's certainly true. I think I’ve been late to almost every class.”

  “Well, spying on girls doesn’t help.”

  “Shut up.”

  They entered the classroom.