by Earl, Collin
The House of Grey- Volume #5
By Collin Earl
Copyright 2012, SilverStone Books
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Table of Contents
Chapter 47 – Dance Steps
Chapter 48 – Kylie Reasoning
Chapter 49 – Instinct
Chapter 50 – Solstice
Chapter 51 – Rescue
Chapter 52 – Tie Goes to the Girl…Everyone Knows That
Chapter 53 – Kissing is not a Dirty Word
Chapter 54 – Great One
Chapter 55 – The Adversary Sees All
Chapter 56 – Betrayal
Chapter 47 – Dance Steps
Monson did not sleep much that night. Taris and their midnight encounter seemed from a different time, a different world, but remained at the forefront of his mind. His brain knew that there were other more important, more horrible things to consider, but he did not feel ready. His mind had undergone an emotional root canal; unfortunately, the Novocain seemed to be wearing off.
He attempted to distract himself with TV, reading, news feeds, Facebook, anime—anything that might divert his attention from the thoughts and feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. He was facing a dark and trying time. If he did not find something to occupy his thoughts, he might just go mad.
“It’s not your fault.”
Dawn’s voice tugged at him like a warm, slow-moving current.
Monson spoke aloud, too tired to think to do otherwise. “You don’t know that, Dawn. Something happened on that bridge; something that only I survived. The logical conclusion is that I’m somehow responsible or at least involved.”
Monson felt Dawn’s conviction as he answered. “No, Monson. It’s like Grayson and Marie said. You are the hero of this story. Whatever happened on that bridge I’m sure you did everything in your power to stop it.”
Monson’s voice rose slightly. “You don’t understand, Dawn. I have evil within me. I can feel it in those times of power—”
“All men have evil in them, Monson Grey. That’s what it means to be mortal. It’s to live as a walking contradiction pulled by both the light and the darkness. All mortals have evil, just like all mortals have good, and the ability to choose is what makes men so special.”
The feeling of warmth encircled him. He suddenly felt the full load of his exhaustion. He yawned as he lay on his bed. Dawn continued speaking.
“Be thankful that you have good and evil because it means that you are mortal.”
“You mean human….” Monson fell asleep as the words fell from his lips.
Dawn’s voice sounded heavy. “No…I do not.”
***
He, Monson Grey, almost kissed Taris freakin’ Green.
Monson stood at his mirror a couple of hours later with an entirely new perspective, despite having only caught an hour or so of sleep. He did not know what had happened on Baroty Bridge, but he felt determined to find out. If he was somehow responsible, he would take whatever punishment the law and/or God, if there truly was one, gave him. He left the subject simmering in the back of his head, allowing for a much-needed reprieve.
Not that his head was silent, but now he could count on not sleeping for a whole new reason: Taris.
He considered Taris and her behavior, and attempted to reconcile her extreme shifts in personality. One minute she was high as a kite, floating on air without a care in the world. Next, she was melancholy and forlorn like she had misplaced something near and dear to her heart. There was just no way to understand her opposites. He seriously did not know what to do. A voice echoed in the back of his head; he was happy to realize that it was his own.
You don’t know the real Taris.
Monson nodded his agreement. That was certainly true. He caught glimpses of her now and then, he swore he did, and he wondered what it would take to draw out the real one for an extended period of time.
She’s hiding something.
He knew that also—but what, and why? Would he ever know? He doubted it. With another sigh, he readied himself for the day. He was obsessing and that was certainly not going to help.
Monson showered, taking longer than normal, using the extra time to try to drown his exhaustion in the steaming water. After his shower, he moved to the front room where he retrieved some fruit, a Power Bar, and a bottle of water. He sat eating, drinking and thinking.
It was no use; sitting around was not going to accomplish anything. He needed to get out and about, find something to take his mind off things. It came to him: a workout!
He would go for a morning workout.
Monson changed at top speed, donning a hoody and shorts. He proceeded out of his apartment and went straight to Artorius and Casey’s room. Not surprisingly, they weren’t up.
“What’s up fellas?” Monson popped open their door. “Get up and come spar with me.”
“Grey, is that you?” Casey rubbed the sleep from his eyes. For a glorious instant, Monson considered subjecting Casey to the same airborne treatment that he was so used to doling out, but then thought better of it. Casey was already awake, which caused the prospect to lose some of its luster. It was probably difficult to defend oneself in midair.
“Of course it’s me.” Monson flipped on the lights. “Who else is going to come barging into your room at this hour?”
“What time is it?” Casey groaned as he looked at the clock. “Grey, look at the time. Come back in a couple of hours when you’ve had time to realize how bad a beating you’re going to get for waking me up.”
“You’re one to talk.” Monson started flipping the lights on and off just to spite him. “You’d better hurry and get up or I’m not going to tell you what happened with Taris last night.”
That got his attention.
“You sure know how to make an entrance, Grey.” Artorius entered the room upon hearing Monson and Casey’s commotion. Monson burst into laughter; Artorius was wearing a full-length one-piece set of pjs.
“Arthur?” Monson gave him a quick look up and down. “What in the world are you wearing?”
Artorius glanced downward sharply then looked back up at Monson with a scornful look on his face. Monson and Casey lost it.
“Amazing,” said Monson, holding his stomach. “I think I can die a happy man.”
The laughter went on longer than normal, probably from being so tired and slaphappy. Finally the three boys regained control of themselves, Casey and Artorius changed, and they started out the door.
“Wait.” Monson cut off both Casey and Artorius as they started to speak at same time. He knew exactly what they were going to say so he thought it wise to interrupt them early. He wanted to make sure they were out of the building before he gave any details.
They both gave Monson an exaggeratedly exasperated expression but held their silence. Bokkens in hand, Artorius and Casey grabbed Power Bars from the vending machine on the bottom floor before they started towards The GM and one of the smaller all-purpose rooms where they knew they would not be disturbed.
“OK, Grey.” Artorius looked over his shoulder. “Spill it. You, Taris and your romantic encounter. Details, man. Details!”
Monson smiled at the sense of excitement that was radiating from his two friends. They truly looked like two kids about to run buck wild in a candy store. He wasted no time
giving them a blow-by-blow interpretation of the prior evening’s experience, which was met with enthusiastic ahs and ohs the entire time. While he did leave out the details about the light show and Taris’ business (He was not comfortable sharing her story), he told them about the strange history of Coren Valley and about his failed kiss attempt. Of course, they were well aware of the first part. He should have thought of that. But they stared at him, dumbstruck, once the discussion turned to kissing.
Even with the omitted portions of the story, it took Monson a while to tell them exactly what had happened. Casey and Artorius, good friends that they were, probably would have accepted a Cliffs Notes version but Monson decided that a full accounting would not only save him from retelling the whole story later but would also alleviate some of the guilt he felt about holding back some of the more sensitive information. By the time Monson finished his narrative they had arrived at The GM.
“I’m totally serious, dude,” said Casey with another one of those awed expressions as the boys moved quietly through the sets of double doors. “I am totally going to make a movie of your life. The simple melodrama alone would be enough; we’d make millions. You and Taris, a moonlight rendezvous in a glittering cave, a failed kiss; I can see it now. You know the ladies would eat that crap up—”
“And Artorius.” Monson giggled stupidly, passing a furtive look at Artorius, who seemed deep in thought. “We all know how he loves the chick flicks.”
“Who would play me?” asked Artorius, choosing to ignore Monson’s teasing. “I get to choose, that’s the only way I’ll participate.”
Monson and Casey actually stopped midstride at this pronouncement.
“Well,” Artorius’ voice rose defensively, “the person who plays you is critical. What if they got some ugly dude to play me?”
“OK, I’ll bite,” commented Casey, an amused yet resigned tone to his voice. “Why would that be important?”
“I would forever be associated with the guy,” replied Artorius in absolute sincerity. “We can’t have that. I do have an image and reputation, after all.”
Monson decided not to touch that one. It was too easy.
“So who would play you?” Monson doubted he would recognize anyone Artorius named.
“That blond elf guy from Lord of the Rings. I forget his name. The really handsome one. He’s very big nowadays.”
“Arthur, there is NO WAY that Orlando Bloom could play you. He’s like in his mid-thirties and you’re a freaking redhead,” retorted Casey before Monson had the opportunity to ask. “And why would you want him?”
“Because he’s a good actor and he’s handsome.” Artorius looked around regally. “He would best play the man that is Artorius Paine.”
“You mean Arthur Paine,” said Casey, trying to stifle his laughter.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t call me Arthur!”
“Wait.” Monson cut across both of them. “Do you hear that?”
The three boys were standing in a long corridor in the northern portion of the building, near the entrance to the basement. All three of them stood motionless, listening…listening for…music?
“What is that?” asked Casey. His ears perked up as he leaned into Monson.
Monson cocked the eyebrow. “Music, duh?”
“Where do you think it’s coming from?” asked Artorius.
“Let’s go find out.” Monson motioned to the source of the music. Hoping to head off any argument from Artorius, he added, “Relax, we’re allowed to be here, we aren’t breaking any rules—I checked with Brian.”
“Are you sure?” He sounded unconvinced. “I don’t know. This area looks questionable to me.”
“It’ll be fine,” reassured Casey. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Artorius grimaced. “I hate it when you say that.”
The three of them moved slowly up the hall, navigating the unbelievable amount of clutter in their path. Casey gestured at it in annoyance.
“Where the frick is facility management when you need them?”
As they came closer, echoes of voices radiated, bouncing through the hall. The sounds seemed to be coming from behind a large metal door at the very end of the hall.
A small window at the top of the door was absolutely no help in identifying the source, as a thin layer of dust and grime caked the window, making it impossible to see inside.
“What do you think?” Monson glanced over at Casey and Artorius.
“Let’s just get this over with,” said Artorius.
Casey merely nodded.
The door squeaked as it opened, though any noise was lost in the blast of music that exploded like shrapnel from the room, assaulting the three boys with hot flecks of sound. They entered, hoping not to disturb the occupants. What they saw came as a complete surprise. Monson, Artorius and Casey were now standing in the shadowy outer gallery of an enclosed viewing space. A speaker attached to a wall on their right was blasting music with the word “Studio” lit up right underneath it. To their left, a number of chairs sat outside a large window—this one clean—which provided an unimpeded view of a large dance studio complete with massive mirror. They could not fully see inside, however, as the dull lights that lit the interior of the inner room hardly accomplished their assigned task.
Next to this window was a door below a lighted arrow sign, which pointed up a staircase to a second floor. Judging by what was visible through the window, the stairway likely led to a viewing area that overlooked the dance studio. At the far end of that room were two people who seemed to be warming up for something.
The girl wore a black bandanna partially concealing a cascade of dark hair. She wore a black long-sleeve shirt together with black stretchy booty shorts that emphasized strong, tanned legs. The boy sported a bright red headband and tank top over white warm-up pants. Both were stretching in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror; the girl sat in a split, gripping her right foot with both hands, while the boy performed a series of leg lifts, throwing his limb into the air to touch his forehead. From where the three boys stood, the dim lighting made it impossible to identify either of the individuals.
The music was starting to die down, the song coming to an end. Noticing this, Monson quickly and silently pointed up the stairs.
Casey and Artorius gave each other a questioning look, but followed as Monson started to climb.
Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, they slowly and carefully moved up the stairs. The landing looking out over the dance floor was not very large, just a small balcony where spectators could watch the practice in comfort. The music restarted with the simple keystrokes of a piano.
“Grey,” said Casey quietly with confusion. “What are we doing here?”
“I don’t know.” Which was perfectly true. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“And I see why.” Artorius was transfixed on the two below. “You’re not going to believe this.”
He pointed.
Face still obscured by the lack of light, the girl made her way to the middle of the dance floor, stepping lightly with graceful movements. She took up her first position in the exact center of the floor, breathing deeply with her head bowed. She held this pose for a moment before stepping forward up on her toe. She swayed in concert with the gentle strokes of the piano.
“Huh, a contemporary piece.” Monson watched, his eyes following the girl’s movements.
“What’s that?” whispered Casey.
“It’s a type of dance,” answered Monson, distracted. “Often it tells a story with movement. You’re supposed to feel your way through the movements. Come on, Hollywood man—haven’t you ever heard of Mia Michaels? Big time choreographer—dancer? Nothing?”
Casey raised his eyebrow.
Monson rolled his eyes. “Anyway, the contemporary style is great. There can be really powerful pieces.”
And powerful it was.
Violins joined the piano with tender, sustained tones as
slight, fluttering finger gestures flowed out from the dancer to encircle all who watched. Other instruments added richness and complexity, eventually increasing the pace and the tempo of both the music and the dance. The girl flittered, towards the far side of the floor meandering in no certain direction but coming to a stop on the far side of the room. Her body was quickly becoming a whirlwind of action with powerful leaps and acrobatic spins. She moved with all the conviction and freedom of a wild animal; the dance was masterful and inspiring and perfectly attuned to the flow of the music. Suddenly, an abrupt movement called attention to the boy, unnoticed until now. It was understandable. The girl was so captivating that there did not seem to be room for anyone else. Monson’s focus on the boy was brief as the girl was now deepening her movements, making long, sweeping motions with her arms and legs. Frenzied leg kicks accompanied the music as it built to its all-important climax. On the other side of the floor, her partner took up a stance in the same spot the girl had begun her dance, and then remained completely stationary. Attention shifted back to the girl just as she completed a set of delicate turns.
Everything around her seemed to freeze. Monson did not know if she caused it or if it was his reaction to her beauty. He tried to keep his focus.
This girl; it was as if she was abandoning herself and all the freedom she had gained in the violence of her struggle. She was going to throw it all away, but for what? He attempted to figure out the answer; it seemed very significant.
He did not find an answer.
The girl turned on one foot a great distance away from her partner. She ran towards him, and as she neared him, tossed herself into the air, colliding with him just as the music reached its peak. Monson gasped; to him the lines that defined the two dancers as separate people seemed to fade, begetting a wealth of new emotions and possibilities. They melted together as one. The female dancer’s relinquishment of her independence told Monson that he, that boy, was her rock, her foundation, meant not only for support, but for enlightenment. He was everything—her everything.