The House of Grey- Volume 5

by Earl, Collin

  The three boys held back a breath of anticipation as, for an instant, all seemed well between the two dancers. The two just stood there, the boy cherishing the closeness and the girl hanging on for dear life. Then something caused their emotional connection to falter, and with it, their physical stability.

  The boy broke.

  He tumbled backwards, falling on his butt and taking her with him. It was then that Monson finally recognized her.

  “Cyann?” he breathed to himself. He was at an absolute loss for words.

  “Is that who I think it is?” asked Casey, his voice reflecting Monson’s own thoughts. “That couldn’t be the elder Harrison, could it?”

  “I think it is.” Artorius strained on tiptoes to get a better look. “I didn’t know she could be that feminine. I’ve never seen anything like that. And coming from Cyann….”

  “Hello, is someone there?” said a voice sounding from below.

  The three boys ducked as they realized that they’d been talking a lot louder than they’d intended.

  “What is it, Cyann?” asked an overly bright and obnoxious voice.

  “I thought I heard someone on the balcony.” Cyann’s voice sounded as calm as ever. “Boston, you don’t think someone’s been watching us, do you?”

  Casey mouthed, Boston Timberland? No way! He then put his finger in his mouth indicating his desire to vomit.

  Boston did not miss a beat. They heard him spin around on the balls of his feet.

  “Cyann really, can you blame them?” Monson could actually hear the cocky grin in the boy’s voice. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to watch?”

  “Yeah, especially that last part.” Cyann’s tone was noticeably sarcastic.

  Boston’s next words, inaudible to the audience on the balcony, sounded breathless. Cyann had that effect on people.

  “Shall we take it from the top?” she asked, apparently losing interest in whatever she had heard. “We don’t have much time left and we have a lot of work to do.”

  “Cyann, I have to admit that I’m surprised by your artistic spirit.”

  Monson and the others peeked over the banister.

  Boston stepped closer to her. “This piece is very powerful. I’m impressed.”

  “There are a great many things you don’t know about me, Boston,” Cyann replied coolly. “I’m glad that you like it all the same.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” said Boston with exaggerated suspense. He took another step closer to her. “I have to admit, I find you intriguing, if a bit implacable.”

  “Really?” Cyann’s voice remained even but a bit harder than usual. “And why do you say that?”

  “The whole renegade chick thing. Now don’t get me wrong—I’m all for the mysterious when it comes to parties and circus acts.” Boston studied his reflection in the full-length mirror. He adjusted his headband. “But there’s really no need for that to attract people’s attention. Your looks already do that.”

  “I’m flattered; I wasn’t aware.” Cyann stood totally stationary. “But whose attention do you think I’m trying to attract?”

  “Now, Cyann,” said Boston playfully. “Why ask a question you know the answer to?”

  He gave her a suave smile then continued.

  “I have to admit, however, that I’m a bit confused at your choice of friends…and boyfriends. I mean, I guess I sort of understand the Diamond; I suppose he is popular and not all that bad-looking, and certain alternatives weren’t available to you at the time. But that freshman brat, the scholarship boy who looks like a walking corpse! Why would you waste your time on someone who is obviously beneath you? A beautiful woman should be with a beautiful man, someone who is worthy of such...grandeur.”

  He took a third step towards her, then smoothly placed his hand on the small of her back, drawing her closer to him.

  “I’m just glad that you came to your senses. And now that I have taken care of my little…obligation, we don’t need to waste any more time.” His lips slightly puckered, he slowly drew her into him, freeing her hair from the bandanna that held it bound.

  Monson attempted to jump over the edge, completely ignoring the fact that it would have been at least a twelve-foot drop. Lucky for him, Casey and Artorius were there to stop him.

  “No, Grey!” Casey clung to him, trying to whisper. “You can’t! Besides breaking your leg, do you really want Cyann to know that we were watching? She’d kill us.”

  Monson was not listening but rather muttering to himself. “You pompous jumped-up jack—”

  Smack!

  In one dramatic motion, Casey, Monson and Artorius all flinched as

  Cyann’s hand landed squarely across Boston’s cheek, fully, firmly and with total conviction. Boston recoiled from the solid blow.

  “Boston,” said Cyann, her voice becoming very quiet. “It would be imprudent to speak of someone who you do not know or try things of that nature with someone like me.”

  Boston acted as if a ten-ton truck had plowed through his living room. He was angry, humiliated and shocked, all at the same time. He had not expected this reaction from Cyann; that much was painfully obvious. An awkward silence followed, during which some of the arrogance evaporated from Boston. Cyann simply looked at him.

  He cleared his throat. “Umm…yeah…sorry.”

  “No harm done.” Cyann turned from him. “And I’m sorry that I slapped you.”

  “Can ask you a question?”

  Cyann nodded.

  “Most of the boys in this school would bend over backwards for just a moment of your time, a kind word, or a simple gesture of acknowledgment. Yet, we see you with him—him and his other bottom-feeding cronies—”

  “Dude, Arthur, I think he just called us cronies.”

  Monson and Artorius whispered. “Shut up Casey.”

  “And still you slap me and do nothing to him? Me? I must know, why do you spend time with that freshman, a freshman of no social standing, wealth, talent or culture? A freshman with absolutely nothing to offer you?”

  Cyann ran a hand through her dark hair. “No social standing or wealth? You do know that Monson Grey inherited a one-third share in the Baroty Conglomerate, right?”

  Boston’s expression plainly advertised that he did not know that. Not surprising; it was not like Monson walked around with a sign on his back that read “One of the richest people in the world.”

  Boston started again. “I knew it had to be something. If he’s got that much money—”

  Cyann cut him off. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. If it’s not the money, I don’t get it. What could you possibly see in him? OK, I understand that he’s mildly intelligent, but come on Cyann, not a single guy friend in two years. I have watched you, you know. Why now? Why him?”

  “Boston…” Cyann spun on the spot, her blue eyes boring into his. “Have you ever had a near-death experience?”

  “What?” Boston blanched in discomfort. “No, of course not—I doubt that many people have ever—”

  “I have.” Cyann quietly interrupted him. “Over and over again in my dreams. I fall into a place of the purest white where the clouds don’t just cling to the rooftops but are a part of them. At first it seems like Heaven itself has created a special place for my family and me, but then I realize that Heaven is on another cloud—in another dream. What’s left to me, Boston, are the stares of nameless, horribly disfigured people and the echoes of bloodcurdling screams. Because of my dreams, my peace of mind is constantly being tested and my fortitude at times is almost gone. I know no relief and in this, I was always alone…until he came.

  “Now you want to know what I see in that boy? I will tell you. I see a boy who could have had everything but fell just a bit short. I see a boy who not nine months ago was almost killed—who almost died, Boston.”

  She paused as her voice broke but was almost instantly off again. “Now, I see a boy who despite losing almost everything, his family, his frien
ds, his literal self-image, even his memories…who smiles. Yes, he smiles. Monson Grey maintains a kind and loving demeanor, neither judging nor detesting. He’s overly simplistic in his thoughts and quick to anger, but it’s always accompanied with a sense of love and justice that warms the heart. All this causes me to sit and wonder what he really thinks and feels. What kind of pain does he have that he hides away? I wonder all this because I know the secret horrors that can visit you in the night.”

  Cyann’s gaze wandered towards the mirror and her own reflection.“I guess I haven’t really answered your question, have I? You want to know what I see in him. I see a boy…who is really a man. One of the strongest I have ever met.”

  “That doesn’t really explain why you all of a sudden stopped spending time with him, or why you started in the first place. Nor does it shed any light on the real reason you’re with the Diamond.” Boston seemed unable to contain himself. “What does everyone see in that brat? So tell me this, if he’s so strong and you admire him so much, why isn’t he here? I would think you would want to share your dance, your artistic vision with someone like him. So answer me, why the sudden change?”

  Cyann actually let out a laugh this time. Monson had heard it before and it made him cringe. He felt its cruel, mocking edge.

  “Why isn’t he here? You mean besides the obvious?”

  Boston held his tongue. It was apparent that he did not know what the “obvious” was.

  “Monson probably doesn’t dance, Boston. I couldn’t ask him to help me with this and we all know how rhythmically challenged Damion is. I did what I had to. I had to pick someone I knew could dance and wouldn’t be afraid of me. I would have thought that was plain to see.”

  Boston flushed at her words. Obviously, he was picturing something more dramatic. He seemed to wrestle with the implications of her words. Then, narrowing his eyes again, he said, “OK, I’ll give you that, but what about all the other stuff? You haven’t answered any of those questions.”

  “I don’t know what it is you’re thinking, Boston, but you’re obviously envisioning something much more mysterious than the truth. We became friends by accident…really it was because my sister thought he was interesting and I wanted to be with her.”

  He looked skeptical. She raised her brow in question.

  “You don’t believe me? No…I don’t suppose you do, as it’s not the absolute truth and I’ve never been a very good liar.” She studied his face. “I finally decided that it was time to step out. I thought that if he can still smile after everything that’s happened to him, then maybe I should try a little harder. He gave me some advice on how to do this. We aren’t as close as we were because I was asked to leave him alone by someone whose position I have to respect…because I know Monson would do the same.”

  “You’re right, you aren’t a very good liar.”

  Cyann hesitated for a second while her head twisted upward in a strange gesture. For the first time she looked ruffled. Finally, she answered.

  “He’s not here...because he scares me.”

  Boston looked like he wanted to ask more but Cyann turned from him. Monson could now see her face for some reason, even though the light hadn’t changed. Perhaps he was trying a bit harder. At that very moment, Cyann looked so much like a girl to him. He did not want to say weak, because that was not the word. It was more like vulnerable or uncertain. He wondered what she was thinking, what she was feeling. He just wondered.

  As Cyann and Boston returned to their starting positions for their dance, Monson marveled to himself, utterly confused. What a trip. Seriously, he did not know whether to be happy or sad. Cyann’s words just keep repeating themselves in his head and he did not know what to think about them. It sounded like she cared for him, but was afraid. Afraid? Afraid of what? What could he possibly have done to make her afraid?

  He answered his own question with two words.

  Baroty Bridge.

  Could Cyann know how dangerous he was? Maybe that was it. He shook his head. No, something about that statement missed the mark. Cyann would not want to be around someone like him if she knew what he had done. Then what? What was she scared of? Monson switched gears, focusing on the other revelation. Who had asked Cyann to stay away from him?

  Someone whose position she has to respect? What does that even mean? Who, and what position? What do they know to even have asked her to leave me alone?

  He looked at Casey and Artorius, their own confusion obvious.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Casey stared across the room to Cyann, who was beginning her routine. “I’m as confused as you are. She isn’t making any sense at all; well, except the part about Indigo and you—that’s pretty obvious.”

  “I just don’t get it!” said Monson, his frustration reflected in his voice. Casey quickly put a finger up to his lips. Monson nodded. After weeks of wondering and trying to reconcile himself to the situation, he finally knew why Cyann was not talking to him, but he was not any closer to understanding.

  A particularly loud boom of music interrupted the conversation. The two again completed the entire piece, though the ending was only slightly less shaky. The dance had suffered, as neither Cyann nor Boston were as sharp as before, and their emotional connection was even more tenuous.

  The changes made a real difference in the quality of the performance.

  Monson was having his own problems. For him, it was like Cyann’s words had stripped away a portion of his consciousness, exposing the raw part of his psyche that he neither comprehended nor wanted to comprehend. He felt like his inner self was suddenly naked, on display for everyone to see.

  Was he someone to be feared? Was this your average idiotic high school drama or something more real, more sinister? He had to ask that question in light of all he had experienced recently. He had to at least consider the possibility that Cyann had known about him all along. He watched her closely, noting her every turn, her every contour. He wondered idly if there was anything that could help him understand the conundrum that was Cyann Harrison.

  “Monson, are you OK?” whispered Artorius with concern.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Before either Casey or Artorius could inquire further, the music ended. Boston spoke up. “Why don’t we call it for this morning?”

  “Yeah, OK. Meet me here this afternoon.”

  Boston headed to the corner to gather his stuff when—

  “Boston?”

  “Yes.”

  “One more thing….”

  “What?”

  “It would irritate me a great deal if anyone was to hear about what we talked about. Really irritate me.”

  Her voice was as calm as ever but cold. Very cold.

  “Don’t worry, Cyann.” Boston bounced on his feet, fully recovered from his bout of humility. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Good.”

  After a few minutes spent gathering personal items and organizing themselves, both Cyann and Boston left, not really together, but not exactly apart. Casey, Monson and Artorius remained stationary just in case they came back. They waited for more than five minutes, finally speaking only when they were sure that Cyann and Boston were truly gone.

  Casey rounded on Monson, despite it being very clear that he was unsure what to say.

  “You’re quite the enigma, Grey.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Cyann and Taris—if it’s not one, it’s both. I’ve never seen such an odd love triangle.”

  Monson’s incredulity boiled from within him but abruptly fizzled. He started to laugh. He started to laugh, and it was a while before he stopped. His thoughts meandered.

  “Love triangle? Yeah right, Casey. It is so not like that.”

  Casey sneered and turned. “What do you think, Arthur?”

  Artorius yawned. “Definitely a love triangle. It’s easy to see what the author of this story is doing.”

  Casey followed suit. “Don’t yawn, dude. So the qu
estion is: What kind of a love triangle? Equal or lopsided?”

  Artorius considered this. “Oh, equal of course–too early in the game to make any real headway. Especially when the main character is an idiot.”

  “Which are you going to ship? I’m thinking Green.”

  “No way! I’m calling for a Harem ending.”

  “That never happens, dude.”

  “I’m telling you, Grey could pull it off.”

  Monson rolled his eyes and stood moving towards the stairs.

  Casey and Artorius protested. “Dude! We were kidding!”

  Artorius added. “We’re definitely rooting for a definitive ending. Open-ended stuff is so passé.”

  Monson ignored them and entered the hallway, closely followed by a scrambling Casey and Artorius. None of them talked as they moved through the halls. It was some time before Artorius broke the silence.

  “OK Grey, all joking aside, really, what did you do?”

  Though he wouldn’t admit it, Monson knew immediately what he was referring to. Cyann. Never had he seen or heard her say anything like that. Her habitual cool, calm demeanor had been so shaken though her dance movements seemed so honest and reflective. There was a story in those movements and words; a story that only Cyann knew.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Cyann Harrison—scared?” Casey sighed in a thoroughly exasperated way. “What would it take to bottle and sell you to all the lonely men out there?”

  Monson rolled his eyes again. He found he did that a lot when in the company of Casey.

  “Did you know about the—” Artorius struggled to find the word, instead opting to daintily flutter his fingertips to indicate dancing.

  “I had no idea,” said Monson, shaking his head. “I didn’t know that Cyann danced, let alone that she was that good. Most of the time she just swings that stick of hers.”

  “It was probably for her showcase,” said Casey simply. “It’s interesting that she would choose dance as part of it.”

  “What showcase?” Artorius stumbled, almost tripping over some of the junk in the hall.

  “The Imperial Showcase.” Casey rolled his eyes as he looked at the two of them. “All the Augustana candidates have to put on a talent showcase at the Solstice. It’s all part of the fun.”