The Gray Institute (The Gray Institute Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

'Would anyone else like to waste valuable time going over their emotions?' Ms Fall asks, glancing quickly around the table, satisfied that no-one looks even the slightest bit inclined to an outburst. 

'As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted,' she throws a final pointed glance at Mr O'Brien. 'You will study from Monday to Friday, 8:30am until 4:30pm. Whilst the foundations and regulations of this Institute are similar to those of a school, please refrain from regarding it as one. This is a training facility. There will be no detentions, no notes home to parents; breaking the rules will incur serious penalties.

Your education is of the highest value; therefore, I suggest that whilst in classes, you pay the utmost attention.

Mr O'Brien, would you be so kind as to hand these out, please?' She pulls a wad of laminated sheets from the spring of her clipboard and waves them in the direction of the blond boy. She has chosen him deliberately – to assert her authority and power over him – and he stands reluctantly, clenching his teeth as he takes the papers from her.

He places mine down in front of me and I study the copperplate script in the top left corner, neatly spelling out my name. The timetable is simple; the days of the week vertically along the left, hours in the day along the top. The individual subjects are colour coded and supply room numbers and tutor names.

'The timetable is straight forward,' Ms Fall begins. 'Most days you will find one or more classes repeat – this is correct and a regular occurrence. The five classes are as follows: 

Theory, which is split into two modules; Separating Myth From Fact and Going Undetected.

As the title indicates, much of this class is written work and discussion groups. 

Practical, during which you will cover physical techniques and skills as well as forensics and biology.

Languages, which is self-explanatory.

Counselling, which is the time to ask questions, voice concerns, talk about your emotions, fears, former lives and generally learn to cope with your transformation.

And finally, One To One, during which time you will individually study with a Professor to learn about and strengthen your 'gifts.' Of course, this class only applies to those students who possess gifts, the rest of you will not find it on your timetables. 

On weekends you may do anything you please; socialise, attend functions... but as you know, you are not permitted to leave the grounds.

Anything materialistic you may need such as clothes, toiletries etcetera, do not hesitate to ask your Creators; it is their responsibility and they will bring you anything you require. 

You may or may not know that today is Sunday; therefore, classes will start tomorrow. As for the rest of the day, I suggest that you ask your Mentors to show you around the Institute and get familiarized; 'getting lost' will not be accepted as an excuse for being late to class.

Are there any questions?' She pauses for a moment to allow us time to respond. The faces to my left and right are blank with shock, unable to process the plethora of information cascading from Ms Fall's lips.

Had we not witnessed the Mr O'Brien incident, perhaps there would be a significant number of questions. Unfortunately, we did, and our willingness to converse with Ms Fall has vanished. 

'Excellent,' She grins, satisfied with our terror. 'Well, it was a pleasure to meet you all. Thank you for coming and once again; welcome to The Gray Institute.' 

*

'You look horrified.' Tia smirks as, dazed, I follow her through the endless corridors. She prances a few steps before me, always circling back to allow me time to keep up. It's like being in the company of a restless seagull. 

'I can't say with absolute honesty that I'm one hundred percent comfortable.' I admit sarcastically as Tia leads me through yet another hall.

I sense we're drifting from the dormitories as the building begins to look less like a castle and more like a modern office block. The walls turn from aged stone to pristine white plasterboard, the floors from mason bricks to shiny tiles. 

'We're entering the study half of the Institute where you'll take part in your lessons. You'll see the classrooms for yourself tomorrow but what
is
important to know about this side is the common rooms.' Tia smiles.

As we walk, I consider the content of Mr O'Brien's outburst earlier. Was he right? Should I be pushing back against the authority? Should I be angry that Sir Alec, Ms Fall – whoever – has taken me from my life and put me here, telling me that I can't leave?

I suppose I should. And perhaps the idea of simply running away should have occurred to me before now.

'Tia?' My voice echoes around the hall as I walk. 'What would happen, theoretically, of course, if I tried to escape?'

Tia halts abruptly, rounding on me, her eyes suddenly huge and frightened.

'Eve!' She hisses, darting her gaze, searching for eavesdroppers. 'You mustn't!' She shakes her head fervently. 'I – ' she hesitates. 'I'm not allowed to tell you what would happen – it interferes with your education – but I implore you not to try.'

'I just – ' I shake my head. 'I just don't understand. You can't put someone somewhere against their will and tell them they can't leave. Isn't that false imprisonment?'

'Technically,' Tia shrugs. 'But it's for a good reason. You'll see why when you start your Theory lessons, they'll explain everything to you. In the meantime just... just promise me you won't try to escape?'

I stare at Tia, her expression etched in fear, and nod once. 'I promise.'

'Good,' she breathes a sigh of relief. 'Come on.' She jerks her head and we continue along the hall.

We approach one of the many whitewashed doors lining the corridor, all mysteriously closed. Tia places a hand on the doorknob and swings it open, revealing a spacious, airy room filled to the brim with hostility. 

The walls are a sickly, pale blue wash, the floor cold white stone. Sofas are dotted around the room in artistic, modern curves and designs. Glass coffee tables shaped like bubbles house ash-trays and wine glasses whilst a wide screen TV hangs on the far wall, projecting a luminous cookery programme.

My mother once took me to an 'IKEA' show home and it was virtually identical to this. 

'This is one of the four common rooms situated in this half of the building,' Tia explains as ten or so students on the nearest sofa halt their conversation to acknowledge our intrusion. 'They're very important to the students; this is where we come to relax during breaks and most evenings, meet up with our friends and socialise. After a while you'll pick a favourite – usually depending on who hangs out there. This...' she wrinkles her nose, eyeing the unfriendly students. 'Is not mine.' 

She needn't explain why; if I didn't know better, based on this common room I would still assume the Institute is a psychiatric one.

Tia closes the door and pulls me away, down another flight of stairs to a well-lit corridor. Along the right-hand side are a pair of swinging metal doors.

'The cafeteria,' Tia smiles, pushing one open to reveal a steel-clad interior, not unlike the room I first awoke in. The tables are fit for thirty or so people running orderly and vertically across the width of the room. Through the far wall is a partially view-obstructed kitchen with large freezers and stoves.

'Obviously, we don't eat three square meals a day,' Tia smirks, nudging my arm like the joke is a funny one. 'You'll need to visit the cafeteria once a day. Each year group is given a separate time, yours will be 7:00am. Don't miss it or you'll go without and believe me, it's not worth it.

On the other hand; if you miss your meal three days in a row, they'll just force feed it to you, so it's doubly not worth it.' 

Opposite the cafeteria is another impressively large room – clad from floor to ceiling in black, it has two levels. On the ground floor, the entire right wall houses a shiny black bar with decorative mirrors and tall, stylish stools. A deck complete with speakers twice my height stands opposite, surrounded on all sides by a clearly marked dance floor. Around the edge of the room are endless tables and chairs and directly in front – a towering staircase leading up to the balcony level. Strobe lights cling to the ceiling, spotlighting luxurious booths – I haven't been to many night clubs in my time but this is by far the best I've ever seen. 

'On the second floor is a jacuzzi,' Tia smirks suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows. 'Everybody is here on Friday and Saturday nights. Professors and faculty don't come in here – unless there's an emergency it's strictly students only – I come here every weekend.' She smiles proudly, nodding her head in achievement.

Tia's favourite common room is much like the first half of the castle; clad in velvet and oil paintings, tapestries and oak furniture. It is warm and inviting, like Tia herself. She spares me no details on the layout of the Institute, insisting on showing me the library – a mind-blowing collection of endless books, stacked from floor to ceiling in tall display cases – a miniature museum of the Institute with information on its commission and building work and a study hall, which Tia tells me no-one ever uses.

There are spas and beauty salons run by the students, a gym packed with equipment for use when you please, a cinema with listings of hundreds of films – almost anything one could want for and anywhere one could want to go is packed into one impressive building.

Tia stops in front of a pair of tall, mahogany doors. Her eyes are wide and darting and she chews the inside of her bottom lip, staring at me, her amber eyes seeking out my approval. 

The doors look heavy and are bolted from the outside with a thick slab of wood, they scream '
Keep Out
', but Tia has other ideas, it seems.

She steps forward, placing her dainty hand on one of the expensive gold handles. I place my hand far less daintily on her arm. 

'I don't think we should be going in here.' I state firmly as the small hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. 

'Well... it would be a lie to say it's encouraged.' Tia agrees, cocking her head to the side, reminding me of a mischievous kitten. She studies me, waiting for a reaction, for a thumbs up or thumbs down.

It would be a lie – as Tia said – to say I'm not curious about what lurks beyond the mysterious doors, but my mind casts itself back to Ms Fall's ominous warning. Just the memory of her steely, dagger-like stare is enough to send shivers of dread down my spine. Whatever lies beyond the doors, it can't be worth risking the wrath of Aaliyah Fall. 

'Wait!' I command as Tia's hand makes the slightest movement on the shiny handle. It creaks beneath the pressure.

'What's in there?' I frown – curiosity getting the better of me. 

'It's the ballroom.' Tia whispers, barely able to contain her excitement, her eyes shimmering. My shoulders sag with relief – and disbelief. 

'The ballroom?' I hiss. Tia's face drops, her impatient smile replaced by a confused and hurt frown. My reaction isn't what she predicted and she fails to see how the ballroom doesn't ignite my deepest desires.

'There's no way I'm risking the wrath of Ms Fall for the sake of seeing the ballroom.' I clench my teeth, trying to stay polite. I like Tia – even after only knowing her a short while – but she seems to assume that everyone else is interested in the same things she is.

'But, Eve...' Her shocked pleas fall on deaf ears as I step away from the doors, shaking my head. She drags her feet behind me, deflated, muttering to herself and occasionally to me.

'You don't know what you're missing,' She assures me, finding a way through her deep depression to wave at a fellow third year as we walk.

'Still, it won't be long until you see it with Sir Alec's permission anyway,' She shrugs contentedly, resorting back to her usual prancing self. 'The First Year Ball is just around the corner...'

'The First Year Ball?' I call over my shoulder, suppressing a groan. I can't help but wonder how much more pressure the good people of the Institute are prepared to heap on their precious young first years. Transforming us into what we believed to be mythical beings isn't enough of a show- stopper for them, they want to endow us with the added expectations of being a social butterfly.

Tia makes no attempt to reassure me – I'm not even sure she noticed my shudder of dread – such is the absurdity of not wanting to attend a ball to Tia. We walk quickly, heading back to the other side of the Institute where the safety of mine and Tia's room is already beginning to look like a haven for me.