The Gray Institute (The Gray Institute Trilogy Book 1) (3 page)

Not exactly your typical doctors or nurses.

As they march me onwards – towards the ominous lift – a sense of panic washes over me; a paralysing fear. It's of no surprise to me that I've wound up in a psychiatric facility, or – as my old friend Davey used to call them – a nut house. I've been heading here for a long time. But now that I stand – flanked by two escorts – ready to meet my fate, my self-assurance fades, replaced by docile despair.  

The drugs they've injected me with are strong; colours are vibrant and lurid, with every smear and imperfection in the pock-marked stone floor noticeable to me. I breathe in every scent as it passes by, strain to hear the slightest sounds. My senses appear heightened, my calmness enforced; I breathe slowly and steadily as I watch a fly groom its legs, perched on the wall more than twenty feet away. 

My grubby old trainers give out a squeak as we reach the elevator doors, halting whilst Diana presses the Call button. We ride the lift in silence to the fourteenth floor, stepping out into another corridor, in stark contrast to the last. Dark wood panelling lines the lower half of the walls – shined and polished to perfection – whilst the upper half is decorated with oil paintings in elaborate gold frames, illuminated by crackling fire torches on either side. 

Cautiously, I step out onto soft springy carpet, marvelling at the intricate art-work as my escorts guide me along. Some are of still life such as fruit and candles, others are portraits; an old man with cotton white hair in an armchair, a faithful dog at his feet. An elegant woman with raven black hair and piercing green eyes, gazing through a window at the cliff's edge below.

I must be in a very high-class facility for it to house such historical treasures as these and I'm so caught up in the rapture of the paintings, I barely notice when we stop before a set of towering oak doors.

A stout man is stationed alone just to the right of them, his pale eyes fixed forward, as though we're not here. His stance is upright and official, his attire business-like and smart. He's clearly some kind of guard and, through the haze of drugs, I wonder exactly what he's guarding – and from whom.

Just beside the door, bolted to the brick wall, is a hexagonal, shiny gold plaque with embossed copperplate font reading: '
Sir Alec Gray
.'

'This is where we leave you for the moment.' Diana's soft voice chimes in my ear and a wave of panic sweeps over me. Inexplicably, with her I feel safe – cared for – and the thought of her leaving me with the intimidatingly titled Sir Alec Gray sets off a chain reaction with panic turning to fear, fear turning to hysteria.

'For the moment?' I squeak, my voice wobbly and uncertain. She nods, smiling sweetly.

'Just for the moment.' Her fingers uncurl from around my wrist and she turns to Malachy. With a firm nod of his blond head, the two of them retreat back down the corridor and into the lift. Diana glances back only once to shoot me a small, pitiful smile.

I take a deep breath and glance at the guard. He avoids eye contact, fixing his gaze on a spot over my shoulder, but reaches out with his right arm to pull the door open. I marvel at his strength; with virtually no effort, the heavy door swings on its hinges to reveal a dark, shadowy room. I stand hesitantly before the threshold, wringing my hands, staring at my feet and willing them to move. 

'Shall I go in?' I ask the guard timidly. He gives me a sharp, impatient nod. With shaky legs, I step through the wide doorway, wincing as my trainers squeak on polished wood. The door slams shut behind me – the sound reverberating around the room – and I am alone in an eerie, dimly lit study.

Chapter Three

It's unnervingly quiet in the candle-lit study. The only sounds are the ticking of a grandfather clock and the distinct, unmistakable crashing of the sea on rocks. The room itself is large and rectangular; the décor grand, the furniture antique. The walls are lined with tall bookcases, running from floor to ceiling with elegant claw feet. A grand desk stands before the wall on the left, covered in papers and leather-bound books.

I'm undoubtedly alone, yet I tip-toe across the room to observe the view. The window is Tudor styled with black strips of rubber forming diamond patterns on the glass. It's intricate and beautiful, but not as beautiful as the mesmerising view beneath me.

The building stands on a tall cliff edge, the ferocious sea lapping at the jagged rocks bordering the deathly drop below. I know by the lift numbers that I'm on the fourteenth floor, but it's by no means the highest. From this awkward angle, the building looks like a fortress, with large stone bricks and arrow slit windows.

It's a clear night and the moon is full, its silver rays reflected on the water's surface. The stars are bright, burning like little balls of fire, and the sky appears to me a different colour – not black, not blue, but the darkest yet most vibrant shade of violet. 

The view takes my breath away and I forget, for a moment, where I am.

'Magnificent, isn't it?' A quiet yet commanding voice startles me and I whip around to face the speaker, tensing my muscles and arching my back in poise to attack. Though my feral reactions are far from ordinary; they feel completely natural to me, and I stop to wonder just how badly the drugs have affected me.

An extremely tall man with shimmering silver hair in a neat buzz cut smiles at me, standing just in front of the desk. His handsome face displays deep age lines which actually serve to compliment his features. He's broad shouldered and well-built, a muscular chest beneath a crisp white shirt, his olive skinned arms dusted with thin dark hair. He's beautiful – like Diana and Malachy – but in a very different way. This man is authoritative and stern, his features wise and aged. His steel grey eyes are cold but at the moment polite – if not a little reserved.

I suddenly feel embarrassed about my startled cat reaction and I straighten, rubbing my neck sheepishly. 

'Think not of it, Miss Ryder. It's your natural instinct.' The man smiles kindly. He speaks in a crisp English accent but – though he hides it well – I detect a faint trace of Arabic. 

He gestures to a wooden chair tucked into the desk and I hesitate before padding across the plush rug. I perch nervously on the seat as he gracefully takes his place in the arm-chair opposite. He regards me for a few seconds, his eyes sweeping – making an assessment – as I shift uncomfortably beneath his gaze.

I'm painfully aware of my lacklustre appearance; my dirty clothes, greasy hair and – to put it politely – pungent smell. I'm the embodiment of his opposite with his crisp grey suit, black tie and cinnamon-smelling aftershave.  

'Don't worry, Miss Ryder. I've seen much worse.' He smiles, reading my thoughts. I barely register the fact that he already knows my name, the fact that Diana already knew my name. My parents must have found me and put me here; I don't carry any form of identification.

The man's eyes are truly a wonder to behold; a pale, almost translucent grey. But deep within his pupils – barely visible – is another colour, one which sends a cold shiver down my spine. A tiny, flickering green ball shimmers and glitters in the blackness, like an emerald under murky water. It swirls and spins – like a ball of fire – dancing with the intensity of his gaze. 

'Miss Ryder, I'm afraid I must become serious with you,' His words jerk my attention from his eyes to his mouth and I grit my teeth, trying hard to focus through the haze of drugs.

'I imagine you're feeling very confused and vulnerable. I extend my apologies for the nature of your arrival here.' His eyes are sympathetic, his words kind and concerned – but alarm bells are ringing in my head. Something tells me I can't trust this man, a gut instinct – one I can't ignore.

'Where are my parents?' That odd sound that seems to be my voice escapes my throat again.

'Your parents?' The man frowns deeply, narrowing his eyes. There's suddenly an underlying threat to his tone and I swallow a dry lump.

'Yes, my parents. Didn't they bring me here?' I've been expecting to find my mum and dad waiting in a reception room just out of sight. Expecting a heartfelt reunion during which they'll beg me to come home and I'll apologise profusely. But the man's bewildered – and almost angry – expression suggests that my parents were never part of this.  

'I do not know of your parents' whereabouts; just as they know nothing of yours.' He speaks slowly and carefully, gauging my reactions, but – although part of me had hoped that my parents finally knew where I was and what I had become – I'm pleased that they don't.

I'm also not surprised at the news that they didn't put me here; I'm well aware that the government locks people like me up in mental hospitals on a complete whim, purely to get us off the streets.

'Where do you think you are, Miss Ryder?' The man asks, leaning back in his chair and linking his fingers together, a look of amusement and interest on his face. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, shrugging my shoulders and avoiding eye contact.

'A psychiatric hospital?' It's a question, not a statement and the man attempts to hide a smirk. Attempts – but fails. 

'Why do you assume that?' He asks, raising an eyebrow as his eyes glitter, laughing at me silently. I shrug, feeling stupid. If I'm not in a mental hospital, where else could I be? It all made sense; the white walls, the drugs, the guards.

'This is not a psychiatric facility, Miss Ryder,' The man shakes his head slowly, his voice serious again. 'This is a training facility.'

'A training facility?' I frown, glancing around nervously. I suddenly feel anxious, fearful even; I'm alone in a building full of strangers – all of whom appear to know me. I desperately try to think back, to remember some forgotten detail; a short period of time within which I woke up, to remember being transported to this place.

But all I remember is shooting up, passing out and waking up here.

'Yes,' The man nods, sighing deeply and running a hand through his neat silver hair. 'I had hoped that Diana would give you the basic information – to prepare you for our meeting – but alas, she has fallen short of my expectations. I must apologise to you, Miss Ryder. I thought you knew all of this by now, you understand.' 

Actually, I don't. I have no idea what he means or what Diana was supposed to tell me; but I nod along politely as the fear grows more intense.

'My name is Sir Alec Gray,' He beams, straightening his posture, adjusting his demeanour to that of welcoming host. The change of character is so swift it's shocking and I stare, mouth agape, as he extends his right arm. I shake his hand, dazed.

'Welcome to The Gray Institute.'

'The Gray..?'

'Institute.' Sir Alec Gray beams again, as if the title alone provokes warm, happy feelings. 'Miss Ryder, you have been carefully selected to join us here at the Institute.'

'What is the Institute?' My mind is racing, piecing together Sir Alec Gray's words with little comprehension until the end result is more cryptic than it was to start with. One thought sticks closely at the forefront of my mind, repeating itself:

I must be dreaming.

'I'm glad you asked,' Though Sir Alec Gray is trying hard to be pleasant and accommodating, his words are rushed, his expression impatient.

'I must warn you, Miss Ryder, this will come as a shock to you,' He turns suddenly very serious. Unexpectedly, I feel some reluctance to hear his next words as he stands up, crossing to the window and gazing out thoughtfully.

'It's been a long time since I've had to break the news of someone's transformation to them. Please forgive me if I'm a little blunt,' Sir Alec says. 'I leave it to the Creators to inform you of your change – perhaps Diana has forgotten.' His words fly over my head, their meaning of no sense to me.

'You have been chosen, Miss Ryder, because of your lifestyle;' He continues. 'Your family are unaware of your whereabouts, you have no friends or close connections. No-one will notice that you are gone. As I said before; the Institute is a training facility for new members of our kind which – as of now – you are.'

'Your kind?' I frown, panic settling deep within my stomach. Have I been targeted by some kind of strange cult? Seen as a vulnerable girl with no family who wouldn't be missed and would simply disappear without a trace? Or perhaps a government funded project; to be used for scientific or social experiments? 

'Indeed,' Sir Alec nods sincerely. 'Perhaps it's too early for you to notice, or perhaps you haven't fully come to terms with your transformation yet. You see, Miss Ryder, you are changed. You are not the individual you once were. Look around, listen, breathe in the scents – your senses are heightened are they not?'

'Because you've drugged me.' I state plainly, all attempt at politeness and etiquette forgotten.

'Certainly not, Miss Ryder,' He looks appalled and shakes his head fervently. 'No drug would have an effect on you now. Listen to your own body, feel its transformation.'

I do as he asks – albeit sceptically – quietening my heavy breathing to listen to my body.

Silence.

I place a hand over my heart to feel its familiar, comforting thumps. It lies still within my chest.

'What have you done to me?' I leap from my chair, backing away from Sir Alec into the corner of the room. Has medical science made a leap in progress? Am I the first – or maybe last – of its trial and errors? Is this the newest break-through in human biology? 

'Changed you.' Sir Alec replies carefully, his tone low and overly calm.

'How?' My voice is hysterical, high-pitched and agitated. I can't get control of my breathing, can't make the process flow as normal although I'm not out of breath.

'You don't live in the world you think you do,' Sir Alec steps forward, trapping me. 'Fairy tales and ghost stories – whilst mostly embellished – always have origins in the real world.'

'What ghost stories?!' I'm shrieking now but to Sir Alec's credit, he remains composed – if not a little irritated.

'Miss Ryder, calm down. Take a seat and I will explain everything.'

My eyes dart for the door – I could run, but where would I go? It seems I have no choice but to listen to Sir Alec, to try to accept the fact that my heart no longer beats in my chest. I try to ignore it – the way I deal with things best.

'I'll stand.' I state defiantly, not willing to allow myself to be vulnerable – easy prey.

'As you wish,' Sir Alec stifles a sigh. 'Miss Ryder, I'm afraid there's no easy way to tell you this so I will have to deal purely in facts. Do try to refrain from interrupting me and I'll do my best to answer any of your questions when I'm finished.'

'What's going on?' I spit, struggling to process anything at all. What feels like ten minutes ago, I was sat in my usual doorway; an ex-addict down-and-out. Now, I'm in a luxurious study with a strange and beautiful man, in a castle, with an unbeating heart and 20/20 vision. 

I almost laugh at the absurdity of it – except it isn't funny.

'You are an Immortal, Miss Ryder.' Sir Alec says simply, as if this one sentence is the sole answer to all my questions.

'Immortal?' I repeat, knowing the word's meaning but being unable to put it into a context concerning me.

'That's right,' He nods. 'We have changed you. Diana has changed you,' He explains. 'Do you remember experiencing a sort of... seizure? A painful sensation; like being set on fire?'

'Clearly.' My tone is dry; I can still feel the flames licking at my temples.

'That was your transformation. Diana is a Creator – she makes new Immortals. She created you by injecting her venom into your bloodstream - '

'Okay,' I interrupt, taking slow and steady steps towards the door. 'I get it. Vampires, right? You're all into vampires?' I raise an eyebrow as Sir Alec remains silent.