The Gray Institute (The Gray Institute Trilogy Book 1) (9 page)

'Most come around after a week or so, others take months. The odd few convince themselves that they've gone mad and never adjust to their new lives. Some create alternate realities where they remain human. Some refuse to use their powers or participate in lessons. But most integrate after merely a few days. They simply give up their denial and allow themselves to flourish.

My point is that most new students take time and effort to adjust to their new lives, they need guidance and friendship, help to come to terms with what they've lost and what they've gained. 

But sometimes – very seldom – a new student excels. Sometimes a new student has adjusted within hours. Sometimes they need no further encouragement or help to accept who and what they now are. They're no worse or better than the majority, but they have a gift; an ability to seize an opportunity, to calmly and coolly assess a situation and deal with it.

Usually these people were the most unhappy in their former lives and are glad of a second chance, a new identity. I believe your Mentor was one of those select few. And perhaps, just perhaps, you are too.'

Chapter Seven

After closing the door to Islwyn's office, I have precisely ten minutes to get from the east side of the Institute, to Theory on the west. I only have a vague idea of the direction I'm headed, all I know is that I need to get there fast. The hallways are already beginning to clear and I don't need to check to know I'm running behind schedule.

My timetable reads:

9:30: Theory Class

Prof. William Kearns

At school as a child, I excelled in theoretical classes, always better at reading and writing than the more physical curricular activities. I thrived on gaining knowledge – especially in history – and enjoyed seminars and lectures involving workbooks.

Throw me into a netball game; however, and despite my better than average abilities, I would shrink like a wall flower amongst the competitive, sporty girls. I wonder if I'll be the same in my Immortal life.

I'm late. I know without confirmation, though I receive it as I creep slowly into the Theory room to find twenty pairs of eyes centred on me. I stop, glancing around for Professor Kearns who is nowhere to be seen. I recognise Mr O'Brien from yesterday's meeting – he seems to have gotten over Ms Fall's tirade as he laughs animately with a pretty girl on his left. But there's no-one else I know by name.

As my fellow students lose interest in my awkward entrance, I muddle through them, searching for an empty seat. I spot one – two rows from the back in the corner of the room – and head towards it, hurrying with my bag bumping against my hip, avoiding eye contact until I'm less than two feet away.

'Eve Ryder, isn't it?' A student at the front calls, holding my gaze as I freeze. This particular student isn't seated – like everybody else – formally at a table; but instead, perched on the large desk at the front of the class. He glares at me expectantly with hazel-coloured eyes, cocking an eyebrow. 

'Yes – ' I frown, wondering if perhaps this student is like Malachy – a prefect of some sort.

'And you're late because..?' He folds his muscled arms across his chest and I suddenly realise that this student is in fact the tutor. He's young – at least, his body is – in his early twenties and staggeringly attractive. Like all Immortals, he exudes an air of elegance and ethereal beauty, but beneath his gifted looks lies an obvious genetic upper-hand. This man had been attractive in his previous life and it had only intensified during his transformation. He perches casually, his wavy, chestnut hair falling softly to his shoulders. 

'Oh,' I squeak, embarrassed by my mistake. 'I'm sorry, I... I had Counselling. It's all the way over the other side and – '

'Just make sure this is a one-off.' He interrupts before taking his attention elsewhere. I relax, sneaking cautiously to my chosen seat, but Professor Kearns halts me once again.

'I think it would be best if you made this seat your home, Miss Ryder.' He states, gesturing to an empty chair at the very front of the class.

The first row is virtually empty – no student willing to be the main focus of the tutor's attention – and the seat he's chosen is in the very centre.

I groan inwardly but make no further protest as I change route, heading to the front and slithering coyly into my new desk. Only the male students notice my embarrassment, the females are pre-occupied; their eyes glistening – focussed on Professor Kearns. They watch every move he makes, flicking their hair over their shoulders and vying silently for his attention. 

'My name is Professor William Kearns,' the young tutor begins, sliding from his desk to address our group of twenty. 'But please call me Will.' He makes a conscious effort to make eye contact with each individual student, lingering on me for longer than is strictly necessary. He obviously thinks I'm going to be a difficult student – one he must keep a close watch on – little does he know he couldn't be further from the truth.

'My class will be separated into two modules, both are as important as one another, but only one will we focus on during your first three years.

This module is entitled; 'Separating Myth From Fact' and the clue is in the title. The concept is very basic; during your short lives you will have undoubtedly been infected with false tales of the supernatural; stories of witches and demons, devils and ghosts and of course – theories of vampires.

Unfortunately, most of the information you've gathered will be false and it's my job to separate the truth from fiction. Otherwise you'll leave this Institute cowering from the sun and avoiding cloves of garlic.' Professor Kearns – Will – looks decisively bored; reciting his speech as though from a script he's long since misplaced but whose words are branded in his mind.

'Once we've covered the basic elimination of ridiculous theories and idiotic ideologies, we'll move on to the history of our world and eventually onto politics. However, the second module, entitled 'Going Undetected', we will not touch on until your fourth year and will, henceforth, remain unmentioned.' Will's voice is stern as he eyes his crowd, once again focussing particularly on me.

'These lessons will mainly be lectures; I will feed you information, we will discuss it and you may ask questions. I advise that you make notes. Shall we begin?' It's a rhetorical question as he grabs an empty seat, dragging it noisily to the front of the classroom. He pauses, raising his eyebrows expectantly at the sea of blank faces and expressively rolling his eyes. His new students catch on, jumping to action, grabbing notepads and pens from their bags.

'I find – during the early stages of this module – it's easiest for everybody if I simply allow you to ask the questions you've accumulated since coming here. It saves interruptions every five seconds as I attempt to explain.' He states, patiently waiting for someone – anyone – to pluck up the courage to speak.

After an excruciatingly long silence, the pretty girl next to Mr O'Brien slowly lifts her hand and hovers it in the air.

'Miss Musgrave?' Will raises an eyebrow.

'Are we dead?' She asks bluntly. I suppress a groan. Despite knowing my situation is all too real, I still find it somewhat difficult to hear questions like Miss Musgrave's and take them seriously.

'An interesting question,' Will's smile is a little too forced. 'What's your definition of dead, Coleen?'

'Well – ' Coleen shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting around the room, coming to rest on O'Brien's as she searches for moral support. 'I suppose when your body and mind cease to exist as living entities.' She tries to sound intelligent but Will sees through her.

'I see,' He smirks, his eyes sparkling with amusement. 'And do your body and mind seem living or dead?'

'Well... living – ' Coleen stammers. O'Brien eyes her hesitantly, wondering whether or not to pitch in with her.

'That's because they are, but in a new sense of the word,' Will states, standing to better address the class. 'Your mind and body still function, but can not technically be described as 'alive.''

'We're the undead.' A good-looking boy to my right pipes up, fixing his dark eyes – for a brief moment – on mine. They're brown, like Will's, but a different shade; more mahogany than hazel and in a flicker of a second, as his gaze settles on Will, I see a flash of emerald green dancing in his pupils.

'Untrue, Mr Marshall. The definition of 'undead' is merely 'alive.' In order to understand the state your bodies have entered, you must suspend your current knowledge of science and biology.

Although we are scientific beings, we don't fall under the same categories you were taught in school. We're a different species and therefore function in a different way. Our bodies are frozen. Our organs, our skin, our veins and our muscles remain in a permanent paralysis; unable to change, age or decompose. But with the right nutrients and a steady supply of oxygen; we may continue to function, to move and to speak, to think – to learn.'

'We don't need to breathe.' Mr O'Brien states, more to himself than to Will or the class, but Will nods approvingly all the same.

'No, we don't,' He agrees. 'The oxygen we need can't be obtained through the act of breathing. The oxygen we need is carried within our food source.

The exact process for the digestion and retention of the nutrients and oxygen is still largely unknown; our bodies aren't subject to the same tests as humans. Blood samples, MRI scans... they're ineffective on us. Therefore, obtaining information about our exact biology is – to say the least – difficult.

What we do know is that without these particular sources, our bodies no longer function.'

'So then, we die?' A mousey girl squeaks from the back, her shoulders hunched for anonymity. 

'No. We can not die.' Will replies simply, shrugging as though the statement is a perfectly normal one.

'So, if someone chops our head off, we just go on about our business, do we?' O'Brien asks, rolling his eyes sarcastically, waiting a moment for the class to laugh. They don't.

'Try chopping your own head off, Tomos,' Will suggests nonchalantly. 'Surely Sir Alec showed you what would happen if you tried?'

'He showed me that a knife couldn't pierce my skin,' Tomos admits reluctantly. 'But an axe through my head? A chainsaw? Nothing can withstand those things.'

'I assure you, O'Brien, they can,' Will smiles tightly, visibly losing his patience. 'You're all new students, you've been Immortal for all of five minutes, please make it a point from now on to take it from someone who is much older and much wiser than you are. If I tell you something; it's true.'

'So then, no disease can infect us? No fall is too high for us?' The boy with the dark eyes asks. Will shakes his head.

'We can not die. Not from a blade, nor fire, nor suffocation or disease. Of all the information I relay to you, this piece will be the hardest for you to absorb.

You've been taught from birth that everything and everyone must come to an end. That nothing lasts forever, that with birth comes death – that it's inevitable.

You will find it near impossible to accept that you will live no matter what. That regardless of the impact, the danger, the height; your mind will continue to live.'

'And if we don't receive the nutrients our bodies need? What then?' I ask, my curiosity peaking. Will turns his attention to me with surprise in his eyes.

'Our bodies will shut down,' He replies, his tone serious. 'Over time we will lose the ability to move, to walk, to talk. We will become paralysed in everything but our minds. Whilst the body vegetates, the brain remains active, still able to think and comprehend.

We eventually become trapped in our own minds; a prisoner, unable to react to our brain's commands.'

'Paralysed.' Coleen breathes into the shocked silence.

'Has anyone ever... you know... got like that?' Tomos gasps.

'It's a form of punishment, Mr O'Brien,' Will replies, his eyes glinting in the early morning light. 'A prison sentence, for breaking the law.'

'A prison sentence?' Tomos frowns.

'Who sentences them?' Coleen asks, but Will raises a hand to stop them.

'We're crossing into another section of the module. For the moment, I would like us to focus only on myth and fact.' He warns. Tomos and Coleen's shoulders slump in disappointment.

A ripple of fear creeps along my spine; of all the tales about vampires I've heard, never have prison sentences and vegetative states been mentioned.

'What happens if we eat normal food?' An older woman asks, her face stricken as she tries to change the subject.

'The food will decay inside of you, an unpleasant experience for everyone,' Will shrugs. 'I advise that you stick to the blood.'