Grey: New Beginnings (Spectrum Series Book 5)

by Allison White

  A smirk curves onto my lips. “That’s my girl.”

  Chapter Two

  Liv

  I may enter the building with confidence, but I’m a mess on the inside. Like my little brain people are scrambling around, throwing paper and coffee all around, mess. I shouldn’t be this nervous, though. I have been preparing for this very moment for a very long time. I have been given advice and information about basically half the people in this building via Matthew, whom I am very excited to see in person.

  The last time I saw him was when I was at the hospital. After he had gotten one look at how sick and weak I was, I told him I didn’t want to chat with him like that. I promised that the next time he saw me, I’d look healthy and prepared. And I do, so I wipe my sweaty palms along my pencil skirt and take a deep breath. I have had plenty of time to rest and get better. An entire month, to be exact. The doctor approved me for this, barely, and I will not let this opportunity pass me by.

  You can do this, Liv, I coach myself.

  “I can do this,” I whisper.

  I walk up to the metal detector that bars the path to the elevators. Matthew told me I had to go to the very top. I don’t know how many floors this building has, but I could barely see it through the clouds. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t intimidated when I got out of Grey’s car. I had half a mind to turn around and get back in, letting him take me home and watch rom-coms at my request since I’m still “healing on the inside.” I’ve been having lots of privileges since the incident, but I shouldn’t take advantage of it. I really shouldn’t…

  “ID, miss.” The tall mustached security looks at me expectantly as I retrieve my bag from the conveyer belt.

  “Oh, I’m new here. Just starting today,” I tell him with a small smile, but his bored expression doesn’t falter.

  “They gave you temporary IDs last week,” he informs me in a monotone voice.

  I was at the hospital all of last week for examination. I had been diagnosed with anxiety and PTSD, and the nightmares had gotten so bad that I ripped my vocal cords from excessive screaming. My throat clogs up at the memory of blood. So much blood…

  “Miss, I need to see your ID or I won’t be able to let you pass.” His rough voice brings me out of my muddled mind.

  I look up at him to explain why I don’t have mine, but his face morphs and a black bandana is wrapped around his mouth. I gasp and step back. “What?” he asks, voice muffled. I look down at his hands. A gun in each hand.

  Oh my God.

  I lean on the folded table in front of the scanner and try to catch my breath. Deep breaths, I coach myself. I clench my eyes closed and take big breaths. I look around to ground myself, but it does not look the same as I walked in. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Blood is everywhere. It’s on the pristine glass, on the ceramic floors, on the table…on my hands.

  I let out a strangled scream when a gun is pressed to my side.

  “Hey, hey, it’s just me,” a familiar, soothing voice coos.

  I jump in fear and scramble back, almost tripping over my feet.

  “Liv, it’s me.” I am righted up and held onto. I look into the blurry face and shake my head, my mind scrambling. Everything is bright, too bright. I can smell the metallic blood, taste it on my tongue. My lungs burst.

  “Get away from me,” I wheeze, pushing my hand out to protect myself. But I will not be able to stop the bullet. It will pierce through my palms and strike me in my chest. I can’t…I can’t breathe…

  “Please,” I whimper.

  “Olivia, it’s me—Matthew.” The hold on me tightens.

  Matthew?

  I open my eyes, and his face materializes: soft blue eyes, gelled blond hair, and square glasses.

  Matthew.

  “Oh…h-hello.” I smile, attempting to pass off my embarrassing panic attack. I hate that this is how he first sees me, unhealthy and manic. Exactly how I didn’t want him or anyone in this building to view me. I wish it didn’t take so little to trigger me.

  “Are you okay?” he asks and gently takes my hand, watching me for permission. I nod with heated cheeks, embarrassed he witnessed my little meltdown. I have to appear normal now or he might find a reason to send me home.

  He just witnessed me hallucinating. I think he has enough reason, my subconscious reminds me.

  “She can pass through anytime, Hank,” he tells the tall man, who nods as he stares at me. He, along with the other people milling about, must be wondering what a psycho like me is doing here and not chained up in a psych ward.

  Matthew guides me to the all-glass elevator. I stand in the far corner, my arms wrapped around myself for protection. But nothing can protect me. Bullets fly straight through you…blood on the floor. I gasp, but my view is blocked by shiny loafers.

  Matthew.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” He looks at me skeptically.

  “Yes, I just…” I rub my head and tell him the truth, well, half of it. “I just feel a bit out of it. Because of, you know…” My hand subconsciously floats to my chest, a few inches where the bullet almost soared through my heart. The doctors say if it went a quarter inch to the left, I wouldn’t be here today. The thought is terrifying…

  “You can always start when you’re ready,” he says, pulling me from my sullen thoughts.

  I can’t start any later. Everyone else in the program began last week; I am already behind. I can’t appear like I’m too weak to manage this program. It is the elite of the elite and will do wonders for my future career; there is no chance of me calling in sick. I don’t want what happened holding me back.

  I shake my head no. “I’m ready today,” I tell him firmly.

  I have to be strong, like Grey claims I am.

  “If you ever don’t feel well…” he says.

  I smile at his concern and lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” I take a deep breath and let my smile grow wider. “I haven’t seen you all summer. Give me a hug.” Our friendship has grown tremendously, and honestly, I could use a friendly hug.

  “We’ve been Skyping all summer,” he points out like the smart-ass he is, chuckling.

  “Yeah, but you don’t have a square around you, so it’s different.” I hug him a little tighter, and he laughs, rubbing my back gently.

  “How are you doing?” he asks, pulling back and staring into my eyes.

  I chew on my inner cheek. “Great…considering.” I play with the ruffles on my silk top. “How many floors are here? Geez. I feel like we’ve been riding in this thing for hours.”

  He laughs, hands tucked in light dress pants. “Fifty floors.”

  “Fifty?” I exclaim.

  “Yes.” He chuckles at my pink cheeks, and I flush, looking at my heels.

  The elevator finally comes to a smooth stop, and the doors swoosh to the side. We bypass a couple of men in suits who make the hair on the back of my neck go up. Must be important people.

  “CEOs,” Matthew says, referring to the men in the elevator. “Checking up on things here. They’ve been doing so at all the new locations. They’ll be here all week.”

  I nod and look around like there is nothing terrifying with the CEOs milling about while I begin the program, a week late. Oh yeah, nothing menacing about that.

  “Don’t be nervous. You’ll barely notice them,” Matthew reassures me, slowing down so he is next to me and not leading the way. “Garrett will give you enough work that you’ll forget they’re even here.”

  “Garrett?” I ask, looking around in awe. The ceiling is practically non-existent. Glass walls everywhere, even for offices, which is terrifying since everyone can see what you’re doing at all times. White lilies sit on the reception desk and every other desk. The cubicles are barely cubicles, with their modern, sleek white chairs and high-tech computers. Everyone has Bluetooth pieces in their ears and talks soothingly, like they’re calming a child.

  “He’s the boss of Pennsylvania’s branch,” he explains and notices my glance at
the cubicles. “Child services. We like to focus on children with mental disorders here. There’s a hotline for any child who feels they aren’t being heard, have been misdiagnosed, or just wants a friend to talk to.”

  “That’s sweet.” I smile.

  He nods. “Very. It’ll be your newbies’ field for the next few months. Then you go up a field, and so on and so forth. You’ll be taught new things with each one.”

  I nod in understanding. A surge of anticipation and excitement courses through me. I am so excited to have first-hand experience with kids who need help. I can picture a little Grey, sniffling and shaking as he dials the hotline. He hasn’t told me much about how his disorder has directly affected him with the exception of the Rose situation and the fighting, but I hope he didn’t feel alone or scared. And if so, I want to make sure he doesn’t feel that way now.

  We stop at a room with a translucent door, discontinuing the office’s constant glass feeling.

  “Orientation will start in about two minutes. All you newbies will be in here for the duration. After that, my friend Mark will explain the rest.”

  “Are you going to be calling me a newbie from now on?” I joke, raising a brow.

  He looks up in contemplation, then back at me with a wide grin. “Yes.”

  I roll my eyes and step back as he opens the door. He looks at me expectantly as I bite my bottom lip. I step through the door and look around. There is a plasma screen on the white wall to my left and exactly two rows of people to my right. A tall man wearing a cashmere sweater-vest, glasses, and graying black hair stands in front of the TV. His green eyes shine with warmth as he smiles at me.

  “You must be Olivia. Please, have a seat. I’m Mark.” His voice is deep and accented, Italian, I think.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I match his big smile and shake his hand.

  “Matthew.” Mark nods at the closing door behind me.

  “Have fun, newbies. Bye!” Matthew says before finally shutting the door.

  Everyone laughs, and I flush, clutching my bag strap.

  Mark glances at the last seat in the last row.

  “Right,” I breathe, and there are little chuckles. I am red as a tomato by the time I rush over to the seat. I clear my throat quietly and smooth the wrinkles out of my skirt, lifting my chin. So far, so good. I haven’t broken down at the sound of the boy in front of me clicking his pen or imagined the girl next to him as a gang member. I am fine. I take grateful, subtle breaths as Mark starts a slideshow and talks over it, voice stone-like and serious compared to his warm smile and normal tone.

  “Gum?” The girl speaks so low next to me, I almost don’t hear her.

  I look at her, confused. “What?”

  She pokes my arm with a shiny stick of gum. “I chew gum when I’m nervous…” she explains, then tucks a piece of dark auburn hair behind her small ear. “Sorry if you don’t—I also ramble,” she whispers, casting a nervous look at Mark, who doesn’t seem to notice one of his novices talking.

  “Um, thank you. I kind of needed something to distract me from the nerves,” I admit, taking the gum. She smiles at me as I unwrap the gum, stick it in my mouth, and begin chewing. Spearmint, my favorite. I like her choice of flavor.

  “Lily,” she introduces herself, holding out a hand.

  I take it and give a soft shake. “Olivia.”

  “Shhh.” The boy in front of me turns around and pins us with dark brown eyes.

  “Oh, shut it, William,” she hisses, and he rolls his eyes.

  “I can’t hear with you chatting behind my ear,” he hisses back, voice low and thick with annoyance and a British accent. Lovely voice, horrible temper.

  “I’m sorry about that. We’ll stop.” I try to calm him down, and he swivels his piercing eyes to me.

  He just scowls at me, then huffs out before turning in his chair.

  Lily nudges me, and I look at her hands. She holds her forefinger and thumb together with one hand, then shoves her other forefinger upward. “Stick up his ass,” she mouths, and I can’t help the laugh leaving my closed mouth.

  William stiffens but doesn’t turn around.

  Lily and I glance at each other and erupt into silent laughter.

  I like her. Hey, the first day at the program and I’ve already maybe made a friend. Not so bad at all.

  ***

  “I start first thing tomorrow. The fuckers need me,” Grey groans, throwing his head back as he kicks his shoes off haphazardly. He’s upset he got the job because he wants to be doing MMA, and I understand that. But he needs a reasonable job. He can’t live off of underground fights forever. The money bet on him can be low and high, but never high all the time. With a stable job, he knows what he’s getting every week.

  “You’ll do fine, Grey.” I sigh as I pick up his boots and place them on the shoe rack. Two inches away. Two, but no, he has to kick them around all willy nilly. I unbutton my shirt as I enter the bathroom.

  “Oh, I know I will.” His voice travels from the kitchen, and I hear the fridge swing open. “I just don’t fucking want to be there seeing those annoying chipper faces every single day.”

  “You have days off,” I point out, opening the cabinet to take down the pain medication.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be seeing them a majority.”

  I just shake my head. He’ll adapt and probably like his coworkers and the job in two weeks.

  “So, how was the program? Any complications?” His voice is wavering to the underlying question he doesn’t want to say up front: have any hallucinations or flashbacks? Yes, but I’d never tell him that. He’d make me stop going and keep me locked in the apartment. I have free will, but he’ll find his way if it means protecting me.

  “No.” I shake my head after swallowing my prescribed meds.

  “You sure?” He’s closer now.

  I turn my head and begin to speak, but then I pause. Blood is all over his neck, and his eyes are sunken, and a gun rests in his right hand. I blink, but it doesn’t go away.

  I gulp and plaster a smile on my face. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Chapter Three

  “You’re going to die,” a feminine voice sing-songs.

  I look up, finding the girl Lily I met Monday bent over one of the glass walls of my cubicle. I haven’t seen her in a while since, after the orientation, they stuck us in our designated cubicles to get straight to work. What I admire about this program is that they send us out to the field to get experience. I’ve been visiting hospitals and standing by as psychologists worked and answered hotline calls. I silently itched to sit down and listen to the children who needed help, to be understood and treated as normal, not like they’re just these…malfunctions.

  Like you viewed Grey when you started that journal? my subconscious sneers.

  My head throbs, and I rub my temple. Why am I bringing that up now?

  A single rap on the glass drags me out of my confused thoughts.

  “Sorry, what?” I shake my head and look up at Lily. Her head is tilted as she frowns down at me, worry etched into the crease of her forehead. I stretch my lips in an attempt to appear sane. My mind is scrambled like a batch of eggs in a frying pan.

  “I said: you are going to die if you don’t have the pasta from the restaurant across the street at least once,” she says. “Wanna come with during lunch?”

  I glance at the square glass clock next to my computer; lunch is in just an hour, and I may or may not be starving. I look up at her and nod. “Sure, I’d love to. I haven’t had pasta in so long. Is the restaurant any good?”

  “The best in downtown,” she exclaims with wild, gesturing hands.

  “Then I can’t wait to try them out. I haven’t really explored the city. Are you originally from here?” I ask her, and she shakes her head, perching on my desk. Doesn’t she have the same amount of work as me?

  “There was some mix up, and I have to share a space with some girl a few cubicles down. So while she does her fair share o
n the computer, I thought I’d chat with you. If you don’t mind…”

  “I don’t mind at all. I’d like the company,” I tell her honestly. She returns my smile.

  “Oh, and I’m from Canada, originally,” she tells me proudly.

  I smile. “What made you come here?”

  She pauses and shrugs. “I just wanted a change of scenery.”

  There is much more she isn’t telling me. I can tell by her rapid blinking and strained smile. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s scared. I mean, her cheeks are red, and her bright blue-green eyes are darting everywhere on my desk. She clears her throat and proceeds to change the subject, though I wasn’t going to ask any further. I respect her boundaries, and I don’t know her well enough to question her.

  “So are you from here? Originally, I mean?” she asks, eyes wide and basically pleading for me to go along with the change of topic.

  I shake my head with an assuring smile. “No, I’m from New York.”

  Her eyes brighten. “I’ve always wanted to go. Do a whole montage, like shopping on Fifth Avenue and singing on those red stairs like those kids on Glee. Such a great show. Have you ever watched it? I was a total shipper of Rachel and Finn. Who did you ship?” Her eyes are wide, and I search for words. She didn’t lie when she said she rambles when she’s nervous. Though she doesn’t look nervous, so she’s naturally chatty.

  “I’ve never watched the show,” I say unsurely.

  Her glossed lips twist to one side. “Sucks for you; my favorite episodes were the Britney Spears’ covers.”

  I tilt my head. “I’m more into Beethoven.” I give a nervous smile and a little shrug.

  She watches me with narrowed eyes, then cracks a little smile. “My grandma likes him, too. He’s a little boring for my taste, always fall asleep as soon as he starts up. That’s why I always go to her place when I have insomnia or just want to be pampered with cookies before taking a nice nap.”

  I can’t help but laugh and rub my bottom lip. “I guess it can be boring to people who don’t understand the compositions…”