The House of Grey- Volume 1 Read Online Free

the hair may have just exacerbated the problem. He had experience with such. One night while still in the hospital, he scared a new nurse out of her skin when he came up behind her in the middle of the night. The woman's right hook narrowly missed the side of his jaw. He actually had to pin her against the wall before she would listen to him.  
    "You aren't going to hurt me, are you?" He could still remember how her voice quivered with fear.
    "Hurt you?" his reply came back. "You were the one who tried to hit me."
    After a few minutes of explanation he let go of her. She stared at him.
    "I'm sorry," her voice came. The fear was still prevalent. "I didn't realize who you were."
    "Yeah, I get that a lot."
    "You're the one, aren't you?" Her tone changed. "You're the one from Baroty Bridge."
    "Yeah, that's the rumor, isn't it?"
    "What's your name?"
    He walked away from her. She called after him.
    "Wait," she pleaded. "Don't go, I didn't . . . mean to offend—"
    "You didn't offend me."
    "Then why—"
    He turned back to look at her. "I can't tell you what I don't remember."
    He never saw that nurse again.
    It was not a pleasant exchange, but that experience taught him a valuable lesson.  His past life, what he knew of it, was gone. Things were different now. While he had been forced to learn a life lesson, an important one, it was one that was better learned sooner rather than later.
    He remembered his name now, but in many ways he was like a clean slate with bits of himself reappearing on occasion. There was much he could not remember about his life. Pieces of himself still felt lost, and yet he did not suffer from depression like many would expect. He didn't know any different; he didn't know what it was like to be treated kindly by strangers, so he didn't bother worrying about it. Now, he worked with the situation that life presented to him, careful to notice if he was making anyone uncomfortable, but never backing down because of his appearance.
    Monson noticed a group of students passing his van. They looked older, probably upperclassmen. Their gazes shifted over him as if he was part of the landscape, until one of them, a portly girl with frumpy brown hair, stopped to mentally register what she was looking at. She grabbed her nearest companion and spun her toward Monson. They looked like they were going to be sick.
    Monson ignored them and switched his attention back to the van’s gate as he moved mindlessly; his focus was not really on what he was doing. His thoughts strayed to the blonde girl.   She really was a beauty. He might not be able to talk to her, but he could watch. That was more than he was able to do in the hospital, and that was something.
    Monson smiled, pulled out his bags, and stacked them. He wondered idly what his teachers were like and what kind of friends he would make, assuming of course that he made any at all. Monson never had many friends out in the country. Well, maybe he had lots of friends, but he couldn't remember them. No one had visited him in the hospital, so he assumed that he didn't. It was kind of a depressing thought.
    After ten minutes or so, Monson was able to get his luggage and various belongings from the different   locations inside the van. It was absolutely amazing how much stuff could scatter within the limited space.
    Monson did a quick scan, only to see a long cloth pouch that until then had failed to catch his attention. Monson grabbed it and was surprised. Whatever was inside was hard, heavy, and from what he could feel through the plush covering, curiously smooth. A familiar ache tingled in Monson's fingers. Excited, he pulled open the pouch and removed a highly polished stick.
    This was not what Monson had expected.
    The wood was smooth and extremely dense, which led Monson to believe it was probably made of some sort of tough wood, like cherry or oak. At first, Monson thought it was a cane or some forgotten decoration, but a slight curve in the construction put that