Gregory

caineskiss@hotmail.com

This is yet another of my original fics, inspired by the universe of Doctor Who, again this is all owned by the BBC, not me and I am not publishing to make any profit. This is the first of three chapters that begin the tale of Gregory.

Gregory popped two slices of toast into the toaster and with a deft motion switched on the kettle. While he waited for the kettle to boil, and the toast to burn, Gregory poured some orange juice into a glass and downed with a gulp. He looked at the clock on the wall, he had twenty minutes before he had to leave for college. Gregory Smith was born in 1985; his parents had died a little after that in a car accident, in their wills they had left instruction for him to be cared for by their cousin Phyllis. She was a middle aged and she had always been, though she had made it abundantly clear that she was in no way willing to have him in her home, but nonetheless she had tolerated him and he was made welcome. He had been there when Phyllis had had one of her many depressive moods, again and again. With a sudden clatter the toast popped up, he quickly put it on a plate, spun round switched off the kettle and poured its contents into a cup with a teabag nestled gently in the corner.

He quickly finished his breakfast, and put the stuff in the dishwasher, left out Phyll's breakfast and put a cloth over it to keep off any flies. He strode out of the kitchen and put on his leathers for the bike. Phyll had given him the bikes on his 17th birthday, an old fashioned Triumph, and though he noticed a small plaque with 1945 on the inside of the engine this Triumph however was brand new. He'd just shrugged and smiled, and hugged Phyllis, and she'd something in her eye and turned away.

Greg put on his helmet, and kick-started the engine, he roared out into the morning sun. It was about six miles to the college where Gregory studied. He zoomed down country roads to the outskirts of town where the college was situated, it was an ugly sixties building constructed when modular buildings were considered futuristic today it just looked old and tired. There were various later additions from the nineties when the school increased its capacity, but these merely emphasised the sheer ugliness of the main building. Gregory sped into the school car park to the spot near the bike sheds where he usually parked his bike and dismounted. He shoved the kickstand into place, and put the lock and alarm on the bike, it could still be stolen while he was in class.

He made his way to his locker, where his girlfriend Stace was waiting for him. She looked up at him as he put his leathers and motorcycle helmet in his locker,

"You didn't call me, this weekend." She said gravely.

"Phyll got one of her moods, I had to stay with her, you know how she can get."

"Yeah, I know, and you always come running every time she gets sick or ill." She muttered audibly,

"She's getting old!" shouted Greg banging closed his locker door, "I can't help that! She needs someone to take care of her."

"But she doesn't show it! She's never grateful!"

"She's the only family I have if you have a problem with that! Then fine!"

He stormed off driving through a group of other students. Stacey sighed as he walked off, that boy was too nice.

For Greg, a good day had rapidly been chewed out through the storm of romance, for Greg, today was going to get worse, a lot worse. It began in History, one of Greg's favourite subjects, they were studying Late Imperial Russia, and they were looking at Rasputin. The lecturer was talking about Rasputin's salons and the members of the aristocracy. He brought up a picture on the overhead and Gregory's attention was drawn to the sofa, it was a stripy concoction that looked in atrocious taste. Gregory's heard a laughing upper class voice "Of course, Our Dearest Friend will have something to say on that…" He turned suddenly and looked into the ear of Jeff, one of his friends. Gregory could have sworn he felt the hard chair go soft suddenly. It was an odd experience and Gregory felt himself drawn into the eyes of the bearded man, there was something there, a familiar presence like coming back to your old house after a long holiday. Gregory's hand reached up to touch his face and felt, nothing. He snapped out of his daze and continued with the lesson.

Gregory returned to his locker for his script, the college had a tradition of performing a musical. This kept the board of governors happy and parents coming to the school, but also it gave the students to put something grand on their CVs when the time came for them to slide down the razor blade of life. They had been in rehearsals for two weeks now and the production had been progressing well, the only problem was that Stacey was in the play and he had no intention of talking to her again. She wasn't at his locker, he moaned quietly and rifled his locker for the dog-eaten libretto. He pulled it out and tucked in the pocket of the suit he wore he stood up looked about him, and closed his locker.

About six miles away, a tearing wrenching noise awoke Phyllis, she whimpered in her bed. Waiting. Waiting for the inevitable.