Gregory watched as his father packed all their luggage in the back of their black limousine, a very cross look on his face and his arms folded across his chest. He, his mother, and his father were all moving to America. And he didn't like it in the least. He wouldn't want to visit the United States, much less live in it.

He sat at the right window seat next to his mother, while his father sat on the left side. He stared out the window angrily as the chauffeur drove them to the airport. His mother noticed his expression. "Whatever is the matter, dear?" She asked. "Are you still upset about the move?"

"Of course I am!" He snapped, still staring out the window. "We can't even take one of the helicopters!"

"You know we're selling them, sweetheart. There's no place for helicopters in a place like Illinois."

"Then let's stay here, where we belong!"

"How many times must we explain it, son?" His father asked. "Living in America will be a liberating experience. Especially for a young lad like you."

"I don't care!" He finally looked to his parents. "I hate America!"

"How can you say that, my boy?" His father chuckled. "You've never even set foot in the place."

"Precisely. I was hoping for it to remain that way." He grumbled, looking back out the window, pushing his horn rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Well I am sorry about your rotten luck. Because you are going to live there, and you are going to like it, whether you want to or not."

Gregory scoffed. "I will not like it."

It was dead silence for the whole ride, until they finally arrived at the airport. "We've arrived." The chauffeur spoke from the driver seat.

"Horacio isn't even coming along, is he?" Gregory asked, referring to the chauffeur.

His father sighed. "I'm afraid not."

Horacio opened his father's door for him, going around to open Gregory's. His father disembarked, his mother looking to Gregory before following. "It really is for the best, dear."

Horacio opened the door for Gregory, who jumped out and wrapped his arms around the chauffeur. "Can't you make them stay?" He asked with a shaky voice.

Horacio smiled, patting the boy's back. "I'm afraid it's out of my hands, Greg."

"Then come with us. Please." He begged, wanting not to part with his lifelong friend.

"I can't. You'll get along just fine without an old chauffeur around."

"No. I don't want to leave you." He felt hot tears stinging his eyes.

"Come now, I'm sure I will be able to visit you in America. Won't I?" He looked to Gregory's parents.

"Absolutely," His father smiled. "You're welcome any time, old chap. I trust that you remember the address?"

"By heart, sir." He returned the smile.

Gregory looked up at him. "You promise you'll visit?"

"Cross my heart."

Gregory took a step back. "Good. I'll hold you against that, Horacio." He smiled, Horacio laughing.

His mother gave Horacio a small hug. "What will you do now that you aren't working for us?" She asked.

"Retire of course, Miss Adena. I'm not quite built for work anymore, now am I?" He smiled.

Gregory's father walked up and shook his hand. "It's been a pleasure having you work for us."

"Indeed, Mr. Taggert."

"Please, Horacio. I've told you a million times; call me Allan." He grinned.

"Alright then. It's been... bloody fantastic, Allan." He gave a big smile, looking to a saddened Gregory.

"Are you sure you can't come with us?" He asked.

"I'm afraid not, Greg. Don't worry. I'll come and visit."

He trusted Horacio, as he always has. He's never let him down before, so surely he wouldn't now.

He and his parents boarded the plane after enduring much airport security, seated in the middle of the plane. "I call window seat." He declared as they loaded their luggage in the overhead carrier. They had many more belongings, but Horacio was having them shipped out by cargo plane.

"You cannot claim the window seat, Gregory," His father replied. "According to your ticket, you have the aisle seat."

He grinned and held up his ticket, which read 7C. "Whatever are you talking about, Father?"

His baffled father looked at his ticket, realizing they had been switched. He sighed, realizing what Gregory had done. "How many times must I tell you, Gregory? Pickpocketing is a bad habit."

"But it wasn't in your pocket." He replied curtly as he sat in his seat.

Allan sighed sharply. "Fine, you rotten thief." He sat in his seat as Adena sat in hers.

"Don't worry. I'll give it back." He grinned.

It was quite a long flight, though Gregory slept for most of it. He hadn't slept a bit the previous night, partly through worry of the move, partly because of his recurring nightmare.

August of 2003, he was out in the backyard where one of the pools was (they had an indoor pool for cold seasons). He was only a toddler, he didn't know any better.

He was playing with a yoyo, until it slipped out of his fingers and landed in the pool. He went to get it, realizing it had landed in the deep end. He wasn't allowed in the deep end, because he could get hurt.

Seeming to think his arm was six feet long, he reached in the water and attempted to grab it. In he reached, stretching his arm as far as he could, until he was startled by the sound of his old dog, Coco, barking. He slipped and fell in, and what made this worse was that he was unable to swim.

He could still remember the taste of the chlorine and the sting of the water shooting up his nostrils. He tried to scream, but no air remained in his lungs to make the sound. He flailed his arms and legs about, trying to free himself from his watery prison, but to no avail. Very quickly, he felt himself growing weaker and weaker, until all he could see was darkness, and all he felt was cold. Until he was saved.

He jolted awake, breathing heavily, missing the feeling. It felt as though he couldn't sometimes when he woke up.

"Is something the matter, dear?" His mother asked him.

"F-fine. I... I am fine, Mother." He murmured, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stared out the window at the feathery clouds.

It was no more than an hour later when they finally landed in America. Gregory was not happy about it at all. But he knew, of course, there was nothing he could do. But there was nothing stopping him from hating it.

He was confused by many American customs. For example, why, in cars, was the driver seat on the left side? He found that to be idiotic. He nitpicked about many things such as this, and he knew there was no way that he could ever like such a place as "Illinois".

There was a slight windchill, he noticed, as they walked out of the airport to catch a taxi. It was fine, he was accustomed to this weather having lived in England. Although there was definitely more rain than cold, he has experienced his fair share of wintry climate.

They caught a taxi and got to their new house, which was actually not too bad. Definitely not as luxurious as their England home, but it certainly could have been worse.

They paid the taxi driver and disembarked, taking their luggage up to the front door. Allan struggled with finding the key, but he eventually did, and they all walked in. "Welcome, Taggert family, to our new home!" He declared.

They stood in front of the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms. To their left lead to the family room, the dining room, and the kitchen, and to their right was a small room which could be used for anything. Unlike their England home, none of these rooms had doors, but the dining room was sectioned off by walls with wide doorways that supposedly could have a door. And in the dining room hung a chandelier.

Gregory just sighed softly. "Sure. Whatever. Where's my stupid room?" He grumbled.

"Upstairs, the door at the end of the hallway on the right." His father directed.

As he walked up the stairs, which went up then quickly took a left, he saw the several other rooms. There was one at the far left end of the wall, and past a large window to the adjacent left was another. He looked to his right, where there were three rooms. Two of the rooms faced each other on opposite walls while one faced outward, which Gregory assumed was his room.

When he walked in, there wasn't much to see. White walls, a window on the left side of the north facing wall with closed blinds, a small closet on the left side of the east wall, and blue-grey carpet. Overall, quite bland.

He laid down on the floor, done with everything. He didn't want to be here, he missed England. England, where everyone shared his accent. Here, everyone would speak with an Illinois accent. He was not even sure what that sounded like.

He found himself to be exhausted, though he got plenty of rest on the plane ride. Albeit, a rest which lead to a hellish nightmare that seemed to be stuck on repeat. But sleep was sleep, and he got quite enough of it. He never wanted to sleep again. Though, as much as he would like for this to be possible, he soon dozed off on the uncomfortable floor.