A/N: This is my third publicly shared FanFiction. (To read more about my first attempts at writing FanFics, see my bio...)

And thank you to Animorphs007 for introducing me to the world of Ib, and for reading through every single one of my fanfics I've ever written...she's been a big help!

I recently discovered the RPG horror game called 'Ib', in which a nine-year old girl is drawn against her will into the demented gallery of Guertana, where she meets a lavender-haired stranger named Garry and where her life is connected to a delicate red rose. They take on the gallery together, fighting desperately to escape from the headless mannequins, Ladies in Color, creepy mannequin heads, and - in Garry's case - disturbing blue dolls that just won't leave him alone. And when they meet a young girl by the name of Mary, things get a little bit more twisted...

This is based off of the "Ib All Alone" ending, in which Garry gets out but Ib chooses to follow the fake mother instead. Will he remember before it's too late, or will Ib be trapped in the gallery forever? Hope you like it!

Running From Mary,

~M.M.W.

Remembering Ib

Prologue

He beckoned her to follow him, but she turned away from the mural.

"Ib! What's wrong? Come on!"

She ignored him, staring at something he couldn't see.

"Ib! Hey, what are you doing?! Hurry up and come over!"

Her expression turned into a concerned frown as she turned to look at him.

"Hey, it's not scary, okay? You'll be fine!"

She turned away again and he crouched at the edge of the mural.

"Ib! I'll pull you over!"

She looked back and forth between him and whatever he couldn't see, conflicted.

"Grab my hand!...IB!"

He could only watch as she turned and began walking away. The world around him was growing brighter, turning white.

"...Huh? Wait...Where are you going?! Ib! Hey! IB! Ib..."

Chapter One – Vaguely Familiar

In the corner of a quiet art gallery, near a large, life-like statue of a bright red rose, a young man with lavender hair and a long, stylishly-tattered coat blinked in confusion. He couldn't seem to remember what he had been doing...

"Excuse me?"

A woman's voice broke him from his stupor, and he turned to see a young couple - perhaps in their late twenties. The man was wearing an expensive-looking suit, his tawny hair neatly brushed and his brown eyes warm and kind. The woman wore an elegant dress in deep red, her long brown curls just as dark, almost black, and pinned up in the back. It was her eyes that caught the young man's attention - they were bright red.

He frowned, suddenly getting a strong feeling that he was forgetting something...something important. But the feeling was gone as soon as it had come. Shaking himself, he smiled at the couple.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"Yes, actually," the woman returned the smile. "We are looking for our daughter. She went off on her own about five minutes ago...perhaps you have seen her?"

The young man frowned, trying to remember.

"What does she look like?" he asked.

"Oh!" the woman opened her purse and began rifling through its contents. "I have a photograph of her...ah, here it is!" Her eyes lit up as she withdrew a small picture from the bag. She handed it over to the young man, who took it with gentle fingers.

the girl in the photograph was wearing a school uniform, with a white blouse and red pleated skirt with a red scarf tied around her neck. Her hair was waist-length and a rich chocolate color with thick bangs hanging just above her eyebrows. And her eyes - the young man once again had the strangest feeling that he was forgetting something important - were ruby-red, identical to her mother's.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "I believe I did see her recently, upstairs in front of "The Hanged Man" painting."

The woman beamed at him.

"Thank you so very much," she said. "We will look there first."

"I'll keep my eyes open," the young man replied with a smile, turning to face the rose statue once again.

"Excuse me," the woman's husband spoke this time. "What is your name, son?"

"I'm Garry, sir," the young man said.

"Thank you, Garry." The man smiled gently and offered an arm to his wife, leading her back towards the Gallery lobby.

~ Garry ~

Garry gazed up at "Embodiment of Spirit" with bright blue eyes, feeling strangely sorrowful, and perhaps a bit nostalgic. Carefully sculpted petals littered the ground around the thorn-covered stem, looking as though they had been plucked and dropped there only moments ago. Why did the simple yet beautiful sculpture fill him with so much sadness? It was only a rose, after all...

Glancing down at his wristwatch, he let out a sigh as he realized he had been at the gallery for much longer than he had originally intended. He gave one last look at the sculpture before turning to leave. As he passed the bottom of the staircase to the second floor, he heard the woman's voice again.

"Have you seen a girl around here, about your age?"

There was a high-pitched, girlish giggle.

"Yes, actually, I have," said a second voice, this one much younger. "Follow me!"

Garry tensed at the girl's voice, but quickly shook it off. He pushed open the gallery doors and stepped out into the cool afternoon air, squinting slightly at the sudden sunlight, and was surprised to find himself filled with emotion - relief, perhaps? Or maybe a blissful happiness? He wasn't sure, nor was he sure why his emotions were so awry today.

The lavender-haired teen frowned and massaged his temples as a small headache started to form behind his eyes. He tried his best to ignore it as he walked out into the parking lot and stopped beside his parking space, pulling out the helmet, and swung his leg over the sleek black motorcycle. Grinning fondly, he put on the helmet and started the engine to head home for the night.

~ Garry ~

Garry closed the door behind him and dropped his keys and bike helmet on a nearby table. The smell of homemade spaghetti sauce led him to the kitchen, where his mother was busy making dinner. Her brown hair was pulled back into a bun, and she had a red floral-print apron tied around her waist to cover her outfit - a white long-sleeve blouse and knee-length blue skirt.

"Did you enjoy the art gallery?" she asked, glancing up from the stove for a moment.

"Yes, I did," Garry smiled. He strode across the kitchen and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, dipping a finger into the sauce as he did so. "Dinner looks great, by the way." He slipped from the room and dashed up the stairs, hoping she hadn't noticed -

"Don't think I didn't see that, young man," his mother called up after him. He chuckled lightly to himself as he licked the sauce off his finger and ducked into his room. Bookshelves lined the wall opposite his bed, organized first by genre, then by author, then alphabetical titles. A dresser stood against the wall behind him and to his right, just inside the door, with a full-length mirror beside it, and the wall across from him - Garry's favorite - was an art wall. If ever inspiration struck, he would find a blank area of wall and paint whatever his feelings created.

Not today, however. His headache had worsened since the gallery, and he was starting to feel a bit dizzy. He collapsed onto his bed and pressed his palms against his eyes, suddenly exhausted. This surprised him, seeing as he didn't recall doing anything that would make him this tired...

.

He was running down a narrow hallway, and he could hear the sounds of the mob following closely behind him. He didn't dare look back, because if he did, he wouldn't be able to keep going. A door at the end of the hall loomed closer, and he pleaded silently to every God that was up there for it to be unlocked.

A loud crash from somewhere behind him made him scream, and he stumbled, trying to catch his footing...

He was ten feet away now...seven...four...two...he reached for the handle─

.

"Garry!"

Garry yelped and his eyes flew open as he sat bolt upright...

...and promptly fell off the bed. Wincing, he pushed himself off the floor.

"Garry, dinner's ready!" his father's voice called from the bottom of the stairs. He shook his head to stop the buzzing in his ears.

"Thank you," he replied distractedly, "I'll be down in a minute."

That...dream, or whatever it was...it seemed important. It gave off the same feeling he had gotten back at the gallery, when the woman had showed him the photograph of her daughter. What had it been about? He closed his eyes, trying to remember, but the harder he focussed on the dream, the further away it became. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep ahold of the vague flashes of images in his mind, and before he could even try to make sense of it, the dream was gone.

End of Chapter One

A/N: Thank you so much for reading my first Ib FanFiction! Please leave a response! Critiques wanted...PLEASE tell me any and all opinions, good and bad! Flames will be used to torch the evil painting child...

Read my profile for extra information, and have a Marvelous Night!

~M.M.W.

Cover Image Belongs To ~no-bunnies on DeviantArt