"I don't know what's wrong with my daughter. She's been acting...odd."
"Odd? How?"
"She dozes off in class or disappears from it completely. We don't know what's wrong."
"Any recent changes in the household? Death in the family? New school?"
"She had a birthday; she just turned nine."
The doctor nodded and wrote down this information.
"Alright, bring her in for observation this Saturday. I'll warn you, though; it will be a few hours until we've finished. In the meantime, keep note of other unusual occurences."
Ib sat at the table her parents had led her to and stared at the mirror as they left; she had a feeling she was being watched. The room was large and plain with very few chairs or tables and an abundance of dolls, paints, and toy instruments lay strewn across the floor. She took a break from the mirror to trace the patterns of butterflies and birds that she saw in the paint.
Mother said to do whatever she wanted, but, since Ib had been able to walk, she had always told her to be on her best behavior and to not touch what wasn't hers. She rubbed the lace of her handkerchief.
She'd woken up from off-putting dreams several times since visiting the gallery. She would be running: sometimes from Mother, sometimes from headless statues. She vaguely remembered holding someone's hand, but whenever she looked up to see she ended up wandering alone in a place that smelled like crayons and paint. She didn't know how to explain these to Mother. So she didn't.
It was warm in the room, and Mother had woken her up early to come here. Ib felt her eyes droop.
From the observation room, the doctor watched as the girl fell asleep in her chair. The parents had been told to wait in another part of the facility and would be alerted when observation was over. As far as could be observed, the girl seemed remarkably well-behaved, if a little repressed. She might even sleep through the whole session.
Ib was walking down a narrow hallway with brown walls rising at either side. She felt the vague presence of someone beside her.
"She's not real, Ib. Sorry I didn't notice before."
She was holding someone's hand. They walked into a dark place, and she smelled crayons.
"We WILL get out of here; that's a promise."
Ib felt herself smile.
From the observation room, the doctor made a note. The girl was deep asleep. She had fallen onto the rather cushy floor that recently had been installed. Her hand was curled as if holding something. The doctor made another note of a different kind: make sure to rub it in the director's face about the carpet, again. The doctor was so engrossed his foresight that he didn't notice his charge had stood. She opened the unlocked door and slipped quietly into the hallway.
Ib wanted to cry. She was lonely, and her friend had disappeared without warning. Ib looked down at her hand. In it was something grey and heavy that didn't belong to her. She thought that the person she borrowed this from wouldn't mind her having it. She felt her throat catch, but she didn't cry since Mother said that wasn't ladylike.
She walked down the hallway and up some stairs. Some green vines with heavy yellow blobs blocked her way. Ib used the lighter then stepped back. The vines turned to ash, parting like a curtain in front of her.
Time lurched; she held the lighter tight in her grip and looked back from where she came. She smelt burnt paper and recalled the glint of metal amidst ashes. No one was here, now. She felt her hands shake a she stared up at a large painting: "? World."
"Ib, there you are!"
Ib jumped when she felt someone touch her shoulder.
"Didn't I say I was going to catch up? Geez."
She turned around, but no one was there.
"I've found a way out back this way. C'mon!"
In the shadows of the room, she could see a haze that barely differentiated itself from them.
"We promised we'd leave together, Ib."
The voice sounded almost right. It was just warm enough that she would have been fooled, except that the way this presence held itself was predatory.
"Ib..."
She brandished the lighter. It took a step back.
"Ib, that's dangerous. Throw it away and come here."
The lighter refused to light. The thing began to charge, and she ran for the painting. She felt something graze on her foot as she was engulfed in light.
He had been in this hospital for so long that he was sure he had forgotten how to do anything with his hands. He was only allowed to entertain himself with that mindless box. It stood against the far wall, volume turned down so low that it hummed. He would have it off completely, but too much silence meant trouble (said the doctors). He twisted the blanket from his bed in his hands as he stared out the barred window.
There was a soft knock on the door unlike the curt knocks of the staff.
"Come in?"
The door opened, and a small girl with brown hair peered around it. She seemed confused.
"Are you a doctor?"
He chuckled.
"No, I'm not a doctor. I used to be a sculptor, and I live here, now."
The girl came inside and shut the door behind her. She walked up and sat on the bed, staring up at him in silence. He thought about calling for one of the volunteers but thought better of it.
"I'm looking for someone," said the girl. "But I don't know who I'm looking for."
"Do you know what this someone looks like?"
"No. I just know they're nice. Like being warm when its really cold outside."
He stopped twisting the blanket and returned the girl's stare. They sat in silence for a long while.
"I haven't known someone like that for a long time," he replied, "I don't even know if I knew him to begin with."
The girl looked away and pulled a lace-edged handkerchief out of her pocket. She unwrapped it slowly to reveal a grey buntane lighter.
"This isn't mine," she said.
He nodded.
"I can't show it to Mother or Father." She offered it to him. "Do you want to hold it?"
He took it and weighed it in his palm.
"So now he's real again," he said aloud. He smiled. "Thank you."
He offered the lighter back. She took it solemnly and rewrapped it in the handkerchief before putting it away.
"Say," he said, "have you ever heard of milk puzzles?"
"I'd like to know what a DOCTOR was doing when he was supposed to be observing my daughter for mental illness."
The doctor squirmed under the gaze of the mother. The father was still helping the staff trying to find the girl after some hours of her being missing, and he only could stammer.
The mother looked back at the director.
"I want my daughter found, or I will be forced to report this facility for negligence."
"Dear!"
The director and the doctor both sighed in relief as the father guided the girl back into the room.
"Where was she?"
"An aide found her in a room talking with one of the patients."
The mother crouched down to face her daughter.
"Ib, you know better than to wander off. You had me and your father worried, you know."
The reply was too low for anyone but the mother to hear.
"You may be sorry, but how can I continue to trust you if you continue to misbehave?"
She stood up and glared at both the doctor and director. The director offered apologies of behalf of the hospital, which the mother coldly took. The family left. The girl's hands were held in the firm grip of her parents, and she walked slightly behind as if dazed.
Ib crouched just outside her parents bedroom door.
"-just don't understand," her mother was saying. "This is the third time this has happened."
"It's only a phase, dear."
"Talking to strangers in a mental hospital?"
"She's growing more independent. It comes with age."
"Don't quote those parenting books at me when I've had more experience than any of those so-called doctors."
Ib stood and crept back towards her bedroom. She shut the door behind her and sat on the trunk in front of her bed. The room was dark, barely lit by the moon outside. All around her, the plushies she had gotten for past birthdays lay akimbo. Mother hadn't noticed that Ib had taken down all her drawings, nor had she noticed that all her plushies and dolls faced away from her bed and desk, no matter where they were in the room. She fished her handkerchief out of her pajama pocket and unfolded it to look at the lighter. It was plain, grey, and just heavy enough to be remembered. She shook the lighter next to her ear. She would feel better if it had some oil.
Mother and Father had asked her many questions when they got home. But Ib didn't know the answers.
She rewrapped the lighter, put it in her pocket, and crawled into bed. In her dreams, she stood in a fake sun so warm that her eyes drooped. Her hand was being held by that familiar person she couldn't name. Someone else touched her hair. They stood together in silence. There would be little time for rest once they started walking again.
A/N: At first, this was going to be a comedy. I had had it all in my head that Ib was going to pull a Garry (see my story "Session"). But that's not the story that Ib wanted to tell. Darn it, Ib, I'm trying to put more humor in your game's category! And, besides, I've written a short for Mary and Garry, might as well have one for Ib. Reviews are welcome as always.