Disclaimer: I do not own Ib or any of the elements in the game. They belong to their respective owner; I am merely using them for my own creative amusement.

AN: The entirety of this story takes place in the 1990s to early 2000s when technology was not as advanced/Facebook and Myspace and all that good stuff was not invented yet. Thank you for stopping by. Happy reading!

Note: This chapter has been revised from the original. Grammar has improved, conversations/flashback conversations make more sense and there is more flow to the narrative. There is new material too. Enjoy! :3

Song recommendation: Trois mouvements de Petrouchka by Igor Stravinsky (played by Matthias Fletzberger)

Chapter 1:

Japan, 1988

-4.5 years before the Guertena Art Museum-

The white pieces stared back at him, mocking him for his lack of enthusiasm, or so Garry thought. He moved them around, separating the corner pieces, the side pieces and the ones that go in the middle ever so slowly.

"Gareth, still not finished yet?"

The blond teacher gently nudged the thirteen and a half year old boy on his shoulder. She had noticed his sluggish movements from the front of the class and came over to check on him. The boy had a potential for greater things, but it would all go to waste if he continued being lazy and spend his endeavour elsewhere.

"I don't see what the point of this is. There's no picture or reward in the end, it's too boring."

She clicks her tongue repeatedly, shaking her head.

"The reward is the fact that you've actually finished, a good majority of your classmates already have. The point of the puzzle, Gareth, is to show you how starved we are of colours in this world, how desperately we need a beautiful picture to motivate us to complete our goals." She clasped her hands together, eyes shining along with her monologue, "When everything is white and bleak, challenges are much harder to overcome, unless you find the courage to carry on, or the attitude. Hurry up, art ends in twenty minutes."

The said classmates snickered behind their painting tools, having already moved on. The girls sent him awful, high-pitched giggles and the slower ones glared at him for no apparent reason. He grumbled under his breath. 'They probably think I'm mocking them.'

'To be honest, they're not exciting, since they don't make a picture in the end. It feels much more worth it to do a puzzle of a picture you like.'

Garry groaned and slammed his head onto the table, refusing to move for the rest of class while everyone else was allowed to progress and have fun with other art projects.

The teacher shook her head again, flicking her wavy hair back.

'What am I going to do with this boy?'

xIxBx

"She has the grace of an angel, the incredible hearing of Mozart! She is not just technically brilliant; her playing has a playful style and heart! Professionals take years, even decades, to achieve what she has done in two months." Stravinsky's Petrushka* rang through the halls of the large house, delighting the servants who were exhausted from working in silence.

Little Ib's long fingers glided over the keys with an acquired ease within her short time of learning. She rocked her body slightly from side to side to move in time with the rhythm, a little dreamy smile on her face.

"You can practically hear an orchestra behind her! I've never seen anyone more gifted."

The piano tutor was beaming at the little girl, shaking with overwhelming pride at his student. Her parents were shell-shocked with awe at Ib's delicate hands, moving with a speed and passion that couldn't quite be fathomed at her age. The four and a half year old girl played from her blossoming heart and resonated her spirit outwards.

Her mother had tears in her eyes and her father's bottom lip was quivering. They were enthralled. Ib played like she was enchanted, the cheerful melody being her morphine. The colourful tone of the grand piano continued on and on, warming her soul. She was about to finish with a grand finale when a loud sneeze stopped her abruptly. She turned towards her audience and grinned sheepishly.

"God Bless you, child!" The piano tutor clapped enthusiastically.

"How was I, Mummy?"

Esme and William clapped their hands loudly, giving her a standing ovation. William wrapped an arm around Esme and hugged her tight. Her mother could barely speak.

"I think the world has found itself yet another musical genius, my darling"

xIxBx

Japan, 1989

-3 years before the Guertena Art Museum-

"So Garry—"

He silently gritted his teeth, then cleared his throat, correcting her politely, "Its Gareth"

"So Gareth, I love your hair today, the gorgeous green highlights really go with your natural jet black hair"

"Thank you" he replied dryly. The girl he had barely known had pestered him into a date (he wasn't too sure about her name either, 'Hana or Lana?') and today was the only day he would be free for the next three weeks. He had assignments and family business plans coming left and right. 'What a way to spend the day.'

She was like a leech, or a cigarette, the more you try to ignore it, the harder it becomes to do so, instead, you just give in and give it what it likes. He shudders, 'Not a good example' he thought. He was short of cash, so instead of a movie or something equally interesting, he took her for a walk around the gardens of the large city. He loved the scenery, just like he loved walking, but his date didn't seem to be happy, judging by the sound of her dragging heels.

'Hopefully, she'll think I'm boring.'

The date was not going well, which was good long-term, but painful in the short. He found a stray dog hanging about so he tried to give it some water from a nearby fountain and took it to the nearest animal shelter. Hana/Lana mumbled something about rabies and filth and just stood nearby, not lifting an inch of her brightly coloured, newly polished nails to help.

After helping an old man cross the street, she became even more cross, this time muttering about not paying enough attention or making conversation with her.

"Muttering isn't attractive, stop it."

She clamped her jaws shut and grabbed his arm, snaking hers around it. They ended up buying bread and feeding the ducks at a nearby pond. Her mood cheered ever so slightly, which made Garry a bit more comfortable with his situation. She seemed to whine less when her mind was occupied with a task.

As they were walking through the park later, under the shades of the beautiful giant trees, he suddenly spotted a little bundle of cloth on a wooden bench nearby, almost hidden by the shadows. Looking closer, he realised the bundle was moving, shaking to be precise, and was not just cloth... it was a small girl in a big blue dress.

'Fine-quality material for a little girl's dress,' he pondered.

She was petite and fragile, brown hair in a bob and gave the saddest sobs he had ever heard, like her puppy was lost, or the fact she was lost and couldn't find her parents.

"Hey, are you alright?"

The startled child looked up and Garry swore his heart and nasal vessels just burst with how cute she was. Her eyes were a strange colour though... she must have cried for weeks to get eyes that red... Garry may have thought the child was adorable, but his date saw nothing but running mucus and waterworks. She mentally steels herself for another episode.

"I lost my d-daddy. I was looking at some flowers, then I ran to play with a kitty and... and... when I turned around, he was... he was..." The girl had started crying again. Garry melted in an instant and went to sit down next to her. He gave the child a caring bear hug with his lanky arms.

"Shh, it's okay, everything will be okay."

His date stood nearby, shocked by the display of gentleness on the usually apathetic, bored face. She shifted from one foot to the other, awkwardness slowly creeping up her spine. She was never good with children, didn't want any, and was a lost at what to do. Despite the apparent age gap and their unusual position, Gareth didn't look weird like a predator at all, his posture was too innocent, and he looks more like a comforting big brother from his demeanour, even if they don't look anything alike.

"Let's get your daddy then," he softly whispered.

Garry carried the girl all the way on his back while she fastened her arms around his neck. Her eyes were closed and it seems that she had cried herself to sleep. He was glad he wasn't wearing his coat today, or he would be sweating buckets underneath all the heat, despite the chilly breezes that were signifying the coming of autumn soon. His date was lagging behind, watching him intently with a curiosity that he found the slightest bit unsettling.

"You're good with kids, but not normal people," she started. "You avoid us like the plague, yet your heart bleeds for every lost child, every frail old man, every kicked puppy, why is that?"

"Normal people..." he replied, slightly out of breath, "...can sort out their own mess. I help those who can't help themselves."

"Uh-huh. So if we can't help ourselves, like we're injured or something, then your gentle 'Garry' side would come out?"

"Maybe. Don't you dare think of breaking your own leg, Lana."

The sudden stillness of her footsteps puzzled him, so Garry turned back at his astonished date. Her face was pinched tightly, her eyes glazed over with hurt. "It's Jessica."

To his surprise, he reeled back from his mistake. He found her a nuisance, so he didn't expect the guilt of hurting her to cut. He muttered a soft apology. A heavy silence settled around them.

When they arrived at the shops of the town centre, they found an almost hysterical father greeting them and returned his daughter. It was a heart-warming sight and even Jessica, known as ice-queen around her friends, softened. Garry raised one eyebrow at her and tugged her away by the arm, not even staying to hear the name of the six-year-old they had rescued.

"I was so worried about you, don't ever stray again, do you understand? Thank goodness for that boy. Thank—" The young man turned around but there was no one there. He stroked his angel's soft brown hair and tucked her under his chin. "C'mon love, let's go home."

Jessica stared at their entwined hands and smiled the entire way he walked her home. She knew it was the already the end of whatever she started, but she enjoyed the change of heart while she could.

xIxBx

Japan, 1990

-1.5 years before the Guertena Art Museum-

"How's it going, lady-boy?"

"Ugly Muppet."

One of them scoffs at him as he walks by, spitting at him in disapproval, "Disgusting weirdo" they muttered.

He tossed his red hair to the side and continued to stroll and whistle by, carrying his heavy folders with him to class. Their opinion didn't affect him one bit. He was intelligent, he had girls flocking to him like sheep; he was generally content with his life. He didn't have the slightest clue why they disliked him so much. It was his choice to talk the way he does, his intrigue in beauty that makes him colour his hair and choose his style in clothes, his personal opinion and dislike of sweat to take part in any sport. It doesn't make him any lesser than his school mates.

Rebel

He caught the eye of one familiar girl from a few years back, who blushed and turned away. He looked forward again and carried on, entering the classroom. Garry dumped his folders onto his table in the back row, slumping into his chair. He unbuttoned his school jacket and let it hang out from his sides.

Outcast

Opening his notebook, he smirks at the sketches of several jacket designs. Garry turned the pages littered and scratched with illegible numbers and words to sketches of the school buildings. The next page contained a pencil sketch of a daffodil he found a few days back. Flipping the pages once more, he came across a blank page and started his creative work once again. The thought of the incredible Eiffel Tower didn't leave him.

Artist

At least the fan-girl's descriptions were half accurate. Garry's family was full of artists, or a different variation of it. Aunts and uncles were bakers, musicians, sculptors and so on. His father was a woodcarver with a modest shop; his mother was a painter whose successes have only been used to feed the family. There may only three of them, but with both parents coming from poor families, he knew what hard work feels like and the meaning of going to bed hungry.

He didn't mind it at all, it taught him a lot of things: how to be grateful, how to be happy, how to earn your successes and feel good about it. It's also taught him how rough the world can be, and just how cruel children are sometimes. He remembered the first day of junior high.

"Pfft, what a stupid looking kid."

"I think he's kind of cute!"

"Shut up, stupid girl!"

"Blue hair? Seriously?"

At first, he thought they were just being shallow and silly. Then, they turned even meaner and even more vicious than before now in high school, but he still couldn't give a damn.

"Go die in a hole, get hit by a truck, whatever. No one likes you here."

"I bet he thinks he's some kind of artistic freak."

"Bet he's nothing but a freak."

"Worthless homo."

He wasn't quite sure whether it was hobo or homo, that one was muttered. He didn't know why everyone was so homophobic, even if he wasn't one. Honestly, he didn't care. Sixteen and a half year old Garry had more self-confidence than most of his peers. Being alone a good deal of his life, he didn't mind another few more years in this special type of torture called high school. No more judgement, no more suffocating social conformation showed by the sheep here. He couldn't wait to be free.

xIxBx

There was something equally soothing about the silence to seven and a half year old Ib.

She gave the picture another stroke of her paintbrush and it was finished. She scrutinised the painting once more and cracked a big smile on her paint smeared face. The mother and baby in the painting had their heads a little too big, their arms way too thin and smiles that would look demented on a real face. A normal person would be slightly disturbed by the painting, but give a forced smile anyways to praise Ib for working so hard.

Mothers aren't normal people. When she presented it to her mother, Esme was so ecstatic she gave Ib a big sloppy big kiss and told her how much she loved it, truly and honestly. She had seen how hard the girl worked on the piece and was touched by the effort. The painting was hung in the family dining hall next to the extremely large family portrait recently taken.

Ib's love for art grew more and more each day.

A mother's love knew no boundaries. Esme loved both Ib and Evangeline, Evie for short, with so much fervour she was constantly cheerful for a very long time after giving birth to her second child. The joy lasted for two years and many happy memories were made in their large, beautiful house. Songs, dances, smiles and laughter. Picnics and plays, stories and adventures were stored in videotapes and pictures.

Then, Evie started coughing more. She was always in bed, sick. After a shocking revelation during a doctor's appointment, it all came down, crashing and burning.

xIxBx

Japan, 1992

-5 months after Guertena Art Museum-

"Garry, come to bed."

"I'm fine."

He stood, despite the bitter cold, out on his balcony, shirtless and only in his pyjama bottoms. The chill kept his mind focused on his body, not his God-damned fragile state of mind. He frowns and stubs his sixth cigarette that night. His smoking was becoming worst and worst, finishing two packets a day, at least. Whenever the flashes come back, he would grab a fag and fill his system with nicotine, drowning it out. He was glad he hadn't turned to drugs at this rate... yet.

"Garry—"

"It's Gareth. Go to sleep, love, I'm fine."

His girlfriend Melissa, history student in the college, didn't know what was wrong with him. He was so depressed nowadays and rejected every advance she made towards him, every seductive look and every risqué outfit she dolled up in. She once even sat on his lap while he was watching tv with his shirt on, only his shirt on, and he flatly told her she was blocking the show.

She loved his flamboyance and his aloofness, the latter was what was so damn charming about her man. She loved his weirdly coloured hair that changed every month or so... well, this purple has stayed for quite a while; it looks good on him anyway. He was becoming stranger and stranger though, beginning to hate her and she thinks... she wonders...

She wonders if he truly was an okama.**

"I'm not, I'm just tired."

Did she... say that aloud?

He walked back to bed and lied down on his side, sighing loudly and draped his arm over his eyes. This girl is irritating. He truly wonders about his taste in woman.

"Honey, why don't you let me call you Garry? We've been together for nearly 9 months and you still don't—"

"Garry's a special name to me. Only a few people call me that."

She saw red. That was the last straw. How dare he speak like that to her? Despite being an oddball, Garry was nothing if not kind and gentle at heart. A few months ago, this bitter, twisted version came out of that art gallery and was walking around in his skin. He used to appreciate her cooking and cleaning for him, and he would... they would... this is unbelievable. Her? Not special? She's moving out in the morning. He can kiss her arse goodbye.

"So what am I, your maid and your whore? You ungrateful pig!"

She huffed and turned over, pulling almost the entire duvet over her, leaving him exposed to the cold room of November. He looked sideways at her, wide-eyed at her anger. A chill ran through him once again.

He wasn't sure if it was her or the cold. He regretted his words instantly, yet no apology came out. He frowned in disappointment at himself, like his mouth was sewed tight. Garry shivered at the thought.

'It's too damn frosty.'

He turned to his back, remembering the morning he was preparing to go to the gallery. He had stopped by his father's house to deliver medicine he picked up the other day early in the morning, and then hopped on the bus to go to the art exhibit.

He was excited to see what his mother went on and on about all those years when he was a child. He never even heard of the artist in art class. He was going to go with his mum, but it seems as though his father was so sickly she couldn't leave his side. He promised her an afternoon tea when the kind helper would come and look after his father.

Garry was a special name, huh? Then why was he so free to give it away?

"Ah, I still haven't asked your name. How foolish of me! Well, I'm Garry. And you are? Ib... Ib, you say. It's dangerous for a child to be all on their own... So I shall stick with you! Let's go Ib."

He was an idiot. He mentally groaned at what happened next with that weird saliva... portrait... thing. Hyeeeek? He may have been terrified out of his mind and delirious happy to not be in pain but... that response was just...

He smacked his face again for the millionth and third time.

In front of a child too.

He looks at his clock on his nightstand.

3: 52

Eight more minutes until four in the morning. He may as well start on the next day. Who cares if he only had an hours sleep 14 hours ago? Seize the day! Early bird catches the most worms! Grab the opportunity!

He sighed.

All he had to do is...

He sighed even louder.

"Shut up, Gareth."

Unsure of what to do, he stroked her hair gently. He had to apologise in the morning. His head was spinning when he swung his legs out. He groans with exhaustion and gets out of bed.

xIxBx

Little Eve was too sick to come with them to the gallery. Ib was glad. She knows something awful, something horrifying happened that day. It was the reason why she felt so empty, so exhausted and so frightened of some of those portraits.

"Ib, can you walk? If you're tired, make sure to tell me right away, okay? Don't be shy about it! I'll completely understand!"

She felt the smooth, hard sweet in her hand and held on to it tightly. When she was younger, she never liked lemon sweets, she preferred mints. Now, it was her favourite, one of her most precious keepsakes. Somehow she knew it was significant she kept it, it was her link to ... something... something amazing, something wonderful. Out of all of those disturbing images in her head, she sees kindness and peace too. She hopes she remembers soon.

"Ib, would you look take a look in the pocket of that coat?" She feels around in the large fabric snuggling her and... there's a piece of candy... "You can have that. Feel free to eat it."

It took her 5 months, bits and pieces coming together to form a bigger picture. Dreams haunt her nights, memories haunt her days. Some would be new; some would be repeats again and again. Sometimes there would be reprieves when they don't come, but when they do, they hit even harder. She knows there are still gaps: people, places and most importantly... she doesn't know howthe story ends either.

The sweet gives her a glimpse of hope, when she knows there's not going to be a lot of it. Baby cries echo from the room down the hall, her mother's desperate coos go unheard. Tears prick her eyes. She breathes in deeply and whispers a prayer, the sweet still trapped in her hand. She's going to find a locket and bring it with her everywhere.

A warm, gentle smile and soft pat on the head surfaces, giving her the slightest bliss from the current nightmare she was living. The ever constant, 'She's not going to make it' taunt slowly ebbs away. Silence. Blissful silence.

Ib slipped under the bed covers and placed the sweet underneath her pillow.

'Please, only the good ones, please.'

She dreams.

She dreams of hands coming out of walls, of headless statues coming to life and chasing her. She dreams of a falling red ball of paint, a dark figure banging on windows and footsteps coming towards her. She dreams of a crying child, trapped in a baby crib, sobbing as three menacing figures approach it; A headless statue; a woman in a portrait crawling by her fingernails; a mannequin head.

She wakes.

She grips the sweet in her hand and makes her way to the grand piano in the drawing room.

It was the start of many nights, for many years.

xTxBxCx

COMING SOON:

Something's wrong with him. He feels like this city is trapping him.

'So this is what a living nightmare feels like.'

The time in the gallery may be over, but its legacy, the fear and the bone-chilling horror, was still echoing everywhere. Garry was glad he came here, the outskirts had less light and he could finally see the stars. He smiled sardonically, cursing the irony.

'What a marvellous night'

AN: Puzzled by Garry's behaviour, Ib's family life or just my peculiar sense of humour? Comment about anything in a review and I'll be happy to hear your thoughts C: I may reply too! If there are any spelling mistakes, inconsistencies or grammar errors, don't hesitate to tell me. Take care!

*Trois mouvements de Petrouchka by Igor Stravinsky if you're interested in a listen. It is renowned for its notorious technical and musical difficulties. All three movements include wild and rapid jumps which span over two octaves, complex polyrhythms, extremely fast scales, multiple glissandos, and tremolos. Ib was about to finish the first movement when her sneeze distracted her. ^_^

**"Okama" (or "o-kama") is Japanese slang for "gay man", particularly in reference to very effeminate gays (like pretty Garry). The word can also mean "drag queen."