Author Note:

I'm going to try to update this as often as possible ^.^ Comments are ALWAYS welcome, especially about the length! (I keep worrying that it's too short, my other fanfic's chapters are 2,000-3,000 words haha)

Chapter 2:

Ib huddled against the cold, slamming the door of her small black slugbug behind her. They had underground parking at the Whole Foods she had pulled up at, but the cold penetrated the thick concrete with ease. She stepped into the elevator, nodding at the older woman who stood on the other side. She regarded Ib with a sort of distaste, especially dwelling on the thinness of her stomach. Ib ignored it. The elevator dinged, and they both stepped out into the large store on the other side. Ib headed for the Deli, looking to get something that would fill her up, without making her stomach too uncomfortable. The walk was short, and the line wasn't long. Ib headed for the checkout with her wallet in one hand and her food in the other.

Guertena, an artist of extreme and not completely known talents. He is well-known for his exceptional use of color and balance of shapes. Come see Guertena at the Moma, a special exhibition of extremists in the past!

Ib's stomach dropped. The poster was extremely straight forward, all angles and contrasting colors; designed to grab the attention for a short amount of time, but even the word 'Guertena' was enough. She swallowed. What is it with me and this painter guy? She shook her head.

"Madam? Excuse me?" The cashier murmured politely.

"Oh s-sorry about that," Ib handed her the sandwich and paid quickly, walking briskly to the elevator and stepping inside as soon as the bell dinged. The ride up was solitary, and not particularly interesting in any sense. She was soon back in the garage, walking towards her car.

Come see Guertena at the Moma, a special exhibition of extremists in the past! The posters were everywhere. Ib was surprised she hadn't heard about it on TV; although, ever since the inexplicable depression, she hadn't really been in the mood to watch the news.

The Moma eh? That's not too far from here... She closed the door behind her, and pushed the keys into the ignition, a new destination in mind.

She was going to get to the bottom of this. Tonight.

/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\

Garry had woken up again. He already wished he hadn't. It wasn't as bad this time, he had much more mobility throughout his body, and didn't have too much trouble shifting to a standing position. He stumbled slightly, hearing the pop of his joints; stiff, as though they hadn't been used in a very long time. How long did I sleep? I wonder... But he didn't have time for wondering. He had to find her. Ib. He stretched his arms as he walked down the dim hallway. The exit at the other side of the hallway led into an open room. He remembered Ib and himself heading in that direction, just before he had passed out. He avoided standing too close to the walls, knowing all to well about the monsters that liked to grab at people through the thick sheet rock. He wondered what time it was. He looked around at the limited light and frowned slightly. He hadn't checked the time since he had been back in the gallery, examining his favorite painting, "The Hanged Man."

He remembered that day vaguely, it had been overcast, and a soft drizzle had cut through the sky, spilling on to the sidewalk like heavenly tears. Garry had been at the museum to find inspiration, being a fairly descent painter himself. He remembered noticing a flyer by the front desk, for Guertena, the exhibit the museum had been showing at the time. Garry knew ALL about Guertena, he ate, slept, and breathed Guertena. He had always admired the surreal way the colors seemed to move on the canvas where Guertena had touched it; similar to Van Gough, but at a whole new level. The Hanged Man had always been a particularly interesting piece to Garry, he wasn't exactly sure why; he enjoyed the color scheme, and the effect the painting had on its viewers emotionally, but there was more, some reason that he could never really figure out. He remembered passing a young girl on his way to the upper floor on that day, a girl with brightly sparkling red eyes like rubies that made him look twice. She had looked about ten, with chocolate-brown hair, and a short, childish stature. Garry hadn't really paid her much attention...

He shook his head. Now was not the time to be daydreaming about the past. He had to find her. Ib was stuck in the gallery. Alone with... her. Mary. She had seemed so human when they had first met. Garry was still having trouble accepting the fact that she was actually a painting, an invented puppet for Guertena's strings. He had gone really into the detail on this one, even giving her a fake rose to allow her to fit in better. He was pulled back to reality by his own heartbeat, his breathing was shallow with the effort of walking, he was still in extremely bad condition. He leaned against the wall, taking in the room he had entered into. It was definitely the sketchbook. The smell of crayons was overpowering, and the haunting music trilled happily in the background. It was empty, Garry could see stairs leading to another, higher level of the house to his left, and a door to the outside on the right. He shifted, as though to take a step forwards, but froze where he stood, in fear. He had heard something. Something that sounded disturbingly like a door being opened.

/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\

The Lady in Red nodded to the mannequin that had opened the door for her, and crawled through the doorway to the house unhappily. She didn't really enjoy getting around like this, it was a lot of work. She was breathing heavily now, having made the long journey from the front gallery to this place. She had never been here, but the other Ladies and Dolls talked about it a lot. This was Mary's place, where she spent all her time. Red didn't even take the time to look around the small room, instead choosing to continue on her way across the colorful flooring with forced alacrity; her painting clanked heavily behind her. Stairs were difficult for paintings like herself, and doors were impossible. It was always embarrassing calling on a mannequin to help you out, but it was just one of the things the Ladies had to endure. She hefted herself onto the first step, and began the challenging journey up. For Mary.

And our guests. She added as an afterthought.