Thanks for the favouriting, reviewing, following, all that stuff :P I'm pretty excited for this story; it's going to be full of adventure (and Garry x Ib, I won't forget), and…how about just ending this 'author's note' here and letting you guys read :) getting right into the action now!
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"I really couldn't…" Garry looked uncomfortable. He fiddled with his mocacchino, tapping the plastic restlessly with his fingers. He and Ib were walking down the darkening street. He had insisted that as a man, he certainly could not leave a girl to walk home alone. It would certainly be weighing on his conscience all the way back to his (shabby, disappointing, hovel-like) modest hotel.
Ib didn't look at him, just stared straight ahead as she clutched her hot chocolate in both hands. The drink was hot, warming fingers that had numbed from the approaching chilly night.
"It's okay," she said. "My parents were planning to arrive in a week, anyway."
"But earlier today, when you locked –"
"They could have returned early," said Ib. "It's a possibility." She paused, wondering if she should voice her thoughts. In the end, it came out anyway. How atypical. "The house is frightening when it's empty." Her lower lip began to tremble slightly, and she hastily brought the cup to her mouth to hide it; she loathed not just showing weakness, but also feeling it. She was so pathetic! If Garry hadn't thought of her as a little girl anymore earlier in the day, now he surely would have reverted to that mindset. In fact, she was showing even more weakness at seventeen compared to nine. How much pity must he feel for her? And disgust?
The hot chocolate burnt her tongue, suppressed tears springing to her eyes once more.
"Ib…"
Ib knew Garry was looking at her, but she didn't want to see his expression of pity. She imagined, instead, the look on that face, the one that had always shown emotion so openly. Surely there would be a part that looked at her as a parent looks at their distressed child, sympathetic but impatient. Certainly, he had plenty of reason to be impatient with her. She must be like an unpredictable toddler. She felt her cheeks burn.
"Ib, may I ask if it's because of what happened at…the gallery?" Garry's voice was gentle. He clearly thought of their relationship as one between brother and sister. This made a ball of iron clench in Ib's stomach, heavy and despairing. What had happened to the overwhelming happiness at seeing him only a few hours ago? The feeling that had shot through her arm when he took her hand? She could almost see his expression of disgust if she revealed her feelings for him.
"…Yes."
Garry fell silent.
As they walked, a page from an old, sodden newspaper fluttered past them. It caught on Garry's foot, and he bent to pull it off. There was a picture of a boy with neat brown hair and a solemn expression on it, perhaps around Ib's own age. A headline dominated the top of the newspaper. Alexander Blunt Declared Dead After Nine Years: Professor Charged with Murder.
Ib glanced at it, disinterested. "He went missing nine years earlier."
Garry looked back down at the article and shuddered. He crumpled it up in his fist, dropping an apprehensive hand on Ib's shoulder. "Ib, these stories worry me," he said. "Please promise me that you won't go out alone at night. This could well be you."
Ib didn't answer immediately, sipping her hot chocolate. She couldn't lie about how nice his touch was, and it momentarily distracted her from what he was saying.
"…Oh…um…" she tried to remember what Garry was talking about, ducking away from his hand to regain her thoughts. "I'll try."
Garry frowned at her. "Please, Ib," he said. "These kinds of stories pop up everywhere. You must be careful." He didn't add what he was also thinking: if I lost you again after all this time…I don't know what I would do.
Ib felt her face burn again, but the night covered it well. Did he really think she was so weak, so vulnerable? Had she shown too much?
The two reached Ib's house at last. Ib, her mind made up, marched right up to the door and began fumbling with the lock. She would sleep alone tonight. She would not show such embarrassing weakness to Garry again. Imagine all the discomfit he must be in!
Her fingers, still numb from the cold, wouldn't aim the key properly into the lock. Getting increasingly frustrated but trying not to show it, she kept scrabbling with it until the key finally slipped between her fingers and fell to the ground with a clatter. Ib let out a cry of exasperation, bending down to pick it up.
Meanwhile, Garry was watching her with his eyebrows pulled close together. Ib was worrying him. She never got frustrated, she never lost her temper, she never showed so much emotion. Even in the most extreme of scenarios, when they were dumped in the hellish gallery, she had been calm and collected. She never showed how she was feeling inside, her emotions only manifesting in fainting when she had finally had enough. Exterior emotions weren't a part of her.
Garry bent, swiping the key off the ground first. He slipped it into the lock and opened the door, motioning for Ib to go in.
"I'll stay the night if you really want, Ib," he said. Stay the night, he thought. My, that sounds suggestive. Perhaps I should have worded that differently…?
But now he was thinking down that path, and he shivered a little. Don't be a paedophile.
Ib deliberated at the door before walking into her house. She stood at the doorway, torn. She wanted him to stay the night. She really did. But if she did, it would just show her weakness even more. Being weak was so ugly.
"No," she said suddenly. Garry's expression changed completely, changing from one of mild embarrassment to surprise and…worry?
Oh, no. Now I've made him worried…he must think I'm as fragile as glass.
"I can sleep fine alone," she said. Was that firm enough? Yes, I think so…
Garry seemed to hesitate, one foot slightly raised as if he were about to go somewhere. "Ah…are you sure?" He still looked concerned, a little suspicious even. "I wouldn't mind, I don't want to leave you alone knowing you're thinking about that terrible place."
Ib wanted him by her side so badly it hurt. But she couldn't bring herself to say anything.
"…If you want."
She stepped away, giving him room to come in. Garry blinked at her cold response, but walked into the house.
"Would you like to have a shower?" she asked. She tried to suppress the relief and exhilaration at having Garry back in her house – staying the night… - but it was so hard. Some time would be needed to calm herself down. Or something. She still wasn't used to feeling such strong emotions, emotions that literally spilled out. She had always thought she was immune to that. Different.
"Ah…well…if your parents won't mind…?"
Ib couldn't help but smile at this. Garry had remained the same as much as she herself had changed. "No, they won't. The cleanest bathroom is downstairs. I'll use it after you."
After showing him to the bathroom, Ib ran up to her room. Slamming the door shut, she flung herself face-first onto her bed and screamed into her pillow for about a minute. At last, having expended all her pent-up emotions, she rolled over onto her back and exhaled deeply.
Garry. Garry was staying the night.
Oh…oh my…Garry is staying the night!
Ib sat up abruptly, fear running through her body. She had little experience with males. Very little. Would he try something on her in the dead of night as they shared the same bedroom, as little interest as he had during the day? Apparently boys were unpredictable creatures. Unpredictable, unreliable, hormone-driven.
Shaking her head quickly, Ib hugged herself. Of course not all of them are, she berated herself. Stop generalising. It's frightening, but he can sleep on the other side of the room. Besides, sleeping with him nearby would surely be good for ceasing my nightmares.
Also, if she was going to admit it – which she would never, not even to herself – part of her thought she wouldn't mind too much if Garry tried something. Unless he was assaulting her, she wouldn't…she…well, she did think of him…
There was a knock on the door, jolting Ib out of her increasingly more mortifying thoughts. As she was so natural at, she composed herself as the door opened and Garry walked in. He was in his clothes again, but his wet hair showed he had taken a shower. He...
He looks so handsome.
Ib shook her head once more, something Garry did not miss. He frowned, but Ib just hurried past him. "I'll shower now," she said. "You can make yourself comfortable."
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Half an hour later, Garry and Ib were sitting in Ib's bedroom, Garry on the chair again and Ib on her bed. A rather awkward silence passed.
Garry wracked his brain desperately for something to say.
"Ah, um, Ib…as I was coming back from the bathroom, I saw a painting. It was very beautiful, a forest I think it was. I didn't spend a lot of time looking at it, but it truly caught my eye. Was it…ah…painted by you?"
Ib's lips thinned slightly, causing Garry to breathe in sharply. Nervously, he wondered if he had said the wrong thing.
"No," she said at last. "…Guertena."
Garry blinked rapidly. "S – sorry?" He leaned in, open-mouthed. "Guertena?"
Oh, crap. No wonder she was upset. "I – I'm terribly sorry for bringing it up, Ib. We can talk about something else if you want –"
"It turned out that my parents purchased a painting on sale, when we were stuck in the gallery," said Ib resolutely, refusing to show any more weakness. "Forlorn Woods. A part of the gallery has followed me home." She narrowed her eyes, staring into space. "I hate it."
I wouldn't blame you. Garry looked at her, concerned. Was it detrimental for her health to have such an ominous memento around? Surely it was.
"Why don't you take it down?" he asked.
"My parents like it. I don't care. I don't look at it anyway."
Garry stood up, bringing his hands together loudly. "All right then," he said. "I'm going to go and put it down. It can be put back up when your parents return. How does that sound, Ib?"
Despite herself, Ib felt her lips curl upwards uncontrollably. The next second she was on her feet as well.
"I want to do it," she said.
"Let's go, then," said Garry, smiling at her.
They left the bedroom, stopping at the landing. The painting hung here, a fairly large piece measuring roughly a metre across. It was beautiful, like Garry had said, but there was something unsettling about it like all of Guertena's other works. It was canvas which, apart from a cliff falling into an abyss to the left, was covered with trees painted a dark, brooding green, a small clearing near the centre. Here a tiny figure stood, too minuscule to make out any details.
Ib squinted at it, bringing her face so close to the painting her nose almost brushed its surface.
"That figure," she said, pointing at it. "I'm certain it wasn't standing before."
Garry looked at it, his mouth a grim line. "Ib…" he said, unsure of how to word what he would say next. "…You did say you don't look at it; perhaps…"
Ib almost argued back, but she pulled herself together. She was throwing her emotions about in the open too much already. "I suppose." She glanced over her shoulder; she felt like they were being watched. But there was no one else. The house was empty of all other people.
Turning back to the painting, Ib jumped. She couldn't say anything; her tongue seemed to have turned to lead. Instead, she pointed at the clearing.
Garry looked, and his heart almost leapt into his throat. The figure…surely…surely it hadn't just…?
"It's gotten closer," said Ib, with absolute conviction. "It wasn't even standing to begin with. It wasn't."
The figure had long, blonde hair.
"Garry…" Ib reached for Garry's arm.
Garry didn't say anything. Perhaps they were imagining this, and it was all just a horrific nightmare…perhaps this was just some kind of post-traumatic hallucinating –
The moment his attention lapsed, he heard Ib cry out. Snapping back into reality, he blinked in confusion. Where had Ib gone?
Without warning his arm was seized. The next second, he was dragged right into the painting. He fell right through, and he saw the world change abruptly and dramatically as it span erratically around him. Gone were the white walls, the fancy lights fixed to the white ceiling, the door that led to Ib's room. Now everything was green.
Garry hit soft moss, twigs snapping under his weight as his world crashed to a halt. Holding his head, which still span, he got unsteadily to his feet. First he saw Ib, a few steps away and kneeling, stunned. Then he saw Mary, standing in front of them with a smile twisting her lips, a sharp palette knife in her hand.
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I haven't read over this and edited it yet, but I'm sure it'll be fine.
