AN: Thanks to all of you who favourited/followed and a special thank you to Glaecon 1362, Lori, Bznboy and Animestar531 for reviewing (are you feeling the love and the hugs and the cookies?) By the way Animestar531, to answer your question of course Garry is going to remember? But when? And will it be before Ib loses all hope? (sorry, had to do a little 'epic' thing there). I'll be back in a day or two and I hope you enjoy the chapter!


Chapter 4

Ib's breath started to quicken as she walked up the stairs to Art. She had remembered everything; she knew she was right. And she was going to be with Garry again. They would talk like they used to in the gallery but this time, they would be happy. This time, they would be talking in the real sun, not a fake one made of chalk. She smiled at the thought and ran to the classroom.

She flung the door open and her smile was immediately wiped off her face; everyone was already there. She gulped as everybody turned to stare at her and tightened the grip on her bag.

'Good morning, Ib. Please settle down,' Garry turned to her and with a smile on his face, which Ib returned weakly.

'I'm sorry for being late—' Ib started apologising quietly, but Garry interrupted her politely.

'Not to worry, Ib, I have barely arrived myself,' He reassured. The students looked at each other, confused. Usually, teachers rubbed it in their student's face whenever they were even just a few seconds late. But Ib was more surprised; this meant that the students had arrived on time, even early.

Once again, a poem was recited and this time, everybody did the exercise properly. The students were then told their next topic: memories. They had to draw as much as they could about a particular memory or event. Ib diligently wrote a note to herself to think about what she could draw the portfolio about. In this lesson however, they were told to finish off their one-point perspective paintings, which everybody did willingly. Everybody started talking and Garry made no move to stop them. Ib then realised why he was such a success as a teacher: he would help if help was needed, but he wouldn't make his students sit in silence.

Ib, as always, finished before everybody else, and as asked, brought it up to the front to Garry, whose eyes widened.

'This is absolutely marvellous, Ib! You must have spent a long time on it,' He praised with a smile and Ib beamed back.

'Thank you, Garry,' said Ib, feeling as if she was immersed in sunlight.

'You're very welcome, Ib,' Garry replied. Ib was about to leave before she suddenly turned back, hesitating only a second before asking:

'Excuse me, Garry. Is it okay if I talk to you after class? There's something I'd like to ask you...' Ib saw her teacher's eyebrows knit together in confusion.

'My apologies, Ib, but I have a class next. Would you mind telling me now?' He ventured. Ib hesitated again. She told herself that she had nothing to worry about –after all, everybody was talking. And besides, why should she feel uncomfortable with the truth? It wasn't like Garry had forgotten everything; he was an adult, he would have remembered at least a bit of it.

'This is going to sound really absurd at first, but please hear me out,' Ib started, her former hope suddenly vanishing, 'Remember the Guertena exhibition?'

'Yes, of course, I went there myself; it was fascinating!' Garry said enthusiastically.

'Well, do you also remember this massive painting called 'Fabricated World'?' Ib continued, hoping Garry would remember before she could explain anything else. Because how could she explain something that changed both of their lives?!

'Ah, yes,' He nodded. 'It was rather big, wasn't it?' He added to himself. Ib paused for a few moments, not quite believing what she was hearing.

'You... you don't remember anything else? You have to remember something else!' Ib's voice started trembling. This wasn't in any of the options her mind had anticipated. Garry had forgotten. Everything. 'You... you've forgotten?' She stammered, her breathing turning shallower.

'Was there anything else to remember?' Garry asked, confused. How could he have forgotten?!

'Garry!' Ib said desperately, 'The headless mannequins!' Surely he would remember that!

'Yes, they were in the gallery—' How could he forget they were chasing him?!

'The Lady in Red,' Ib interrupted frantically, 'and—' She had to bring up the 'Lady in Blue'; because that had to bring back some memories! He had nearly died! In fact, he would have died. If it hadn't been for her. And now that had all vanished from his mind?!

'Yes, that was all in the gallery!' Garry cut through, slightly impatient now. 'You're simply listing works of art by Guertena. I'm afraid I don't really see the point in any of what you are saying.' Ib gasped, her eyes widening.

Ib felt completely and utterly betrayed.

'You don't remember... you... there's nothing else? What about... what about everything else?' Ib asked, her eyes so desperate that Garry's voice softened.

'I'm sorry, Ib. I really don't remember anything else,' He replied, looking into her eyes. Ib realised he was being sincere; it was like a slap in the face. She physically flinched and shuddered out the breath Ib hadn't even realised she was holding.

It was only then that she became aware of the silence: the deep, profound silence. There was nothing: not the voices of the students, nor the scratching of pens, not even the shallow breaths of her peers. Everybody was watching them.

A boy cleared his throat.

'Excuse me, Garry, I've finished,' He said, handing Garry his work. The teacher gave a small nod to Ib and turned to the boy. The message was subtle, but crystal clear: 'dismissed'.

Ib rose up quietly, trying to attract the least attention possible as she walked back to her seat. It was a hopeless case; everybody was already staring at her.

They thought she couldn't, but she did. She heard all the tiny whispers. All the secrets and rumours being spread about her. And in that instant, she knew why she always stayed quiet, so that nobody noticed her. It was because she couldn't handle it otherwise. She knew that as she slammed the door of the school shut and marched back to her house. She couldn't take people talking about her. She had thought she was a tough girl, but the gossip was getting to her. Her fragile heart was on the verge of breaking into a million little pieces and the one who had the means to stitch them back together had forgotten everything.

When she got home, she collapsed onto her bed. If only Guertena would talk to her again; then she wouldn't feel so alone anymore. She wanted to cry, to get everything out of her system so that she could start afresh, but she was too numb, too tired. It was a horrible thought, yet that is often the case when telling the complete truth: Ib had given up.

Ib took a deep breath in and flicked through her homework journal. She came across the note she had made to herself in Art and decided to think about that. It would make her mind dwell on other things. More cheerful topics. She read her note: 'Memories/Events'. Yes, of course! The portfolio. Ib sighed; what memory or even could she possibly draw a whole portfolio on? It had to be something she remembered well; she could always make it up, but she doubted that was truly the point. So what could she possibly do?

Then, the answer slapped her in the face. Ib smiled. The smile of a person who has a plan.

She suddenly jumped out of her bed, rejuvenated.

'Would it work?' Ib asked herself over and over again as she paced around her room. And every time, her brain only supplied one answer: 'It had to.'