Chapter VII: Original Piece.

AN:

Hey there, Fan-fic-folks!

My final note has some spoilers, so I put it at the end of the chapter instead of here. Bit of 'directors commentary', so to speak, on the ending.

Hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading.

Thanks for reading and, as always, please review.

We stepped out into the Chasespace again. That grand New York skyline was still there, but it melted halfway into a coastal town, familiar lighthouse above a bay. And in massive words above it, development fluid dripped. "Almost at the end now. Come downstairs and we'll make it happen."

None of the three of us spoke as we walked through the halls and down the stairs - the main foyer was empty still, no Caulfields, no receptionist, no nobody. No... Victoria? "The painting's gone."

Max looked surprised. This had to mean something, right?

Nathan just looked grim. He wordlessly gestured for us to keep going. The room with the big picture we jumped into was just ahead. The gateway. As we headed in, one thing became clear: This was it.

And Victoria had more to do with this than we originally thought. Her portrait was set into the wall, pride of place, and surrounded with photographs of her. There were hundreds of them. It looked like Jefferson had really, really liked her, despite the complaining from the vision.

There was one photo though, stuck to the big portrait, clearly of the same room as the others, but empty. And not like a landscape or whatever you call a photo without people - it was like the subject had wandered off. I glanced around. Is a photo-Victoria about to jump out at us and pontificate about her master plans?

No.

Nathan stepped forward and turned to us. He nodded. "Yeah. That's my photo."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "You're one of the photos? Why aren't you, y'know, fucking insane and trying to kill us?"

"Because there's nothing of me out there. Look, a photo is a piece of you from one specific moment in time. As you change, the photo can't, and that causes all of... that. But Jefferson, after he killed me and Vic, he- there's no body, no nothing."

"So, what now?"

"Now, one of you leaves." He responded. We started back. He shifted uncomfortably.

"And what happens to the other one?" I asked slowly, already knowing it wouldn't be good.

"Nothing bad." He responded, looking at me almost like he was insulted. "They would just need to stay here a while until I can kill Jefferson."

"Seriously?" I crossed my arms and glared at the prick. "You want one of us to stay, alone, in this fucking gallery? Isn't that not, just, a death sentence?"

"The other pictures don't come in here." He grinned, a flash of teeth implying precisely why. "So long as you stayed in here and didn't go through any of the doors, you'd be fine."

"Who's to say you could even get us out?"

"The door is just behind Vic's painting." He thumbed back over his shoulder to the big one on the wall. "All I gotta do is tell her to open and you're back free."

"Seriously? So, what if we tell her?"

"Then she won't open. Only recognises me. The Trauma of being murdered together, you know how it is." His voice was dry, amused, but bitter underneath. "Look. I get it, but I promise it won't take long, and you'll barely notice the time pass! I can't get out of here without you, and you can't get out of here without me. We will agree to this, sooner or later."

Then Max, from out of fucking nowhere, pulled out a pallet knife and glared. "No. Neither of us are staying, and we'll slice up Victoria's picture if you don't let us out."

Woah Maxie. Dang.

Nathan sighed. "You're both being really fucking unreasonable here. All I want to do is kill Jefferson, is that so much to ask?"

"You know that's not the bit we're annoyed by, right?"

"Look. I didn't wanna go here, but if you're not going to help me, there's another way I can get what I need. Remember those flowers?"

A sharp, stinging recollection. Yes. I remembered the fucking flower.

"Well, if I hurt you enough, that flower will wilt, and I'll have a perfectly empty body to occupy and you'll never get out of here. Do you want to take that chance?"

Max roared, louder and deeper than anything I'd ever have expected from her - it reverberated through the gallery like an earthquake. Then she threw the pallet knife. It tore through Nathan's shoulder, then embedded itself in the wall halfway down the hilt.

Both of us looked at Max in open fucking shock. Then Max opened her hand, and the pallet knife wiggled in the wall and pulled out, flying back to her grasp.

What. The. Fuck.

"It'll be more even than you think, Nathan. Do you want to take that chance?"

Nathan shrugged. "If you won't help willingly, it's the only choice I've got."

He balled his hands together and drew them apart, creating a big ball of that familiar blue development fluid in the space. In a flash, he pulled back and threw it at us.

I went left, Max right, and the ball slammed into the wall behind us with a sizzle. Shit.

He slid one foot back and leaned on it, bracing himself as he raised his hands and pushed them together. Little pellets of development fluid formed in his hands and started firing at us like a fucking minigun.

Several of them hit and tore through me, and I could feel the flower in my pocket lose a petal. I dived left behind one of the low bits of weird pointless art gallery wall and ducked for cover. I quickly rolled over and peered around in time to see Max, quiet and nimble, slash at Nathan from the side with her pallet knife.

Nathan pulled back and punched her, sending her flying across the room like a villain in a superhero movie.

I moved before I even finished thinking, just duck-and-weave-ing my way over to him as he tried to fire more of the violent-blue fluid at me.

I threw myself at him, trying to knock the guy down so I could punch him in the ribs - or whatever photographic people had. Nathan just reached out and the development fluid answered him, forming into a fist that extended out from him and grabbed me mid-air.

And then he started to squeeze. I could see the darkness in his eyes, a pretty clear reminder that whatever he was when he was alive, he wasn't human anymore. Just a picture.

My flower lost another petal. Then another. My vision started to go dark, just staring into his eyes.

"Nathan!" Max called, anger clear in her voice, "Let her go."

We both looked up to see Max had somehow got hold of the Pallet Knife again and was slowly digging it into Victoria's face.

"No." Nathan scowled.

"Alright." Max said. She jammed the pallet knife in and in one smooth motion tore the painting in two. Nathan stared in horror as Max then took out his own photo. There wasn't even time for a one liner, he just... vanished.

"Are you... okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." She stared at where Nathan had been. "I wouldn't have-"

"Later, Max. Let's get out of here first. We can get all the therapy we want once we're out."

All the room started to fade out, then flickered wildly. "Yep. Definitely out, now."

Max looked around at the quaking room, wide-eyed. "Behind the picture!" Another door. Nathan hadn't been lying.

Before the Gallery could collapse on us or do something else I couldn't fucking predict, I grabbed Max and dragged her through.

There were people! Fucking people! I looked around and we were back in the Gallery - the real one. People and paintings and photos and none of them looked like they were gonna try murderise us. And the development fluid that'd sent us messages was gone.

I grabbed Max's hand. "Max?"

"Yeah Chloe?"

"You okay?"

"Dunno. Ask me later."

"'kay."

We looked around the gallery and the photos had changed. That top-down picture of a harbor now had a waterfront attached - Arcadia Bay's waterfront. What had been a black and white photo of a cat was now a mess of fur and blood. The Lady in Red's picture was feral. As we walked through, all the moments we'd gone through in the Gallery were immortalised on the wall of this one.

Then it occurred to me. "Do you think they'll notice all their pictures have changed?"

Stepped into the main lobby and oh yeah they're gonna notice. Victoria's picture, hanging over the staircase, was fucked up. Instead of a prim and proper oil portrait, she was lounging, dead-eyed and horrified, in a dark stage.

The Caulfields were still right where we left them and we hurried up to them. Max gave them a quick hug, much to their surprise. "Oh, hi you two. Miss us already?"

"Nah." I grinned. "Just pretty sure they're gonna close the place. Bunch of the photos upstairs got vandalised or something, so I bet they're gonna kick everyone out soon to find out what the fuck happened."

I was right. Barely ten seconds after I got done speaking, people started dazedly wandering through the doors out to the rest of the gallery, followed by security loudly saying "ChaseSpace apologies for the inconvenience and hopes you'll return in the future. Your tickets will remain valid and open for future gallery showings."

I thumbed back to them. "See?"

Both the Caulfield parents exchanged a look just in time for one of the security guards to come over to us and offer the same pre-canned speech. They shrugged and let the guards guide us out, and we headed back to the car.

Mrs Caulfield turned around in her seat to look back at us. "I'm sorry you didn't get to see what you wanted to, Max. Some people just have no respect for Art."

"It's okay Mom." Max smiled at me. "It was interesting enough."

We both smiled at each other, because... fucking understatement, right?

(Insert cheesy french accent here)

Several Months Later...

"Oh! I'm so sorry Max."

"What is it?"

"That photographer you like, I'm afraid he- he died."

Max scurried over and took up the newspaper and saw the headline declared: "Mark Jefferson, noted photographer, found dead in New York Apartment".

"I'm so sorry dear. I know how much you were looking forward to him teaching at Blackwell next year."

"Yeah. Sorry Mom, I don't feel up to dinner. Can me and Chloe go to my room for a while?"

"Of course Max. Let us know if you need anything."

We both skittered upstairs. "You don't think..."

I headed over to my closet and pulled out our top secret investigation board. "I mean, someone went missing the day after we went, and now Jefferson is dead? Yeah. I think exactly what you're thinking."

"But we destroyed his photo?" She said, in a halting, confused tone.

"In a weird magic realm made of Art, Max." I snorted. "Who the fuck knows how all that shit works?"

She nodded. "Maybe there was another print somewhere. We didn't exactly get time to check it out."

"Shit. Yeah, fuck knows."

We both sat in silence for a long moment. "Should we... do something?" Max asked, quiet and tentative.

"What could we do? Nathan is out, and it's not like we know where he is or how to get him to let the other person out."

Max paused. Thought about it. Then she opened her mouth to speak-

There was a knock at the door. Both of us stopped, tried to listen.

I could hear one of the Caulfields open it and say something, then the door quickly closed. A minute or so later, she knocked at Max's door and then gently opened it. "Max? There was a package at the door for you and Chloe - did you help somebody?"

"What is it?"

She handed the package over. Max quickly opened it. Inside was a couple of expensive-looking cameras, one digital and one polaroid, and a note. It just said "Thank you".

It was kind of obvious who it was from.

Mrs Caulfield was staring at the package in confusion, clearly about to look to us for an answer, so I thought fast. "Uh, yeah, Mrs C. We helped some rich kid out at school and he offered to give us cameras as a thank you. We tried to tell him no, but I guess he felt real strongly about it."

"Oh." She blinked, surprised, and gave us both a pleased-proud smile. "Well. If it's a gift, it would be rude to send it back. I'm very proud of you both for helping someone out." She left the cameras with us and, after a bit of mom-chat, left us to it.

We looked down at the cameras. "Well. I guess I should start building up my portfolio, huh?"

I smirked. "You can start by taking a picture of me. We can go trial 'em out on the road tomorrow."

She gave me a fond look, then raised her camera.

I posed, then my world lit up with a bright flash.

[Fin]

AN - This was an interesting one to write. I knew I wanted some sort of Bergentrueckung corruption where a 'hero' slept in the Gallery waiting to be uncovered to go beat Jefferson, but I wasn't sure how I'd do it. That was kind of the reason for the Liars Gallery thing with all the different people. Gave me a bunch of different ideas for possibilities, but it all kind of ended up with Nathan. I wasn't sure if I'd give him a Mary-like role (from the original Ib game) or not, but it did end up working out that way. Kind of fun!