Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

Aftershock

Chapter 16

In then out.

In then out.

Again and again and again.

He sat silently, just listening to the sound of her breathing. He had almost lost her. Though she was awake, she had not spoken, He did not mind her curled up figure in his lap, even as his legs went numb. Neither of them had moved for the last hour. Ezekiel was in another room, attending to his injured and unconscious wife. He reflected bitterly that he knew from his being left alone with Ib meant Ezekiel trusted him now. Realizing that he had been sitting in shock for too long, he shook his head to clear it. He should have been comforting her, He shifted and Ib looked up at him curiously, dark bags under her eyes more defined than ever. He stretched out on the couch, laying down and bringing Ib with him. It was a tight fit— he was too tall to stretch his legs out completely— but he managed to place Ib between his body and the back of the couch, ensuring that she could not roll off. He coaxed her into going back to sleep, promising that he would watch over her. He would take care of her tonight and worry about everything else in the morning.

Ezekiel tucked a stray strand of hair away from his wife's face. He brushed his thumb softly against the dark bruise that had formed on her cheek. She did not react at all. He sighed and retrieved the first aid kit. He took out the tweezers and pulled out the shards of the broken mirror. He cleaned out the numerous little cuts, murmuring apologies she would not hear as she grimaced in her sleep. He was glad her wounds were not serious. Seeing her small frame fly across the room, for a moment he had been certain she was dead.

When Ezekiel returned to the sitting room, slumbering wife cradled in his arms, his eyes were drawn to the pair on the couch. Garry lay awkwardly, legs hanging off the catch. Even with Garry's thin figure, Ib's tiny body was completely hidden from view. If it were not for the long black hair that had somehow draped itself over the young man's waist, he would not have realized she was there. Sparing them just a glance, he settled his wife on the other couch and joined her, mirroring the other man's position. They all needed rest. They could talk in the morning.

Ib woke. She carefully burrowed her way out of the nest she had made in the circle of Garry's body. She climbed out of the couch. Looking around, she thought that things looked no better with the soft morning light. Bruises that could be passed off as shadows in the night now stood out prominently. Torn and wrinkled clothing made visible. Haggard appearances displayed in high definition for all. She left the room and entered the hallway. Grabbing her stool along the way, she opened the closet. With some struggle, she brought one of the spare blankets down. She scampered back into the living room and draped it over her parents before repeating the process once more for Garry. Then, she entered the bathroom.

It was striking, seeing herself. The nightmare of yesterday made her fears all too real. After their escape from the Gallery, she had gotten used to being tired. She was accustomed to her new drooping posture and the dark crescents under her eyes. But after last night it was all the more terrifying. She wondered, not for the first time, where the courage that she had had in abundance in the Gallery had gone. The image of her parents and Garry laying battered in the living room burned brightly in her mind. She straightened.

This was not a dream.

She would protect her family.

Half an hour later found her feeling more like herself than she had in what seemed like forever. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and wiped the moisture from it so she could see herself. There was color in her cheeks again, no doubt aided by her warm shower. The bags under her eyes would not disappear in a day, but there was strength in her gaze that she liked. The fluffy yellow bathrobe was much better for her image than the ruined clothing she had woken up in. She frowned, remembering a time soon after her parents decided she was old enough to choose her own clothing. They had said not a word against her though occasionally they would give trade odd little smiles at her clothing of choice. It was not until she came out in the same bathrobe she was wearing now that either of them had intervened. Her mother had smothered laughter with the cuff of her sleeve before patiently explaining that a bathrobe was not meant for daily wear. She hopped off the stool, intent on getting dressed for the day.

She made it halfway down the hallway towards her bedroom before the tendrils of trepidation began to return. Though she had been unconscious for most of the action, she had been aware of enough to feel apprehensive returning to the room where everything occurred. Pulling her robe tighter around her body, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. They had never hurt her in daylight. Then, in one smooth motion, she swung the door wide open.

In the light of day, the room looked almost normal. If it weren't for the broken shards of the mirror and the knife sitting in the remains of a doll, she may have had doubts on whether the events of last night had happened at all. She opened her dresser, mindful of the shards that lay scattered in front of it. She pulled on her underwear beneath her robe and kept a pair of socks in hand as she made her way to her closet. Like most children, she struggled with putting on her favorite dress and had only just managed it when she heard her bedroom door close. She turned around and froze.

There, resting lazily atop the doorknob, was a doll. A message in yellow paint was on her door.

'Garry should not have just left it here on the floor.'

Ib's gaze fell on the knife. When she looked up, the message had changed.

'Aren't you going to pick it up?"

She kept her eyes on the doll as she walked warily towards the knife. She took it in one quick motion and immediately put more space between herself and the door. She stared at the doll for an extended moment, but it did not move and the message had not changed. She examined the knife carefully. Recognition dawned and she looked back at the doll.

"This is the chef's knife," she gasped in surprise.

The wall seemed to absorb the yellow paint until it disappeared. Then, a new message wrote itself.

'Finders keepers. You needed it more.'

"You helped us?"

Though the message receded into nothing, a new one was not forthcoming.

"Why?"

Just when she thought there would be no answer, more text began to write itself. The handwriting was not as clear as before. The message came slowly and in bits, one sentence appearing just long enough for Ib to read before another would replace it. The response came with many pauses and it scribbled portions of itself out more than once.

'Guertena made Mary. Mary made us. Her first doll was created with haste. Focused on finishing quickly instead of well, it was defective. Each one after this first one was perfect because she began to abandon all the failed attempts while they were still scraps.'

There was a long pause here.

'If a failed attempt had progressed passed the scrap stage, she made them into scraps.'

Another longer pause.

'I was that first doll.'

It seemed to slump on the doorknob on which it still sat, though it had not moved. Hesitating only a bit, she walked up to the doll and picked it up. Looking closely, she could tell it was a first attempt. Its head was overly large for its body and not quite the perfect circle she knew the others to be. The eyes were not aligned. One leg was longer than the other. The left arm was thinner than the right. The arm holes in the pink dress it wore were twice the size of its arms. The hole for its head was more lemon-shaped than round. As her examination of the doll continued, she could have sworn she felt the little doll tremble in her palm.

Mindful of the knife in her other hand, she embraced it tightly and whispered fervently, "You are not defective."

A/N: Good gravy, it has been a long time since I updated. Sorry. This story seems to want to take off in a direction I had not anticipated. But I do like where this is going much better. In either case, Ib has a new little friend! Yay! And you all got to hear a bit from everyone this time. Thanks for reading, as always.

Until next time friendlies,

Dfsemina