Work Text:
Even looking back, it will be nearly impossible to be sure when it started. Between the two of them, they will trace what could be the changes as far as that visit to the art gallery. Their sweet daughter had always been quiet, but there is something solemn, thoughtful about her when they return from the exhibit. They pay it no mind, taking it for a profound impression from art. Perhaps that is all it was. Perhaps there is more to it. They will never know.
Maybe, possibly, Ib does seem a bit quieter in the days that follow. Looking back, they won't be able to tell. But perhaps she spends a bit too long staring at various things around her; perhaps she gives a little too thoughtful glance to her drawing album, paints and crayons; perhaps it does seem a little odd that she is suddenly fond of a particular sort of candy. Or perhaps not. They will not be able to tell.
Time passes and they don't think a thing is wrong, when they walk by a flower shop and their sweet girl asks for a rose, a bright red one. They just go in and get it.
The lady gives the rose directly to Ib, telling her to take good care of it. The un-childlike solemnity with which Ib promises to do so is, probably, the first thing that they give a second thought to, turning to look at each other with a bit of wonder, although it passes all too quickly.
Ib does take care of it. She keeps the water in the vase fresh, sprays the rose's petals and wipes the leaves with a wet cloth. They will mourn it later, but they don't wonder how she knows to do all those things. They're proud of their sweet, clever, diligent little girl. They don't see the oddness until it's too late.
The rose, to everyone's surprise, lasts for twelve full days until its petals start to fall. Two and a half days later, when the last of them leaves the stalk, Ib has a nervous breakdown.
Ib is diagnosed with posttraumatic stress disorder, and her parents are at a loss, especially since the doctors can't seem to learn the reason, the actual event that caused it. Suppositions tear at their mind, possibilities that they're too afraid to discuss, one more horrible than another, but for the life of them they cannot figure out when could anything bad happen to their dear child.
In the end, the doctors can only shrug, so they have to resign to not knowing. Since they can't address a single traumatic memory, it is said it's best for Ib to just forget all. Medicines are prescribed, and a change of scenery is advised. Ib needs to start her life anew. The less familiar everything is, the less is the chance to stir the painful remembrance, the more likely her mind is to heal.
It does seem like a drastic decision, but they decide to move to another country. They sell the house together with its furnishings and utensils, they buy whole new sets of clothes for the three of them, selling old ones to second-hand shops, they leave the bare minimum of valuables –mother's jewelry, father's cigarette case and cufflinks – and lock them in a bank's holding cell. They keep the wedding bands, reasoning that something so normal, so ordinary shouldn't be able to trigger the painful memory, that Ib is going to see the very same things in other married couples anyway. They leave their old life behind, all for the sake of their precious child.
Just as they depart, throwing last worried glances at the place that had been their home for so long, the phone starts to ring. In their haste to leave and get it over with, they decide there's no need to pick the call.
The phone keeps ringing in the empty house long after they vacate it.
At the other end of the line, an odd-looking young man with purple hair is clutching the receiver in one hand, and a small slip of paper with a number on it in the other. His heart breaks a little more with every beep that he hears.