Chapter Text
Jill Tuck watched the unfamiliar person get up and leave. She’d been trying to decide whether or not she should confront him. The story had just broke. Leaked by someone on the force or something. Just a few days had passed. The police were still tracking down John’s location and already fanatics and crazies were showing up. People who for better or worse were obsessed with the games and the idea of the sinful being put to the test. The man inside the clinic had stuck out like a sore thumb. Too clean. Well kept. No clear, physical marks on the skin or deepened lines that showed a chemical abuse of his body. He’d sat too still. Too comfortably.
And those eyes…
They’d been dark. Practically black in the light of the waiting room.
“The young man that was sitting there,” Jill said to one of her nurses. “Did he say anything when he came in?”
“Hmm? Oh, with the black hair right? Short and curly? No, he just sat down. I was thinking of going to tell him he needed to fill out a form. He seemed nervous. Looking everywhere like he was. He left fairly quickly.”
Jill glanced back to the empty chair. Nothing on that man’s face had read as nervous. “If you see him again, please come and get me.”
“Oh. Of course Ms. Tuck.”
Jill walked away before the woman could ask anymore questions. She’d once thought this was all she had left. Now, she wondered if she even had that if people obsessed with Jigsaw were coming and going like they were fucking sightseeing.
“Hey, where’s my rent?”
“I don’t actually live here–”
“I don’t care if you were classmates for a semester and you’re here to get your fucking pencil back,” the landlord interrupted. “He’s been gone for over a week and rent’s been due five days now. Where’s my fucking money?!”
The landlord didn’t expect much. Really, he expected the kid to cave under the pressure and his larger frame. The guy looked barely twenty, if even that. He was happy to simply take whatever money was in the kid’s wallet. He shoved him hard in the shoulder. Just to better get the point across that he wasn’t fucking around and expected something if the kid wanted to get out of this unscathed. He kept his frame in front of the stairs. Blocking the only exit besides the locked door into the apartment.
Only the kid barely reacted as his body thudded against the wall. He slowly took his wallet out and flipped through the bills. He threw them at the landlord’s feet. “There. I think that about covers a shithole like this.” He turned, pulled out a key, and unlocked the door.
If the actual tenant had acted like that, the landlord would have given him a piece of his mind. But something about this kid…
He rationalized it away. Told himself that he was going easy on the kid when in reality, something about those dark, black eyes had truly unsettled him. If only to boost his own ego for a moment, the landlord yelled out, “You tell your friend Adam that if he’s not on time next month, he’s out of here?! You hear me! And he’s not supposed to be giving his keys to people who ain’t tenants!”
The kid paused just before closing the door. His lips twisted into an amused smile. Like he knew something the landlord didn’t. “I’ll make sure to tell him.”
And with that, the door clicked shut.
“Fuckin’ youths,” the landlord growled. It was bad enough he had to deal with ungrateful little shits like this day in and day out. Now on top of that, half the city was on a manhunt for some crazed serial killer that was making headlines. What the fuck was this world coming to?
They didn’t suspect Amanda’s involvement. The game, her game, hadn’t even begun. Though plenty of steps had been taken to further prepare and set it up. For now, she still had her freedom. She was utilizing it to the best of her ability. Getting what John needed. Showing him how much more devoted and diligent she was compared to Hoffman–
Someone was following her.
She waited until she was out of the store before suddenly dropping the tools in the bag. They clattered to the ground. Metal clanging against metal and slamming into concrete. Her fingers came around the kid’s shirt before slamming him against the nearest brick wall. It didn’t matter that she was shorter than him. She was about to give this little shit a piece of her–
Her throat closed up. Fear mixed with guilt and desperation began to choke up her windpipe–
She lifted the kid off the wall and slammed him back into the brick. Both to shake him and to shake herself from the delusion. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t. This guy was definitely younger. Hair more wavy or even curly. Neither were his eyes green.
It wasn’t Adam. It wasn’t. He was dead. He was gone. She’d done what she could. She’d ended his torment. Amanda slammed the guy against the wall again. He could have stopped her. He was skinny but muscled with a clear height advantage. The fact that he wasn’t fighting back put her even more on edge.
“Why the hell are you following me? You some cop?”
“Not really.”
She jostled him again. “That isn’t a fucking no.”
“What can I say? There’s not many survivors around. I was curious.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What? You some fucking groupie?”
“I was curious.”
“Yeah, well you know what they say about curiosity little kitty?” hissed Amanda. She slammed him against the wall again. This time doing it in a way that cracked the kid’s head against the brick. He blinked in a slight, stunned daze. “Find another hobby you fucking pussy!” She shoved him to the side. He stumbled, but didn’t fall. “I don’t want to see you again you fucking cunt!”
She quickly moved. Her hand launched out. She scrambled on the ground, pulling a metal pipe from the bag of tools and materials. She raised it over her head, but the kid only put his hands up. “Ok. Ok. I’ll leave. Sorry to bother you.”
Amanda jolted slightly. One last threat as the kid finally turned and left. It wasn’t the first time people had bothered her about her victimhood. It was the first one that had felt like something more than a nosey fucking reporter looking for a gruesome story. She shook off the creeps the kid had given her. She was on a tight schedule after all. There was the game to play.
Mark Hoffman’s eyes narrowed. He’d simply been running in to grab some coffee before work, but that kid…
Why did he look so familiar?
He stopped at the table before heading out. “Hey. Do I know you?”
“Hey, Hoffman. Right? Detective Hoffman now? Congratulations.”
The kid had an easy going smile and crinkle to his eyes. Mark narrowed his own.
“I don’t blame you for not recognizing me. There were a bunch of cadets asking questions.”
It finally clicked. Mark eased up slightly. “You’re from the academy. What was it? Youngest in the class. Right?”
The kid seemed to beam at being remembered. “That’s right.”
Mark had gone as a favor. Having graduated from the same academy and still being familiar with many of the people who ran it. But the police academy wasn’t housed in this city. It was a good four hour drive away. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“We’re on break right now. I’m visiting family. Do you have any family in town, detective?”
“No.” No, Mark didn’t. Not anymore. And if he didn’t know any better, that question had been more than a casual inquiry. “It was good seeing you-sorry. It was…”
The kid laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not insulted,” he chuckled. “There were a lot of students there. William. William Schenk.”
“Well, good seeing you again William. I’ll make sure to remember the name this time. Take care.”
Mark left. He would definitely make sure to remember the kid’s name. He was already planning on giving some of his former teachers a call. It was probably nothing. At least nothing particularly special. Plenty of fucked up people for fucked up reasons were attracted to police work and other positions of power.
Still, something about that kid just hadn’t felt right. Familiar but not.
Adam was dying.
Dead.
Dying.
Choking.
Bleeding.
Drowning.
Being dragged.
Rolled over.
Coughing.
Still dying.
But not dead.
Barely a single, coherent thought was coming to Adam. Just desperate hope and relief and fear. Was he being saved? Had Lawrence come back for him? Lawrence?! Lawrence, please!?
Pain.
Filth.
Cold.
Burning up.
He wanted to live. He had lived! He’d survived until the end! Help! Help! He wanted out!
Something wet passed his lips. He coughed. Begged. No. No more. Please!
More pain.
Still cold.
Still burning up.
The smell was different. Bad, but not the smell of the actual shithole he was in. Had been in. A familiar voice. Loud. Distant. An annoying piece of shit.
Aches and spattered blood.
Filtered in light.
And then, finally Adam grew more awake and aware than he had been in over a week.
His eyes moved over familiar walls. It was a shithole.
But it wasn’t an actual shithole.
It was his shithole. With a pissy fucking landlord and peeled paint and faulty electrical wiring. That was who he must have heard. The landlord yelling at someone for being late on rent or breaking an appliance. For a split second, the scene made Adam wonder if the whole thing had been a dream. He’d never even met Larry. Not face to face, anyways. He’d get up, grab his camera, go stalk the guy, go answer another call to find some skeeving husband or drugged up employee. Take some pictures. Come back here. It had all been a dream. Maybe Jigsaw wasn’t even real.
Then, Adam moved. He cried out. The pain came back in. His ribs ached. His stomach felt like he was eating itself from the inside out. There was a throbbing in his head and a throbbing in his ankle. His body felt sticky. He slightly rolled over. A whimper escaped his lips–
His eyes landed on an unfamiliar face.
A kid? No. No, he looked a bit older than that. At least college age. Adam shivered. The last memory he had of his apartment was being attacked by a thing in a pig faced mask. There was no mask, but any momentary hope of safety was already gone. He tried to speak, but the words only came out as croaking, broken noises.
Somehow, the guy understood him. The lips twisted upwards into a smile. He looked like any normal, functioning member of society. Adam understood better than most that a lot could be hidden behind a perfectly crafted smile.
“You can call me William. It’s good to finally meet you, Adam.”