(A/N: a similar version of this was posted in various parts for the 12daysChristmas challenge on LiveJournal.)
Now the sun has set, and Mikami finds himself calmer. On schedule. He has not failed, not this time.
The sunset seems to be calming the woman as well. Earlier she shouted at him, screamed obscenities, accused him of hurting her children as if he were the sinner. Now she just sits on her bedroom floor with her head slumped, her short hair tangled, dressing gown over the nightclothes she had just put on when he had found her. He had insisted she wear it, pointed out that it gets cold at night and that she wouldn't have a chance to put it on later.
"So," she says suddenly, looking up at him, the bruise like a shadow across her face even in the milky twilight oozing through the curtains. "What happens now?"
"We will have to wait a while. I hope it won't be too uncomfortable for you."
She snorts. "I'm sure."
He doesn't think it will be. He made sure the handcuffs weren't too tight, and the two daughters are locked in their rooms, the younger one not even aware of what's happening.
She glances over at the tape recorder and mike, then away as if it scares her. Mikami can understand why it might; you hear stories, about women being recorded, and so he says, "You understand, it's only so he can hear you really are present."
"So you and the bastards you're working with can prove to my husband you can murder me if he doesn't do what they want."
"It isn't like that." Mikami has rehearsed this moment in his head, and he's known she would argue, make all the old points, but he hears his voice tremble a little. Outside a car rushes past, and the woman turns at the sound as if she thinks the driver might be able to see through the walls.
"Then how is it?" she snaps. "You've forced your way in here and taken us hostage and you tell me that - that Shuichi needs to see us like this and -" She swallows, hard. "What exactly am I misunderstanding here?"
"It - it's to help. It is to help your husband."
She laughs. A faint sobbing laugh and she lets her head slump back against the bedpost and she says, "My god. You really are crazy. How exactly is kidnapping his family going to help him?"
Mikami wants to sit down next to her, but he finds himself remaining by the wall, arms folded. As if he could be vulnerable in front of her. As if it's not safe to be too close. Well, perhaps it isn't. Most people are dangerous, he knows that all too well.
"Have you heard of the Jigsaw Killer?" he says.
She goes pale, so pale that it's like a white shadow covering her face. She doesn't even nod.
"They shouldn't call him that," Mikami says, feeling a little more confident now. He's on familiar ground. He knows this conversation. "He isn't a killer. He wants to help people. He wants to save them."
"I... I must be thinking of a different Jigsaw," she says, but she sounds sick now, sick and frightened. "The one I... I heard of has murdered dozens of people. He killed one man my husband worked with, nearly two. Tell me... who are you speaking about?"
"Your husband hasn't been coming home much recently, has he?"
"He's been trying to hunt down that - that maniac!" she snaps, but she's not looking at him. "It's his job!"
"Jigsaw... Jigsaw wants..."
("I want to help. I think you want to help, too."
And his head still hurts from the gas and he doesn't know why he's here and it's filthy, it's all so filthy and the light is too bright and he can hear himself crying as if it isn't him at all but
that remark stops it)
"So many people waste their lives. They lie and cheat and steal and they don't understand how lucky they are to be alive at all, how their ways are ruining life for everyone."
("Haven't you always thought so? And there doesn't seem to be any way of making them realise how wrong they are.
"Sometimes)
"Sometimes there's only one way to make a point -"
"What have we done?" she screams up at him. "What have Shuichi and I done, what have our children done, why are you doing this?"
"Your husband needs to understand. He doesn't value his family any more. He has become obsessed with catching the only person who is doing any good in this world."
She is leaning up, trying to get at him as if she's forgotten the cuffs are there. "How dare you talk like that about him? How dare you?"
Mikami doesn't argue this time. He just waits for her to see that there is truth in what he's saying, and at last she does, she slumps back, taking little gulps of air, not looking at him again.
"If he can overcome that," Mikami says, "none of you will have to die."
"And - and if he can't? If he doesn't meet your standards?"
Mikami doesn't want that to happen.
There's silence for a second, and then she wrenches out the words, "You're going to murder me and two innocent girls in cold blood if Shuichi doesn't do what you want. Don't you think maybe you're on the wrong side? Don't you think you're the one ruining things for everyone?"
("Come and see."
He gets up and he stumbles over to the mirror.
And there is a man on the other side, a businessman, and "You should know yourself that bullying doesn't stop once you leave high school," and Mikami watches and up until now he was thinking only of how not to die and how he mustn't fail God but then, but then, and the man, who is tall with a brutally good-looking face, who could easily be one of the evil ones from school but right now looks sick and pale and as scared as Mikami always felt, the man doesn't even listen to the instructions on the tape he's been given and then
then there is blood spattering everywhere, over the man's face and silk shirt and smart suit and spiky hair and Mikami watches and
and
help me help me oh God please
and
there is so much blood
and
And. And all at once he sees. Like he saw when his mother dies, he sees and he understands and it's no longer fear that he'll be harmed, it's a new terror, because who can look on the face of God's emissary and not fear?
"How else)
"How else will people change their ways? How else will they get the strength if there's nothing at risk?" He doesn't bother to explain about God. No one ever understands that. Even Jigsaw doesn't ever talk about it, but Mikami doesn't mind because he knows the truth.
"Your husband loves you," he says to her. "He'll find the strength. You must tell him what he has to do. I'll explain what to say."
ooo
Aizawa opens his eyes and yet it's still dark.
For a moment he thinks it's a dream, or a really cloudy night, but then he notices the cold, the grittiness under his hands, the stale air.
No. No, no, it... just been working too hard, it...
He blinks again, and he tries to sit up, and as he does, his head brushes something cold and hard, the ceiling? But - it's too low and even though he can't see it he can feel the walls around him, he has to get out -
Already, he's sort of suspecting. He always sort-of wondered what he would do if it did happen to him. Always kind of thought he'd keep it together, at least try and make it out alive. But that's a lot harder to believe when you're in it -
Bastard got the jump on me, what's he gonna do, what's he gonna do -
He doesn't keep it together. He starts yelling and he wants to kid himself he's yelling for help but he's just yelling. The dark eats up the sound anyway, and eventually he hears himself stop, his breath rasping in the small space. His head aches; a faint throbbing behind his eyes and along his temples, and when he puts a hand to the side of his face it aches as if he's been hit there - no fucking time to start whining about headaches, think! Tape. There'll be a tape, there's always a tape, or something, it clues you in, this won't be so bad once he knows what the bastard's gonna make him do -
- right? -
He's scrabbling about, dust and grit under his nails, stubbing his fingers on the walls, but there's nothing, there's just nothing, and it takes him far longer than it should've to start searching methodically, start in one corner and work back. Once he does that he realises how small the space he's in is. It's not even a room, more like a cupboard. (A coffin.) How much air? Can't start asking that. Just have to trust there is a way out and he's not going to suffocate or be gassed or, or whatever else the bastard could've thought up -
The tape player under his hand. Slightly sticky, and the keys press down grudgingly as if the whole thing hasn't been used for years.
Press play.
"Hello, Aizawa-san."
And it is, it's exactly the same as the tapes they found before, and he slumps back onto his heels and he wants to curse and keep cursing because when you're angry you aren't scared but he can't, all he can do is listen.
"We've never met, but I think we're quite well-acquainted by now. You've certainly been taking an interest in my work, and so I've returned the favour. For someone who's so concerned about doing the right thing, you don't often stop and reflect on what the truth really is, do you? Perhaps after this you'll see things differently.
"You haven't been home much recently. You'll want to hurry back before it's too late, because otherwise..."
And then there's a click, and a shuffling, thumping noise, and then -
"Shuichi?"
It's Eriko.
Aizawa finds himself speaking, he hears himself say "No," and then, again, "No, no!" and he's yelling over Eriko's words and he has to stop and rewind.
"Before it's too late, because otherwise...
"Shuichi? It's... it's me." A pause, and she takes a deep, shuddering breath. "There's - someone's broken into the house. He's - if - he's got the girls as well, I haven't seen them but he says they'll all right. At the moment. Oh god... he's making me tell you that... that if you don't... if you don't see the truth that's behind your eyes, then he's going to kill us. He says you have until... until five o'clock." She swallows, he hears it, they must have a mike right to her mouth or something, "He says he's working for the Jigsaw killer." And then, furiously, voice shaking, "The bastard worships him -"
Her voice cuts off, but then the next second the growling tones of the first speaker are back.
"Which is more important, your career or your family? Observers would say your career, but I think you've blinded yourself to what means most to you -"
He switches the tape off. He switches it off because if he didn't, he'd hurl the cassette player at the nearest wall (and the walls are very near). You think this is going to stop me? You think I'm going to be fucking scared of you, you think I'm just going to give up? Like hell, I'm gonna get out of here, I promise, and when I find you I'm going to kill you -
He makes himself lean against the wall, take some deep breaths, because he can't afford to be angry, he has to stay calm, that's his only hope, and, as he slumps, his hand brushes something else. A corner; a box. Reaching in, warily, he feels the curved smooth surface of -
a torch?
Light bursts out, filled with dust, spilling onto the grimy walls (dear god it really does look like a meat locker or something). He shines the torchbeam up over the walls, over the ceiling (the lid?) and sees two keyholes. They're really small, and he wonders if he can bust them open himself, but he tries, and nothing even moves, nothing even shakes, and his head throbs even more.
"Just find the keys, huh?" His voice sounds choked, as if the lack of space in here is pressing onto his lungs. But that's got to be it. Just find the keys. Find the keys, get out, get home, save Eriko and the girls, and then make this bastard pay. That's it, it's going to be fine, fuck he can see in the torchlight that his hands are shaking -
He's just about to press play again when it occurs to him to check inside the box. Of course, there aren't keys.
There is a scalpel in a clear plastic bag.
He stares at it, and then, numbly, starts the cassette again.
"- means most to you. Which are you going to pick?
There are two keys, Aizawa-san. Two keys, for two locks. Finding them might be a bit challenging, but don't give up. I would say they're right in front of your eyes, but that's not quite the case. Try a few inches further back.
I know a blind police officer is of little use to his colleagues, but I think you lost your perception months ago."
It.
It can't be, how would you even - how would -
He puts a hand to his temple again, and this time he feels the thin, stitched scars that sure as hell weren't there the last time he checked.
Think, think, this can't be it, it, he can't be fucking serious, I can't, I can't -
He's shining the torch around this room again, not looking even for anything specific, just some hope, some hint, some suggestion that things aren't as bad as they look, and then the beam passes over - a shape, faint lines -
It's an X-ray, pinned on the wall. An X-ray of a person's skull. He wouldn't have recognised it as his, can't swear that it is his, that this isn't all a sick practical joke, Jigsaw's way of getting rid of an inconvenience, but it doesn't change the fact that behind each eye socket is a the black cut-out shape of a key.
His watch says it's twenty to five.
You really think I'll sacrifice them for you?
Like - like hell.
(Pretend it's noble and maybe it won't hurt so much -)
He presses his cold fingers to his eyes for a second, and then he reaches for the scalpel.
At first there is just the pain of a cut, of a blade slicing into skin, and then - he grits his teeth, don't be such a goddamn wimp - his hands ache with the thought of what's to come but he jabs the blade deeper -
And starts screaming. As it starts to go dark.