AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry this took so long!!! And I apologize for it not being longer. I'm trying to divide it all up as best I can. Anyway, please R&R!!! I don't know if this is how police investigations really go, but this is for the benefit of the plot and the order that events take place. There WILL be more John coming up soon, I promise!!
Once again, Amanda does not belong to me, and neither does Detective Tapp. They belong to Lionsgate, Twisted Pictures, James Wan, and Leigh Whannell. All writing belongs to me.
TWO
The police station bustled around like it did every day. Overall the majority of officers were relaxed and had no trouble with their work. They had families, nice homes, a decent paycheck. They were happy. The atmosphere wasn't stressed, and everyone seemed to be having a good day. The doors burst open, and the secretary at the welcoming desk was chatting happily with one of her coworkers. She turned to greet the newcomer, but the words "hello, what can I do for you?" never left her lips. A young woman stood in the lobby of the police station, panting, blood smeared on her neck and around her mouth. Her eyes were glazed over with a hint of madness, her long dark brown hair was disheveled, and her stockinged feet were covered in dust and dirt from her run to the police station. But what frightened the woman the most was the incredible amount of blood on the woman's hands, arms, and face. It was only now starting to dry, and it looked as if it were fresh blood. "Can I...help you?" the woman managed to say.
"I need to talk to someone," Amanda said, her voice trembling. She was shaking all over. All she really wanted to do was go home and take a shower and pretend like this never happened, but she knew that the cops would need to know what happened to her. It was the only way she would get protection from Chris's friends. When they found out he was dead, they would stop at nothing to kill the person responsible for his death. She could feel tears of shame well up in her eyes, but she held them back. "Please...I...I just beat one of Jigsaw's games."
The receptionist's eyes widened, and she pushed back from her seat, rising. "I'll be right back," she said hastily, leaving her desk and going through a set of doors to the side that led to the police officer's individual offices and cubicles. She pushed through the people moving about, nodding in acknowledgement when people said hello, finally stopping in front of a closed door. She knocked on the door, and a muffled "Come in" gave her permission to enter. She opened the door, crossing to the desk where an older African American man sat, writing up a report. The newspaper articles on Jigsaw's latest victims as well as photos from the crime scenes adorned his desk. Many, many papers that ranged from interviews with the family members of those who had lost Jigsaw's games to theories and possible suspects of who Jigsaw could be were strewn across the desk as well.
"Detective Tapp?" The receptionist began, still unbelieving at what the young woman had told her. "I think you need to come to the front desk. There's a woman that I think you'd be very interested in talking to." Detective Tapp was in charge of the Jigsaw case, and the man was serious about his work.
Tapp put down the pen he had been writing with and looked up at the receptionist in slight annoyance. "This can wait, can't it?" He asked. "You know I don't like getting interrupted during my work, Margie."
Margie sighed in exasperation. "Oh, I think you'd really like this interruption, Tapp." She knew he was comfortable with using her first name - it was on her goddamn nametag for crying out loud - but she still referred to him in a professional manner. "This woman claims to have beaten one of Jigsaw's games."
"What?!" Tapp practically jumped out of his seat as soon as he heard it. "But that's fucking impossible! None of his victims have survived before!"
"She says she has, and I'm inclined to believe her. Her hands are bloody," Margie informed him. "And she's waiting at the front desk. I thought you'd like to talk to her."
"You thought? What the fuck, Margie? Take me to her right now, we're wasting fucking time standing here talking to each other." Detective Tapp headed towards the door as fast as he could, Margie close behind. Several people glanced at them curiously. "Out of my way!" Tapp barked. "There's a survivor of one of Jigsaw's games out there." The people within range of hearing immediately stopped talking, stunned at the statement. No one had ever won one of those games before. This was big.
Tapp let Margie get ahead of him as they neared the doors that led to the waiting area of the police station. She opened them, and Tapp felt his throat tighten at the sight of the young woman in the lobby. The other receptionist had gotten a washcloth and was wiping Amanda's hands, neck, and mouth clean of the blood. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. This was something he had never thought would happen. This was what he needed to help him with his investigation. A first-hand account of one of the most notorious serial killer's torture and games was what he needed to help his career not only move forward...but to help him catch the motherfucker as well.
"This is her?" He asked Margie as they approached the woman. He gave Amanda a quick look-over. Margie had said she believed this woman was a survivor, and he was inclined to believe the same thing. She looked scared half to death, as if she'd been to hell and back.
"Yes," Margie answered. "Miss, this is Detective Tapp. He'll listen to what you have to say and can help you." Margie and the other receptionist exchanged glances, receding back into the background behind their desks as the detective and the woman sized each other up.
"Come with me. I think it would be a good idea to talk about whatever it is you want to talk about someplace more private." Tapp gestured towards the doors and Amanda followed him timidly. As they passed through, everyone stopped what they were doing, staring at Amanda as if she were the strangest thing they had ever seen. Several women turned to each other and whispered, casting looks at Amanda. Amanda ignored all of it. Although her body was here, in the police station, following the policeman, her mind was still in that room with Chris's corpse. She still had that trap on her head. It was strange, as if she were two people all at the same time. She followed Tapp into his office, and he shut the door behind them.
"Have a seat," he instructed. Amanda glanced at the chair, checking to make sure there were no restraints, then stopped herself. She was in a police station. They wouldn't tie her to the chair. She sat in it shakily, and looked up at the detective as he sat across from her behind his desk, pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen. "My name is Detective Tapp. I'm in charge of the Jigsaw investigation," Tapp began. "I understand that you are claiming to have survived one of his games?"
"What?" She asked, her mind still in that foreboding room, the distorted voice of the tape echoing in her ears. "S-sorry..."
"It's okay," Tapp reassured her, used to the fragile condition of victims. "I asked you if it is true that you are claiming to have survived one of Jigsaw's torture games."
"Yes," Amanda whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming, her mouth feeling odd without the contraption on her head.
Tapp drummed his pen against the surface of the paper. "You do realize what this statement entails, do you not?" He gave her a sharp look.
Anger surged through Amanda as she met his gaze. He didn't believe her! She could see the skepticism in his eyes, and she ground her teeth in frustration. The blood rushed to her face as she glared at him from across the desk. "Yes, I do," she said again. "Do you think I'm making this up? What the fuck do you think I am? I wouldn't lie about this, goddamnit! I almost died a half an hour ago and you're accusing me of lying?" She said incredulously. "That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard!" "Whoa, calm down there, miss...?" Tapp waited a beat for the woman to give her name.
"Amanda. Amanda Young," she told him begrudgingly. He wrote her name down on the piece of paper. "I'm not lying! This really happened! You saw the blood on my hands, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did," he answered, trying to soothe her. It would be easier to talk to her once she had calmed down. "You're right. No one would lie about something as serious as this."
"Thank you," Amanda said, satisfied at last, leaning back in her chair. The skin next to her lips was raw and sore. She reached up to touch it and winced. She would have to put some ice on it when she got home to ease the pain.
"Now, Amanda, before we can actually get an official testimony from you, we are going to have to take a look at the crime scene," Tapp began to tell her, leaning forward. "Do you remember where you were taken after you were abducted?"
Her brows furrowed as she tried to remember. Dirty floors, a couple of phospherescent lights, darkness, hallways..."It was some kind of abandoned warehouse," she said weakly. "On the west side of town, I think."
"Uh huh." More jotting on the paper. "Can you remember which warehouse? If we brought you to it, could you tell us if it was the one?"
"No. I'm sorry," Amanda apologized. "Everything's a bit...muffled. I wasn't exactly paying attention to where I was, if you get my drift. I had a fucking bear trap on my head; I could care less about which warehouse it was. I ran from there."
Tapp ignored Amanda's aggravated tone. He could understand why she was acting with such an attitude. She must've gone through hell and now all she wanted was to go home. Coming here was probably something done more out of what was expected of her than what she really wanted to do. "Okay. We'll do a check on the warehouses in that area, and see if we can find anything, okay?" She nodded. "All right. Now, I want you to look at these pictures." Tapp moved some papers to the side and pushed forward numerous photos of several suspects. "Do any of these men look familiar to you?"
Amanda leant forward to get a better look at the pictures. One of the men was balding, the other was a dashing man who looked to be about her age, and the last was a man wearing hospital scrubs and a doctor's coat. The blonde man looked slightly familiar, but..."Well, the doctor looks kind of familiar. But I think I was in the hospital he works at, once. Yes, I'm sure of it."
Tapp looked as if he were a little boy who had just gotten the box of toy soldiers he had been waiting for all year long to get at Christmas. He jotted a few more things down and nodded. "Right, right. Can you give me your contact information, please?" She gave him what information he needed, and he set his pen down, giving her a solemn look. "You've been through a lot today, I'm sure. I can only imagine what happened to you. We're going to find the crime scene, take some photos, check out some suspects, and then get your official testimony, okay? Everything will be fine. We've got this under control."
"...I won't get in trouble, will I?" She murmured, Chris' dead body still fresh in her mind. "I've already...no. I didn't mean to kill him, I really didn't. I was so scared and it was like I was someone else, and..." The words were out before she could stop them. "I won't get arrested, will I? Will I?"
"Who did you kill?" Tapp asked sharply, his senses tingling. "Who did you kill, Amanda?"
"...Christopher," she whispered. "I don't know his last name...he never told us, none of us. But I had to get the key and it was the only way out..." Her voice trailed off as she buried her head in her hands, tears flowing freely from her eyes.
"In a situation like this one," Tapp began, trying to be as reassuring as possible, "probably not. Now, I don't know the details of what happened to you, and I won't know them until we get your testimony, but for now, I'm asking you to try and forget about it as best as you can. Get settled back into your regular routine and your everyday life, okay? If you still have problems, there are numbers we can give you, places that you can go to for help and therapy."
"They'll kill me if they find out I did it," she whimpered, the fear rising again.
"No, they won't," Tapp said gently. "If you would like, we can send a squad of two cops to keep an eye on you for the next day or so, okay? Just to make sure that you're all right. Would you like that?" Amanda nodded. "Okay. Then I'll arrange that, and they can escort you home." He rose from his desk. "I'll be right back."
Tapp left the room, leaving Amanda alone with her thoughts. She wasn't too sure that she would be immune to any and all harm if two policemen were watching over her. She had been a part of this city's underground drug dealing for some time now. She knew how brutal things could get. She knew what people did to those that killed their allies and friends, the ones that kept the cops from sniffing around in places they shouldn't. But then...she didn't think anything a couple of pissed drug dealers could do were half as bad as what she had just gone through.
She shuddered. This would haunt her for the rest of her life, she knew it. She couldn't wait to go home, to just take a shower, and go to sleep and forget about what had happened for a few hours. It would be a most welcome release from the tension she was feeling at the moment. The door opened just as Amanda was beginning to daydream about a very nice warm bubblebath, interrupting her thoughts. She rose from her chair as Tapp gestured her to do so. "We have a squad car waiting for you outside. I'll bring you to it. They'll keep watch over your residence, taking into account any suspicious activity, all right? If anything comes up as far as our search goes, we'll contact you." He led her through the police station as he talked, passing the reception desk and pushing the front doors open so that Amanda found herself back in the bustling city once more. Sure enough, a police car sat patiently on the side of the street, waiting for its passenger. A man and a middle aged woman sat in the front seats, one looking down, absorbed in something, while the other tapped her fingers against the steering wheel of the car.
Tapp opened the door for Amanda, giving her a calm smile. "Remember, if anything happens, these two will be there to make sure nothing bad happens, okay?" She nodded dimly. "We'll keep you posted." With that final statement, Amanda climbed into the police car, Tapp closing the door behind her and tapping on the hood to signal the driver to go ahead. His dark eyes remained on the car as it began its progress, frowning. Something wasn't right about this situation. There was something Amanda wasn't telling him, and he was determined to find out what. I'll pull up her file. See what I can find on Miss Amanda Young, he thought, turning back into the police station.
They slowly joined the neverending flow of traffic, Amanda giving directions here and there. The two cops' names were George and Lydia. George had just graduated from the Academy, while Lydia had been working in the force for ten years and had two lovely daughters. They had told her this as she sat in the backseat of the car, musing about everything and nothing. This was the second time she had been in a police car, and she was grateful to be the victim this time around, and not the perpetrator. She was grateful to be alive, but that didn't stop the shaking. It didn't stop her from wanting to ask Lydia and George to come up with her when they dropped her off at the corner before her apartment building. They told her that they would be vigilant and keep an eye on the surrounding area, making sure she would be safe for the next week, in order to ensure her protection. Amanda thanked them, but she didn't feel any safer or better about what she had done than she had before. She climbed up the stairs to her apartment in a daze, ignoring the stares of some of the other tenants. She still felt as if she were in that warehouse, fighting for her life, and she wondered how long it would take for her to really truly leave that place.
It took her ten minutes before she realized she had been standing in front of her apartment door, just staring into blank space. Dark brown eyes blinked, and she slowly came back to herself, hovering between that warehouse and where she was now. Amanda shook her head, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying to gain composure. Taking several deep breaths, she waited a few moments, and once she felt she could manage moving, she knelt down on her hands and knees and lifted the doormat in front of her door. The spare key laid there innocently, right where she left it. She grasped it tightly, her hand shaking more so than it had before. Getting to her feet shakily, Amanda unlocked her door, entering her silent apartment with dread and relief.
She shut the door behind her, setting the key down on a small chest of drawers that sat beside the door. Her apartment wasn't the best. Parts of the wallpaper were chipped, her bed wasn't in the best condition and quite squeaky, her carpet still had stains from the previous tenants, and the temperature in the place was haywire. One minute she'd be freezing her ass off and the next she'd be wanting to take off every single piece of clothing she had. But although the place wasn't in the best condition, she was grateful to see it, grateful to have a home to come back to. Running her hands through her hair, Amanda entered her room and stopped in her tracks. There, seated on her bedside table, were a folded clean pair of clothes, and her original copy of her apartment key seated on top, along with her wallet, which held money, credit and debit cards, and her I.D.'s.
Amanda swallowed. Those weren't there yesterday...I had my wallet and keys on me yesterday. I always do. She tried to remember what had happened the day before, but the memory was blurry and made no sense. Something with a pig and black hair and getting high. A sinking feeling entered her stomach as she glanced around uneasily. Someone had been there before her. But who? It took her another ten minutes to search her apartment top to bottom, checking to see if anyone was there, but there was nothing, not one clue. Whoever it had been arrived and left without a trace. She was tempted to call George and Lydia and tell them what happened, but her pride stopped her. You're just being silly, came the automatic reaction. With a heavy sigh, Amanda returned to her bedroom, placing her keys and wallet to the side, picking up the fresh clothes.
She took a hot shower, willing the water to wash away any remaining blood and the fear that seemed to stick to her like glue. She wondered if the police would find the place that she had woke up in. So far, the cops had been useless when it came to Jigsaw, and the fact that he had eluded the police force for so long only made the public uneasy and the press happy. Speaking of the press...Amanda frowned as she turned the faucet off, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a cotton towel around herself. I hope the press doesn't find out about this, she thought. The last thing she needed was more attention, and if the press released the details of her game, Chris' friends would know that she had killed him. If the police kept everything under wraps, she would be safe. If no one found out, she wouldn't wake up with a bullet in her head.
Wiping the condensation from the mirror, Amanda looked at herself. The woman staring back at her in the mirror was someone she had never seen before. Pale complexion, dark circles under her eyes, raw skin around her lips, and a deranged gleam to her brown eyes. Amanda blinked, turning away from the mirror, sighing. Another problem with the press would be that those who knew her would also know what she had been through. She certainly didn't want her parents calling from Salt Lake City and wanting to know if she was okay or not. She didn't want to hear anything from her parents. As far as friends went? She only had one very good friend, and wasn't out to start a pity party. She was mostly solitary, and that was how she liked it. Media attention and the sympathy and concern of others was not appealing to her.
Amanda put soothing lotion on the raw skin around her mouth, hung her towel up to dry, and crossed into her bedroom, opening her dresser drawers to pull out a pair of pajamas. She slipped them on, and climbed into bed, leaving the lights on. She knew that when she closed her eyes, one of two things would happen. She would either have nightmares about her experience and not get a wink of sleep at all, or she wouldn't even dream about anything, and could forget for a few hours. Regardless of what happened, she refused to turn her lights off. This made her feel a bit more safe. If anyone tried sneaking up on her, she wouldn't be taken by surprise. Yeah, her electric bill might be a bit high, but at least she'd know if Jigsaw or that damned puppet were in the shadows lurking, watching.
She was scared to sleep, but it came regardless, drawing her into its cold embrace, and to her delight, she dreamt of nothing, nothing at all.
