Disclaimer: Don't own SAW or anything else that I might mention eventually.

A/N: hey all, here's chapter 4, and now that their on the run, this chapter is gonna focus more on Amanda's thoughts. (Oh, I didn't go to the movies, I went bowling and my bf kicked my butt.)

Taking the left hand turn onto the highway, she got lost in the thought of not only having to take care of this little girl in the back seat and keep her away from the cops until this all died out, but how to tell an eight year old that murdering people was a good thing. But then again, somehow John had told her that exact same thing, and somehow she could believe him then, and she could still believe him now. That was part of being a daughter wasn't it?

Sighing, she turned on her blinker, and into another motel parking lot.

This is what it cost to teach the lucky one the mechanics of murder. How to build traps and set up games, how to fix a timing device so well and so many times that you could do it in your sleep. To watch people die and not blink a tear.

That wasn't the type of education you got in regular school, that just taught you to become a prick of the masses, to exploit and take as you please while the others under you crumble and fall.

That's what John had taught her, that you must not fall into the monaty of the world, to ruin her life, just like she had done with the drugs and the partying, that's how the hell she ended up in this situation in the first place. But through it all, Amanda was great full. Great full that she now had to drag this little urchin around and raise her to be the next one to carry on John's message.

Getting out of the van, she shifted little before just locking the doors and shifting Corbett into the front passenger side to sleep, they would be to Josiah soon. But she was so tired, and her nerves were screaming for a shot of heroin, and she did still have that big bottle left…

Getting out of the van, she opened the back, and dug out the first bag that she had ever packed, making sure that Corbett's little blue eyes were still shut, Amanda took out the bottle, a clean needle and a tourniquet. Strapping the rubber to her arm she waited for her veins to pop up. She was just about to shove the needle into her arm; she heard voices that were close to her ear, but far away at the same time.

"No Amanda!" It sounded like John… who was hat other voice? … She couldn't remember. Shit why did he always have to scold her like that? She was about to do it again when she heard a freakish clicking inside the bag. Tearing it open, she was just in time for her head trap to go off again, and the timer kept going until she had unwrapped her arm and put everything away.

The gospel according to St. John Kramer the killer, patron of his adopted daughter and her unknowing apprentice, the only surving child of two parents who had been killed by the heroin addict.

Yep, life was going to be fun. Sighing, she got back in the front, locked the door, and had nightmares until dawn.