Rick pressed his back to the wall and then ducked his head around the corner, the Remington cocked and held high.
The cellars of the plant were not only abominably cold, but also murky and labyrinthine. There were lights set into the walls, but these were both dim and dirty and did nothing but accentuate the shadows. He dropped the weapon, lifted his flashlight and shone it down the corridor, but there were no signs of movement. He exhaled gratefully and nodded at the others.
"All clear," he whispered, and stepped out, heading down the passage. Several steel doors led off it at intervals, and he tried one at random, finding it locked.
"This is a creepy fuckin' place," said Shane, studying their surroundings with the faintest taint of trepidation. Rick nodded in quiet agreement and tried another door, with the same result. He stopped at the third door, however, and shouldered his rifle with a wary frown, taking a step forward and playing the beam of his flashlight over the mottled, peeling surface.
"'Here's your chance'?" he asked, repeating the phrase painted across the door in straggling scarlet letters. He glanced over his shoulder, studying Hoffman for a second, then drew back and kicked the door in, hearing the rusty hinges howl in protest.
The room beyond was mired in darkness, and Rick reached into that gloom with some care, hand searching for a light switch. His probing fingers eventually closed on a likely suspect and he flipped it, stepping back a pace as the lights flickered uncertainly before coming on.
It did not in fact make that much difference; the room was still largely cloaked in shadow, but there was enough light to illuminate the contraption that stood in the middle of the floor. Rick's brow furrowed in surprise, and then he jerked his head at the others and led the way through the door.
"The hell is this?" he said beneath his breath, running his gaze over the thing. The foundations had been crudely constructed from two girders, which were welded together to form a cruciform structure, but beyond that utilitarian structure he now saw a lot of fine detail. There were two sturdy leather straps bolted to the crosspiece, and two more lower down. He studied the gears on the ends of the mechanism and his jaw sagged a little as a gruesome conclusion crept up on him by inches. He stood in thoughtful silence, processing this inescapable deduction for a while, and then rounded on Hoffman.
"Start talkin', Detective," he said, evenly. "I saw the police tape on the door and I let it go, but now I want some answers: what is this place?"
"Jigsaw crime scene," said Hoffman, bluntly, his eyes straying to the Rack and then shuttling back to Rick just as quickly.
"I see," said Rick, mulling this over, his lips pursed. "You didn't think it worth mentioning?"
"Look," Hoffman told him, keeping his voice low and guarded, "I just didn't want to spook anyone. You want everyone else finding out what happened here? Ten people died in this building in one night and I barely got out alive myself, but that was a long time ago. The killer's dead and it's as safe a place as any."
"I don't deny that it is," said Rick, his eyes still brooding, "but I'd have appreciated some honesty upfront, that's all. Until today I'd never heard of this Jigsaw fella, and then I happen across you and all of a sudden it seems I'm up to my neck in it all and standin' in the middle of a slaughterhouse."
The air burned between their locked gazes for a moment longer, until Shane defused the tension by stepping into that overheated gulf.
"Come on, Rick," he said, placating, "it don't matter what went on here and I happen to agree anyways. You tell people about this and you're only gonna scare the kids, and where's that get us? Let's just finish lookin' the place over and get back upstairs. Aside from anything else, I could use something to eat."
"Okay," Rick exhaled, wearily. "Suppose you're right, but I want this door shut behind us and nobody else goes wanderin' around down here, clear?"
Hoffman offered Shane a thankful nod and followed the others out of the room, pulling the door closed until the latch clicked. He walked alongside Rick in silence, his hand on the butt of the revolver, until something about the Sheriff's slight sidelong glances preyed upon him and he eventually returned one with a polite if slightly pointed stare.
"So, what happened to you here?" asked Rick, seemingly unabashed at being caught in this clandestine study. Some way ahead of them, Shane investigated another side door with considered caution, edging into the room beyond with his gun drawn, and Hoffman took advantage of this to pause and prop his shoulder against the wall before speaking.
"I was put in a trap with a fellow officer," he said, watching Rick's face for his reaction. "He died and I only just got out in time. We also lost another cop at the scene. It was a fucking bloodbath," he finished, shaking his head grimly.
"I'll bet," said Rick, nodding. "Was that how you got your face cut up?"
"No," said Hoffman, and now he almost laughed. "That was thanks to the second trap I ended up in," he added, and proceeded to describe the mechanism of the Reverse Bear Trap and how he'd fought his way out of it at a steep physical cost. Rick's expression did not undergo a particularly drastic change as he listened to this account, but when it was done with he looked the detective up and down with modest admiration in his eyes.
"Looks like your friend Sidney was right," he said, wryly. "You've a pretty big pair of balls on you for sure."
"Thanks, I think," said Hoffman, smirking in the shadows.
Shane emerged from the door, angling his head at the room he'd been searching.
"Looks like we got us another trap in here," he said, and then vanished back through the doorway. Rick watched him go and then turned back to Hoffman, his gaze level.
"Anything you wanna tell me afore I take a look in there?" he asked, quietly.
"Actually, this one's pretty self-explanatory too," replied Hoffman morosely, setting his jaw and following the Sheriff through the door.
Andrea looked up in the middle of unpacking supplies and caught sight of Diana as the girl emerged from a door on the far side of the workshop, with Carl and Sophia in her wake. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Mallick step over to the teenager, say something low and indistinct and try to lay a calming hand on her shoulder, but the girl shrugged him off with an economical gesture that suggested that she was only restraining herself from a much greater display of pique in front of witnesses. Mallick half turned his head anyway, as if to check that this had passed unnoticed, and then reached out again and clamped his hand around Diana's upper arm, ushering her back through the door with his lips set in a narrow, pale line.
Andrea started with concern, and was considering following the pair when the door behind her banged back and Rick and Shane stepped through. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then gently fielded the Sheriff as he passed her.
"Look, Rick, I'm sorry about –" she began, quietly, but he raised a conciliatory hand to stop her. "No," he said, "I'm the one who's sorry if I put you down. I shouldn'ta made you feel as if I don't appreciate what you do. I know you've got guts, God knows I do."
She'd had a whole speech prepared, and would have felt bad about seeing it go to waste if not for the warmth in Rick's gaze. Even so, there was something she felt needed saying, if only to clear the air once and for all.
"You have a lot on your mind, what with lookin' out for Lori and Carl," she said, trying to arrange her words with the utmost care. "I'm not offended if you feel protective, honestly I'm not. I'd much rather that than the alternative."
She watched Rick's face carefully for a moment, waiting for a response. He was not, she knew, a man given to impulsive reaction, and this was no different. Eventually, his eyes softened and he offered her a sad little smile.
"Times like this bring out the best or worst in everyone," he said. "How're you doin' yourself, by the way?"
Andrea, caught unawares, couldn't think what to say. She was aware of an undertone in the question, that was undeniable, but it was barely there and she couldn't be sure of its provenance. Still somewhat bewildered from the strange conversation she'd had with Sidney, she decided to keep it brief.
"I'm okay," she said, trying to look as if she meant it. "Just damned tired and feeling like I got run over."
"You and me both," he said, ruefully, "but that's not what I meant. Something's different. Are you sure you're all right?"
No, thought Andrea. I'm not. I'm deeply disturbed by the folks we picked up, in ways I can't even articulate, and all of a sudden, all I can think about is Detective Hoffman even though he frightens the hell outta of me as well. This thought flicked across her mind like a startled fish, there and gone before she knew it. It wasn't that she'd even remotely considered giving voice to this sentiment, but she nonetheless forced it back down with an effort of will.
"I'll live," she said, instead. "Things'll probably look a lot better for a little hot water, if you want the truth."
Rick was still watching her quite deliberately, so it was with some relief that that probing scrutiny was broken by Carl, who had wandered over and tugged at his father's sleeve. Rick turned, reached down and ruffled the boy's hair, causing him to shy away and smooth it down once more with an irritable swipe.
"What's up?" asked Rick, fondly.
"Mom says she needs you," said Carl, simply.
"Okay, go tell your mama I'll be right there" said Rick, watching his son returning to the group on the far side of the workshop. He dropped his gaze for a moment, and then looked back up at Andrea.
"I reserve the right to be concerned about you," he said, softly. "After what happened to Amy I know you had one heck of a time gettin' back on track. If I'm honest, for a while there I thought we was gonna lose you, too."
Something seized hold of Andrea at that moment, and she leaned in and planted a moist, affectionate kiss on his cheek, quite heedless of the prickly stubble there.
"You're a good man, Sheriff Grimes," she said, as he stared at her in mild surprise, raising a hand to his face, "and I'm glad I met you."
He seemed honestly flustered by this spontaneous show of gratitude, let alone the overly enthusiastic kiss, and covered it by fidgeting uncomfortably with his rifle for a second before pushing it behind his shoulder.
"Did you say you wanted to wash up?" he asked, recovering a scrap of composure and provoking no end of wry humour in her in the process. "There's a sluice room of sorts back down that way, so far as I saw. Hopefully there's some hot water runnin', too, if we've power."
"Ugh, I hope so," she said, wrinkling her nose and glancing down at herself. "I am not feeling too ladylike these days and I swear I'm carryin' passengers."
Rick laughed.
"You look just fine," he told her, "but if you need to take a few to freshen up nobody's gonna mind. I'll go see about gettin' some food sorted out. Even though it ain't exactly men's work," he said, with a good-natured grin.