Amanda opened her eyes the next morning very much aware of two things. First, she was not in her bed, but rather on a couch, with unfamiliar hands wrapped around her shoulders. Second, that she desperately had to go to the bathroom.
The first did not entirely surprise Amanda. She knew those arms belonged to John, who was still sleeping (and snoring).
The second presented a larger problem.
Amanda knew that John had been unrelentingly strict about getting up without permission. He had, after all, only recently let her walk and bathe by herself. Going to the bathroom fit into that category, of course, but that had been when he was awake. Amanda still couldn't do so much as turn the water on, or open a door, in his absence. It frustrated her, even though she recognized that John acted mostly out of concern.
Still, she had to go, and it struck her as a little ridiculous to awaken the elderly man just to let him know she had to pee. Liz would have thought she was crazy, and Mike…well, knowing him, he'd probably offer to change places with Amanda when she returned so that the bed would stay warm.
She smiled in spite of herself. He had been a good boyfriend.
As a child, this had happened fairly often, though not exactly regularly. Her rule of thumb had been if it took her longer to try to fall back asleep than it would to just go, she'd go.
And that had been with the fear of her father lurking in the hallway, ready to lock her in the bathroom as soon as she entered.
Amanda sighed. Whatever John's reaction would be, should he find out, it had to be better than this. She remembered that the bathroom was in the next room and, with that, pried his hands off her neck and raced into the room.
After going, she flushed, then swore quietly when she realized her mistake. It might have woken John up. Having relieved herself, Amanda began to regret her decision. John had no shortage of punishments ready, and it was very likely that he'd be annoyed with her, to say the least.
She tiptoed back into the room with the TV and the couch, and tried to creep onto the couch unnoticed. Amanda thought that she had made it until, just as she was pulling the blanket over her body, she heard John speak.
Her heart started pounding so loudly she couldn't hear what he was saying. It was harder to distinguish the tone, too. He could be furious but he could also just be tired. It was impossible to know for sure.
"W-what?" Amanda squeaked, pulling the blanket past her shoulders.
"I said, 'Did you find the bathroom all right?'"
Now John sounded amused.
"Y-yeah," Amanda mumbled, feeling her cheeks grow red.
"Good. It can be hard when you have to go and you don't know where it is," John added, turning to look at her.
It was too dark to see any details but Amanda thought he was smiling.
"I guess," she whispered, humiliated. Was this her punishment—talking about the mechanics of finding the right room?
It was better than the bear trap, but at least the bear trap had the temporary aspect of a quick death should she fail to secure the key. This conversation, Amanda knew, could go on for hours.
She pulled the covers over her head, wanting to die.
"Well, I'm glad you found it," John was saying, and then yawned.
"Yeah."
She could hear John laughing. "I'll stop," he promised, moving to her side of the couch to pull the blanket away from her face. "You need air, Amanda."
Amanda felt like pouting, but thought it was more dignified to say nothing. She ducked out of John's reach as he moved his arm toward her chest—probably wanting to put it around her shoulders again—and heard him sigh.
"I won't hurt you."
Silence.
John let out a yawn and closed her eyes, moving back to his original side of the couch.
He'll be snoring again soon, Amanda realized.
She knew it was still early but she wasn't tired. In fact, Amanda felt more awake than she had felt since she'd been here.
There was no way she'd be able to fall asleep, but she doubted that she'd be able to just lie there for another few hours. She should do something productive, like sorting out the new clothes John had bought her and spent half the evening washing.
"John," she whispered, her voice barely audible to her own ears. Louder, she hissed, "John?"
Tired eyes opened. "What is it?" he grumbled, not sounding particularly harsh but hardly friendly.
Amanda felt herself turn red. "I'm not tired anymore. Can I…do something? Like put away the clothes?"
"That's fine," he muttered, shifting towards the cushions.
Gingerly, as if John would change his mind at any minute, Amanda crept out from under the blanket and made her way into the kitchen, closing the door and turning on the light as she left.
The clothes were mixed up and in several plastic laundry baskets. Amanda checked the drier and noticed that towels were still inside, but they were dry. She picked up the baskets one at a time and hauled them over to the kitchen table.
Amanda had not had much experience with laundry before. Liz always threw in Amanda's clothes with her own, and Mark sent most of their stuff out for dry cleaning or washed by hand. He thought it was cheaper, and more efficient, than buying a washer and a dryer. Amanda had subscribed to the belief, and often teased him with it, that men were incapable of doing laundry.
John, evidently, did not fall into that category.
Still, the worst had been done and folding was something she had experience with. Sorting, too. The clothes, she noted, had a nice scent to them, and felt softer than they had in the store. Upon further inspection, she saw that John owned fabric softener and dryer sheets, so he probably used them on her new stuff.
Amanda felt a little embarrassed when she realized this. John didn't need to make the effort; it's not like she would have known the difference.
She saved the blankets and sheets for last, separating them into the last empty laundry basket. She felt proud as she surveyed her work on the kitchen table. It was something that John wouldn't have to do later.
Suddenly, though, Amanda felt a wave of tiredness. She was already sitting down, and decided to close her eyes for a few minutes. Waking John again didn't seem to be the best idea.
The next thing she knew, someone was shaking her awake. Her neck and back hurt from the awkward position. She looked up and saw that it was light outside. She must have slept for hours. She moved away from the unwanted hands and saw John looking at her with a forced smile on his face.
"Good morning, sleepy head." Amanda groaned in response. "Are you cold? Would you like something to eat?" he continued, reaching for her right hand.
She wasn't cold. Just groggy and feeling incredibly dirty. Amanda realized that she had slept in her clothes. She needed a shower.
"I'm hungry, but can I get cleaned up first?"
She remembered that she hadn't showered last night. It was something she had gotten used to since her arrival.
John nodded. "I'll show you the way." He removed one of the larger towels from the table.
As Amanda bathed, John took the opportunity to make her new bed. He pulled the mattress on top of the base, with some effort, and then went downstairs to collect the bedding. Amanda hoped he would remember to bring her some clothes, but he didn't need reminding. Before she was out of the tub, the bed was made and the clothes had all been placed neatly in a set of drawers.
John politely waited for Amanda to finish dressing before asking about food. "Anything in particular?" he questioned as he brushed out her wet and very tangled hair.
"Pancakes? Mmph!" Amanda tried not to yelp as he worked on a particularly stubborn knot, but could not avoid wincing.
"Good choice," he replied, now moving onto a slightly smaller knot. Even though he tried to be gentle, Amanda had unshed tears in her eyes by the time he was finished with her hair. Either ignoring this or choosing not to mention it, (or acting on some sadistic impulse to cause her as much pain as possible) John tried to guide Amanda to the new bed without actually touching her.
She gave him an odd look. "I'm awake."
"I thought you'd rather eat here?"
Amanda shrugged, crawled into the new bed and allowed John to wrap the covers around her.
The sheets, too, had a clean smell about them. They were softer than Amanda remembered, and she thought that she would have a lot of trouble getting up. She lay on her side and watched John intently.
'I'll be back with the pancakes soon," was all he said.
This time, though, Amanda felt determined not to fall asleep.
He came back about ten minutes later with the tray on which sat a plate of pancakes and a glass of milk. The flower selection was pretty, but Amanda didn't know the name for it. She watched, amused, as John set up the tray on top of her legs, and then took a seat on the bed beside her.
The food was hot this time, and that improved the taste significantly. John was a good cook. After she had finished the pancakes, Amanda was a little regretful that there weren't any more. John must have noticed her disappointment because as he removed the tray, he spoke.
"Do you enjoy pancakes?"
"Yeah. It's my favorite food," Amanda replied, watching John set down the tray next to him as he remained seated.
"Hmm." He tentatively reached out to smooth her hair, and Amanda let him.
By now, it had dried completely, and felt soft. Not exactly long, but it reached past Amanda's shoulders. He felt regretful for attacking it earlier with the brush, but it had been necessary. It, he thought with a hidden smile, did not appreciate life.
Amanda did, or at least, was starting to. She was still scared of the glass of water, mostly due to him, but was starting to taste it and enjoy it. John knew that he would be the one to bring Amanda into a deeper understanding of life, and that this journey would have to involve a great deal of trust throughout the fear. He had plans in mind that would require her –voluntary—participation.
But not yet, he thought. It was not even remotely time.
As John stroked Amanda's hair, he began to think about what their life had been like since she had arrived. The first week, of course, Amanda had been unaware. Taking care of her occupied most of John's time because even if there wasn't anything in particular that he could do, he always had to be there to monitor her. He'd slept in spurts during this time, always worried that in the short time he rested, Amanda's conditions would change and she would die because he was not there to help. For this reason, giving up his bed was not a large sacrifice. Gradually this fear lessened as Amanda's condition stayed stable, and on the day that Amanda awoke for real, John had felt truly comfortable sleeping through the night on the dingy couch.
Amanda had been awake for eight full days --this being the ninth-- but her energy level was fairly low. John imagined that this had to do with the heroin overdose/withdraw, but realized that there were probably other drugs Amanda had been exposed to which her body was still craving. She had been a fool to go to the cheaper drug dealer, but, he remembered that she had only been there once and it was bad luck that she hadn't used everything the first time she overdosed.
He had kept her bedridden for a week so that she could conserve her energy. That, and there really wasn't much Amanda could do, so it was better if she slept most of the time. Usually he woke her up (or found her awake) around 9 and would serve her breakfast in bed. She had a good appetite and always finished most--if not all--of her food. This took roughly a half an hour. Then John would give her a bath and help her dress, or to be more accurate, change into her other set of clothes. This took another half hour. He would try to engage her in conversation about anything, which was generally unsuccessful because Amanda was still terrified of him, and then Amanda would rest before lunch. John served her this, also in bed, between 12 and 2, depending on how tired she was. After lunch he'd try talking to her again, which was often less successful than the first time, and finally read to her for an indefinite period of time. The reading content varied; sometimes it was poetry by Shakespeare, and other times it was the newspaper.
After this the schedule varied. Sometimes, John would take Amanda into his living room and they would watch TV for awhile. John had guessed that Amanda had not watched TV much while growing up because she did not voice any favorite shows. If they watched TV, it was usually what John considered a family channel, but so far Amanda did not have any preferences. Of course, other times Amanda would use the time to rest before dinner.
Around 6, John would feed her and after that was Amanda's evening bath and then she would go to sleep. John imagined that she spent at least sixteen hours a day sleeping, but in spite of this rarely looked energetic. Perhaps she had been refusing to let her guard down, or perhaps it was a psychological response. She had been letting him in, slowly, over the first week, but all that really meant was she had gone from seeing him as someone who would kill her at any minute to a stranger who she was temporary staying with.
Yet in some ways the progress Amanda made was astounding. When she first woke up, Amanda had flinched at the slightest touch and shrunk away from all displays of affection. John had never considered himself to be a particularly warm person, but there was something about Amanda that made him want to hold her and hug her. Perhaps it was her meek manner, like a scared animal, or perhaps John was growing soft. In any event, Amanda had gone from this silent, cowering figure to appreciating affection. She rarely returned hugs or touches, but John could tell that she enjoyed them. She was even starting to get used to him holding her where she could not see, such as when he put an arm around her shoulder the other day. John realized that he had been incredibly lonely since Jill had left him, and Amanda was starting to fill this gap, though more as a child figure than as a lover. John was, after all, old enough to be her father.
Now he watched Amanda resting with her eyes partially closed, clearly enjoying having John's hand stroke her forehead. Every so often she would make almost inaudible noises that sounded happy. It reminded John of a small cat or dog. Even the way she slept, huddled under the covers, body completely hidden except for her face, struck John as animal like.
He spoke softly, now caressing her cheeks. "What would you like to do today?"
Brown eyes opened and peered at him thoughtfully. "I should try to get a job."
She did not sound particularly enthused by this prospect.
John chose his words carefully. "I'd rather you didn't, Amanda."
"Why?"
"I don't like to leave here unnecessarily, and neither should you. This isn't a very safe area and there are all sorts of people who would want to kill us."
He meant, of course, the police. She knew this and thought it best to keep silent.
"Okay," she murmured. There was a long pause and then she spoke. "What do you want to do?"
It was on the tip of his tongue to respond with "I want to play a game" but he knew that this would be too cruel, even if it was said in jest.
"I'd like to finish the movie we started last night," John replied, realizing that this would take less than a half an hour and they still had the rest of the day to fill.
"Don't forget the DVD," Amanda reminded.
John hurried back downstairs, found the DVD easily, and before long had located the last scene he remembered seeing with Amanda.
The structure of the room changed considerably now that it belonged to both of them. It had been large, with John's bed stuck in the corner of the room with a table on the other side. The tub had always been there in case John wanted to take a bath, but he preferred showers. There was a closet opposite the bed, a large wooden wardrobe where he kept his clothes and towels.
Now, Amanda's bed sat on the same side of the room, but in the opposite direction so there was about fifteen feet between the two. There was no lamp or furniture, and although John remembered he had an extra chest of drawers somewhere, there was no place to put any of her clothes or towels. She didn't complain, of course, but did wonder if she would be living out of laundry baskets for the rest of her life.
Across the room sat the TV on a large table, rather old, with a VCR and DVD player attached rather than part of the set. Under the table sat some of the DVDs John had just bought.
There were no decorations in the room. There was a window, but no posters or anything to give it character. The room felt large and bare, filled with empty space.
"Want to move the beds together while we watch?" John now asked. "There will be more room."
Amanda nodded and John easily pushed his twin bed next to hers. There was an obvious dent in the bed where the two mattresses met, but there was also significantly more room. Amanda had slept on a full at Liz's, and a queen while with Mike. Twin beds reminded her of the cot she had used while in prison, although there was no doubt that this one was vastly more comfortable.
She leaned against the wall as she watched John work, using a pillow as support. Now he was finished and, panting slightly, moving next to her.
Part of Amanda wanted to move her body even closer to the wall, but this would have required becoming two dimensional. John, sensing this, wrapped an arm around her and, tentatively, she leaned in towards him. His other arm joined her so her head was in some sort of trap, but she felt comfortable and had no trouble breathing. He pressed play with the remote, and Amanda tried to pull the new blankets over her body without being able to see them very well. John, seeing her struggle, let go and helped her move them over her shoulders.
"Are you cold?" he asked once she had relaxed against him.
She shook her head and felt his arms fall over her shoulders. She smiled to herself.
Amanda, having fallen asleep last night partly through the movie, did not understand it very well. The ending was happy enough, or seemed that way. It ended with a man and a woman falling in love, at any rate. It was not contemporary, but it wasn't old English like Shakespeare. She just didn't get it.
She did, however, enjoy spending time with John where neither of them spoke. It was unnerving, sometimes, to talk to him. Amanda could not help but feel that he was gathering information about her to add to his files of victims (she had no proof these files existed, but he seemed to be the type of person who would do this), except she survived when the other victims died.
So it seemed strange that John would be gathering information about Amanda after the trap unless he really planned to put her through another test.
The credits began and uplifting, rather cheesy, music began to play. It was obvious that the director wanted you to come out of the movie thinking that all was right in the world they had just seen, and so clearly the viewer should hope for that kind of ending in their own life.
Amanda didn't believe in happy endings until she met John, but even this wasn't exactly happily ever after. It was more happyish for a temporary amount of time.
But she imagined that it would be no fun to watch truly depressing movies in which every protagonist died and the villain continued to live and to pursue his (or her) villainy. It was better to watch an unrealistic, over the top happy movie than one of those.
"Did you enjoy it?" John asked, arms still wrapped around her back protectively.
Amanda turned her head to view his face. "I guess. Kind of confusing."
John nodded, lifting the arm that was now being crushed by her back. "Are you tired?"
"No," Amanda replied, and to her surprise, it was the truth. She felt very comfortable, but also awake. "What do you usually do during the day?"
As soon as she said it, she realized how stupid it sounded. Of course, John spent every day as Jigsaw, capturing victims to trap, and designing traps for new victims. Each trap could only be used once, she imagined, and he must have to spend days making each one. Granted, she hadn't seen him work on anything that resembled life threatening traps while she had been there, but what else did a serial killer do during the day?
His answer surprised her. "I watch TV. I do some writing. I cook. I also enjoy art projects."
He had probably made that puppet thing that spoke the directions to Amanda, and then reappeared on the bicycle after she passed the test. She shuddered. What was she doing here?
"Not just those projects," he added quickly, understanding her reaction. "I draw. Paint. Decoupage. Used to know how to do embroidery but can't anymore."
"Why not?" Amanda asked before she could stop herself.
John began to cough, turning away until he was finished. It sounded terrible.
"I often hurt myself with the needle and that's become unbearable now, after my diagnosis."
Diagnosis? Was he contagious? Would he die soon?
"You see, Amanda," he explained slowly, looking her straight in the eye, "I have inoperable, non treatable cancer that has started to spread through my brain. I don't have very long to live.
"That is why," he continued, "I've tested so many others, including you. It took me until then to realize I had been wasting my life. I was, quite frankly, tired of seeing people waste theirs."
A/N: Yeah, slight cliffie. Just wait until next chapter, though! As always, five reviews secures the next chapter. That is, I promise to post at least one day after receiving the fifth review. Since you all have been reviewing so quickly, I'm afraid that otherwise, I wouldn't be able to catch up. :)