Timeline: A couple months after the last chapter

Rating: Pg-13 for language

Chapter 10

See What I See

"We both know the sort of person you are. The sort of person who guns down an unarmed suspect. The sort of person who plants evidence in order to obtain a conviction. The sort of person whose wife leaves him and whose son hates him." –John [talking to Eric], Saw II

"What do you want?" Mark asked.

"Can't an old friend just stop by to say hi?" Art Blanc asked. He stuck both hands in his pockets and tilted his head. God, the guy was so slick sometimes; it left a sick feeling inside of Mark.

"Yeah," Mark said, "If you were an old friend. And you're not. Now excuse me, I have to leave."

"What's the rush?" Art asked, shamelessly prying. Mark wanted to grant suspension-without-pay to whoever allowed this guy to walk through the door, but knowing Art, he'd probably snuck or conned his way in. It wouldn't have been a challenge for him.

"I just want to ask a few questions, that's all."

"About Officer Rigg? The charges were dropped. There's nothing more to discuss. It's over."

"No, no, no, no…" Art said, making a slight clicking noise with his tongue at the end. He shifted his posture to stand up slightly straighter.

"I wanted to talk to you about Officer Matthews."

"I have nothing to say to you. Stop sniffing around here for more acquittal cases."

Art shrugged, seemingly unaffected. This aggravated Mark even more.

"It makes you look desperate for work. Pathetic, actually. I've seen ambulance chasers with more tact than you."

"You know," Art said, dismissing Mark's insult completely, not missing an ounce of his nonchalance, "I'm really surprised you'd still cover for him even after it's fairly obvious to everyone that he planted evidence and contaminated crime scenes."

Art leaned in close to Mark's face, intentionally invading his personal space to make a point and inspire intimidation.

"And that made it so easy to get Seth out of jail. All I had to do was figure out a way to prove what I already knew was going on. Your department is as crooked as any other form of organized crime."

He paused long enough to stroll over to Hoffman's bookcase and gaze at the photograph of Angelina. Mark innately wanted to pull it off the shelf and smack him across the face for daring to even glance at his precious sister.

"Here's the part that strikes me as funny. You know, if you'd just left things alone, if you'd just tried to convict him with what you had, we probably could have settled for ten years. And with no technicality, Seth would still be in jail right now."

After a long pause in which he absorbed the words Art had just taunted him with, he thought about the implications of what he was saying, and for a moment, it did seem ironically just. By trying to ensure Seth would get behind bars by cheating the rules, he'd actually caused an early release. He tried to imagine an alternate future where he'd fought the urge to coax Eric into planting evidence, and he could imagine it, but it seemed so surreal. Although he did realize one key difference in both scenarios.

"He'd still be alive though," Mark said.

"Excuse me?"

"I said he'd still be alive. Jigsaw wouldn't have gotten to him if he was in jail."

"Yeah," Art said slowly, his eyes shifty with suspicion. "I suppose you're right. I guess the universe has its own system of justice."

Mark said nothing, but his thoughtful gaze may have implied too much. An extended silence was born from that last statement, neither of them able to further comment on the hypothetical scenario.

"I'll be keeping in touch with you and your department," Art said. This time he swung the door open and was already one foot out before he felt compelled to add one last thought. He nodded to the bulletin board covered in articles, smiled, and said half-jokingly, "You know this Jigsaw guy. I bet I could get him off with an insanity plea. He'd do 10 years tops."

"Get out of here," Mark said, waving him away, finally completely irritated with his presence. Art shook his head, muttered "Take a joke!" under his breath, and slipped out just as quietly and quickly as he'd snuck in.

While settling into his chair, he happened to glance out the window and notice Art flirting with Kerry. She squirmed uncomfortably as he leaned in closer and closer to her face. She muttered something and suddenly Eric appeared. One minute they were speaking, and the next, Eric was making threatening gestures and getting in Art's face.

"Easy, big boy. Wouldn't want to get in any more trouble, would we?" he heard Art say.

Mark instinctively bolted for the door and motioned for Eric.

"Eric, get in here now!"

"Ah-oh, Daddy's mad," Art said with a plastered smirk. He straightened his tie, more as a reflex than a necessity, and then he strutted out.

"Remember, I'll be in touch," he chanted playfully. Once Mark shut the door, Eric didn't hide his displeasure at being singled out.

"I know how to handle myself. I wasn't going to do anything."

"Oh, really? Cause that's not what it looked like to me."

"I can take care of myself!"

"No, that's the problem! You don't know how to take care of yourself! That's why you keep getting in trouble with the IA-"

"This has nothing to do with that!" he yelled.

"Then what is it?" Mark said.

Eric shook his head. He turned away, as though the shame was so great that he couldn't bear to look Mark in the eyes. Eric's composure crumpled, his abrupt anger turning into hopelessness right before Mark's eyes.

"Eric, what is it?" Mark said, nervous now. What did Internal Affairs have on him that would cause this kind of reaction?

"She wants a divorce," he said in the most casual way he could manage. The usual emotion one would associate with such a personal confession was absent. His voice sounded as though he was only the messenger of this terrible news, not the recipient, but his eyes told a different story. They showed a night of restlessness and tears, and probably lots of alcohol as well. Now that Mark paid some attention to Eric's appearance, he noticed that Eric hadn't changed since yesterday. Not that unusual for a detective, but he remembered that yesterday he'd noticed the same thing.

He thought it would be especially insensitive to mention such a thing as hygiene at a moment like this, so he refrained from doing so, although the result was an absolutely unkempt and pitiful looking Eric. He looked out the window, his eyes focused only on Kerry, the instigator of Eric's marital downfall.

"She found out about you and Kerry, and she kicked you out, didn't she? "

Eric nodded, indicating yes on both accounts.

"God, you're a complete mess. And a very high maintenance friend, I might add," he said. Eric didn't move. Mark felt uneasiness creeping into him. It was worse than when Eric was breaking things and throwing them across the room. The stillness, the void expression of his face haunted Mark. They remained silent, Eric trapped in his mental torture and Mark wary of saying the wrong thing.

At last, Eric broke the silence.

"You know Kerry was the one who…she's the one who came onto me," he said, as though the thought was unbelievable. Mark felt a little surprised. In his mind, he'd categorized Eric as the initiator. He had all the aggression in contrast to her passivity. But then again, he knew how manipulative Kerry could be when she wanted something. With those looks and her brain, it was no wonder that Eric had fallen hard for her.

"I know that doesn't matter now, but…Mark, I think I love her," he said it as though it were the worst thing in the world, as though the mere thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Despite everything, I really do. But she feels so distant from me now; it's like we're strangers. And Daniel hates her. He blames her for everything that happened, never mind that his mom is a…well, you can't exactly tell your son that his mom is a fucking bitch who-"

"But you do anyways," Mark interrupted, with a brief smirk.

"Yeah, I do," he said, managing a faint smile that was mostly for show. "I think he hates me. His Mom is filing for sole custody, and you know how I feel about that. My father was never around after my parents seperated. And as it is, I barely see Daniel now."

Mark nodded. "We'll figure something out. He just needs time to adjust. "

Eric nodded, not really convinced. But hearing his friend's confidence that everything would work out soothed his anxiety.

"Mark, how do you stand it? People coming to you all the time with their problems?"

Mark laughed.

"Because no one comes to me with as many problems as you do. Good thing too, because besides dealing with your crises, I still have a department to run."

Mark glanced at his watch and noted the time. He didn't have much left before he would need to leave. John had called him earlier and told him to stop by after work. He stood from the chair and nodded towards the door.

"If there is nothing else, I have to…pursue some outside interests. Now please, find some place to take a bath, even if you have to come over to my place."

"Is that an invitation?" Eric said.

"You're joking, right?" Mark asked.

"…I need a place to stay. Two days, tops."

"Where have you been staying?"Mark suddenly realized.

"Motel."

"Why not with Kerry?"

"It's complicated. Please, Mark."

Mark contemplated this. It was an unexpected circumstance, and he hadn't planned on this obstacle. But to say no to Eric would be unlike him, and he didn't want to generate any extra suspicion if he could help it. Eric was so pitiful looking as well, and the 'please' just intensified it.

"Of course you can stay with me. You still have that spare key. I have to go."

"See you tonight!" Eric said.

No, I'm quite certain you won't, he thought, as he left a tired, depressed Eric behind him.

"Open the folder."

John's whisper was more demanding than a scream. Hoffman complied with Jigsaw's request.

"Look at the pictures. Tell me what they all have in common."

"I don't like this game, John. Just tell me what I'm looking for."

"The connection," he said, his eyes widening with intensity as though he was not only trying to convey to Mark the meaning of his words, but to emphasize their significance. He started coughing then, and Mark looked at him with concern, placing a hand on his back.

"Are you okay?" Mark asked. At first, he didn't care at all for the old man. But Amanda's complete devotion and sympathy for John's illness had rubbed off on Mark…slightly. Although he wouldn't run around and fetch him things and volunteer to do errands for him like she did, occasionally he did express concern for John, whom he felt a combination of hatred and admiration towards.

"My body is not of importance, Mark. Just focus on your task," he said.

Mark realized the object of this mind game wasn't so much as finding the connection as it was learning how to find the connection. Jigsaw could easily just tell him instead of flooding his mind with questions John already knew the answers to. John was playing teacher, and Mark had willingly or unwillingly been cast the role of student. John was thinking ahead because that was just his way. It seemed that now he was already thinking about who would take his place when he died. Mark realized that John saw training him as the most important thing in his life, rivaled only perhaps by his similar training of Amanda. It made Mark feel a little manipulated, but also, in the deepest, darkest part of his heart, a little proud as well, that Jigsaw saw him as fit to carry on his legacy. He even expected it of him. They had come such a long way from John staring him in the face while a gun pointed at his head, making him reanalyze everything he'd ever thought about, even his own morality.

But what was the answer to his question?

"I understand what you are trying to do, but I simply don't know. I only recognize a few of these people. That one girl is a prostitute; she was brought into our station and charged. And that guy is a drug dealer."

He froze when he came to Amanda's picture. A feeling of anger caused his heart to pound wildly in his chest. He wasn't exactly sure why. He was still a little ticked off at her because earlier that day, they had another argument about him wanting her to leave, but also because he felt like John was now toying around with him, perhaps tricking him by giving him an unsolvable puzzle as an experiment to see how he'd react.

Mark looked through the rest of the pictures. He recognized no one else until the last picture. Daniel Matthews.

"That's Daniel. Eric's son. How is he involved in this?"

"That's part of the puzzle, Mark," he said, "I can't tell you. I can only guide you to the right answers."

Of course, he won't tell me. He'd rather mess with my head all day until I don't know up from down, or right from wrong.

Mark felt a little ashamed that he had no idea what he was looking for.

"Is the connection me? I know most of these people. Amanda, Daniel, and then a bunch of criminals."

"Ah! Now you are truly seeing what you were meant to see, but you are still blinded by your emotions. You see 'a bunch of criminals,' yet you separate Amanda and Daniel because you see them differently."

"Oh, yeah," he murmured, realization sinking it. "Daniel just got in trouble recently, and Amanda has a drug record from a couple years ago. I just forgot because…well, she's more than just a criminal. She's…" Mark stopped, unable to articulate exactly what he thought of her and why she was different.

"She's rehabilitated," John suggested as a possible end to Mark's statement.

"Right," Mark said quickly, not wanting to finish that sentence. Defining what he thought of Amanda and explaining why he no longer mentally categorized her with people he would consider despicable or lower than him was something he felt he couldn't, or shouldn't do. Not without more reprimand from John about "detaching emotionally".

"So the connection is that they are all criminals. All of them are connected to me."

"And…?"

"And the arresting officer…and Eric, because that's his son. Wait," Mark said, as he flipped through and looked through the pictures once more. "Eric was the arresting officer. Eric is the connection."

"That's it. Very good."

"That's it?"

John gave him an annoyed look. It seemed to Mark as though he were saying, What were you expecting, a gold star? Praise doesn't come with this line of work.

Mark inwardly scolded himself. He thought that was it until John sighed.

"I suppose I should tell you now, before Amanda does."

"Tell me what?"

"The people in these pictures are all our new test subjects. And they are all playing a role in a game for Detective Matthews."

"What!" Mark exclaimed. John repeated himself as though Mark didn't hear, although it was clear to Jigsaw that Mark simply didn't want to understand.

"Why?" Mark said. "Why Eric?"

"Mark," John said, a warning in his tone, "I understand you're upset-"

"No! How could you even think this? Eric…he isn't the kind of person we test-"

"Oh, really?" John said. His eyes grew wide again, as a subtle anger rose to the surface. "So tell me, what kind of people do we test?"

Mark was silent, for he feared he'd now revealed too much. He'd forgotten that although he was starting to gain some of John's trust, he was still being blackmailed, and he was still subordinate to John's will. He had no control in this situation. This was not his choice. Still, he was angered. He could accept the criminals being in a game. They deserved it, because the criminal justice system had failed in containing or rehabilitating him. But Eric…well, Eric was just like him. There wasn't much of a difference to them in Mark's mind.

"You might as well be testing me," Hoffman said. "Is that all I'm worth? I need to know. Am I helping you because you think I could continue to do this once you're…gone? Or am I merely the brute strength you and Amanda need until your games are over?"

"Oh no," John said, a smirk forming on his face. "No, the games are never over. This is not temporary. This is something far greater than that. A philosophy that will continue after I have passed away." The eyes that looked straight at Mark seemed to look through him now, as though he were having a vision of the future, a future in which he was gone but glorified. As Mark looked around the dingy and rusted warehouse, he could not share his vision. On the contrary, he felt quite outside of it.

"The philosophy of Jigsaw," Mark said, mocking.

"Yes," John said, understanding Mark's sarcasm and ignoring it anyway. "A philosophy I hope Amanda and you will continue after I am gone."

Mark rolled his eyes. He supposed that was the equivalent to receiving a gold star in this morbid class. It was John's way of assuring him he was not a pawn, or something to be discarded when convenient. Yet there was still one thing on his mind that bothered him.

"You never explained why Eric is being tested." Mark pointed out. "If Amanda and I are ever going to understand your work and imitate it," he said, cringing at the word because it reminded him of their first encounter, when John had told him his work was inferior. "…Then the most important thing we need to know is how you choose your victims. I understand they are people who don't appreciate their lives, but it just seems that criminals are more likely to not appreciate their lives more, and they also endanger society, so it makes more sense to me that-"

"You are thinking with the mindset that we are punishing people. We are testing them, giving them enlightenment. The reason Eric was selected," John said as though he'd had no say in the matter, as though he was receiving orders from some omnipotent being, "Well, I think you know his situation, and I don't feel the need to remind you of the mess he's made of his life. I believe you know it better than I do. Are you asking me this question because you truly want to know, or are you asking me because you are acquaintances with him and you wonder if I am testing your loyalty to me?"

Mark thought about it for a moment.

"Are you testing my loyalty?"

"No. I have no doubt I have that, either by your own conscience or your fear of ruining your career as an officer. And those are the only two things you have left, besides…"

Amanda. The thought came to him immediately, a knee-jerk reflex. His heart beat a little faster. He'd almost convinced himself John could read his mind at times, but if he had any idea of what Mark was thinking, he showed no indication of acceptance or disapproval.

"…Well, that's about it, isn't it? Or is there some other social function our work is keeping you from?" John said in a clearly mocking tone. He even topped it off with a sarcastic smile and chuckle.

"No. This is all I have," Mark said with a little sadness and shame.

"Good. Then we're though for today. Amanda and I have much to discuss. I will inform you when the test will begin and what actions you are to take."

Mark nodded, looking thoughtful. He had a thousand more things he felt he needed to say or ask, but time with John was always so scarce. Mark supposed it was because time was becoming more and more precious now that John's was quickly running out.

Amanda appeared in the doorway. He wondered how long she'd been standing there, and felt a little embarrassed at the thought that she had probably heard John mocking him and heard his reply, his pathetic reply that he had nothing to live for outside of this life with John and her. But then again, what was she giving up to be here? He bet it wasn't much either.

But Amanda didn't look smug at hearing Mark say that, nor did she attempt to taunt him. She actually looked a little sympathetic.

"Hello, John. Hello, Mark," she said, addressing him second as usual. Mark nodded at her and left quickly, not wanting to look at her looking at him like that. No, it was better when she hated him. It was better when she rebelled against his every suggestion, despised his every word. It was easier that way.

After John had dismissed him, he wasn't sure where to go. Usually he'd go home watch T.V. and sleep, or go back to work. He didn't dare go to bars anymore, for fear he'd indulge in old habits, but going home seemed so unappealing. The thought of facing Eric made him physically cringe. Eric was going to die, and he was going to be a part of that. He couldn't stand the thought. Why Eric? Why not a stranger? He didn't care what John said; he was testing Mark's loyalty. And it wasn't fair. Unlike Amanda, he'd had no choice but to help. He was being forced into this…

…wasn't he?

I could go home now. I could go there and warn him. Tell him to leave town. But how would I explain that without telling him I'm working with Jigsaw? He wouldn't understand. We've been through some real shit together, but this is different. We've never killed anyone. We've only locked some people up who should have been locked up anyway.

Eric would not understand.

Eric would tell Internal Affairs that Mark was crooked. Maybe they wouldn't take his word over Mark's immediately, but they'd start poking around and eventually they'd find something, and he couldn't get Eric to leave without telling him why he had to. This simple logical reasoning made the ultimatum clear to Mark. It was to either sacrifice his friend or himself.

Maybe Eric will have a fair chance. Maybe he'll escape. The guy is tough, and resourceful too. Maybe he'll make it out. After all, Amanda did it.

He didn't want to think about it anymore. Dear God, how was Amanda dealing with all this stress? She was like an emotional rollercoaster compared to him. How on earth was she getting through this without something, without a drink?

Because she's not an alcoholic like you…but she is a junkie. So how is she handling all this stress without a fix?

Mark sat in his car and thought about it for a long time. It seemed like the only thing to do since he couldn't stand the thought of going home. After the longest time, it dawned on him rather abruptly, like searching blindly for something in the dark and then stumbling on it.

She remembers the feeling of being alive.

He remembered it too vividly. It felt better than intoxication ever did. After the shotgun had gone off as he'd nearly pissed himself, he'd felt anger at being tricked, and helpless because of this situation he was in, but at the same time, he felt amazed just to be sitting down in the chair without his head blown off. Amanda would of course felt the same thing when she threw the reverse bear trap on ground right before it went off. Although she probably felt disgusted by her actions as well though. He wondered how it felt to know you were taking an innocent person's life to save your own. He made a mental note to himself to ask her sometime.

But then again…isn't that essentially what I am doing to Eric?

No…this is different. He has a chance to survive. I'll help him somehow, without John knowing and without it being too suspicious…somehow.