Chapter Thirty Eight: The Truth

Maria's POV

I looked up at Jigsaw, then back down to what I held. A copy of my birth certificate, baby pictures of a dark-haired pudgy little thing, one I recognized to be me from pictures back at home, a young, healthy verison of my father holding that little baby, beaming down at the little person he held, another of a beautiful dark-haired, half-Latino woman holding the same baby, not looking nearly as happy as my father was, a man standing beside her bed, leaning over and looking down at me . . .

I looked back up at Jigsaw, back down the picture. No, I thought desperately. No, it can't be. I continued looking through the pictures. Another with just the man holding me, obviously talking to me. Another with the man and a Latino woman I had never seen before, both of them posing in front of the camera, smiling. They were all so happy . . .

"What the hell is this?" I asked, tears coming to my eyes. I held up the photo of the man and the little baby. "Who is that?"

"Your grandfather," Jigsaw answered. "The other one with that woman is your grandmother. Your mother's parents."

I didn't want to believe it. No, he had to have stolen them for my house, from my dad, from my mother after he killed her. "How did you get these?"

Jigsaw was silent, looking down at the papers on his desk.

"Nothin' to say, huh?" I sniffed loudly, trying to get ahead of my emotions. "How did you get these?"

Still nothing. Rickers and Adam didn't make a sound. A flaming, boiling rage welled up inside of my chest, spilling out through my eyes. I threw the papers and photos at the old man. I was sobbing uncontrollably. I dropped to my knees, among the papers littering the floor now. Jigsaw looked down at me now, watching me with a twinge of sadness in his eyes.

"Answer me!" I sobbed. "Answer me . . ."

"They're mine," he answered, bending to pick a photo up. The one of my grandfather and grandmother holding me. "I was there the day you were born."

"You fucking liar!" I screamed. "Don't fucking lie to me! You goddamn liar!"

Arms wrapped around my shoulders, but I didn't notice who it was. I didn't care. My whole life, I wondered who my family was . . . I wanted so badly to know where my mother came from, where I came from. And the answer was here, littered on the floor in front of me, the withering old man that stood so calmly next to his desk, that fucking psychopath that destroyed countless people's lives, including mine . . .

"No," I whispered. I looked up at him, my anger taking over everything. "NO!! You're lying!"

"Oh, Maria, you know better than that," he said softly. "Sometimes I do wish that was true, but you know better."

"My mother, Teresa Cassidy, you killed her."

He shook his head. "I tested her, sweet. She had to be tested."

"She was your daughter!" Adam suddenly broke in. I looked over and realized he was the one holding me. "How could you do something like that to your flesh and blood?"

Jigsaw continued to study the picture he held, tracing my grandmother's face tenderly. "She needed to be tested. She failed. She didn't deserve her life."

"How could you?" I sobbed.

"She looked everything like your grandmother," he said with a small smile, studying that picture as if he would never see it again. "Everything but the eyes. She managed to get my eyes, though how that happened, we may never know. We thought Kay's dark eyes were more dominant." He paused briefly. "She looked everything like Kay, but held none of her spirit. Kay was such a strong woman, willing to do whatever it took to take care of her family. Never leaving anyone behind, no matter how hard it became.

"That's why she was so heart-broken when Teresa deserted you. Left you with Horatio as though you were a stray dog. She disappeared that night. It killed her. It killed my Kay. She was gone for seven years before I found out I had cancer . . . And that was when I knew, I knew what I was meant to do. And I knew that Teresa was to be my first test subject."

"I know she did wrong," I whispered, sinking against Adam, who still held on to me. "I know she wasn't perfect. But she was your daughter. How could you do something like that to her?"

Jigsaw shook his head. "It is the fabric of survival, of pure instinct that isn't in the human race anymore. It's difficult to explain to people who aren't willing to understand it. It was difficult, true, but it had to be done."

"Then why were you testing me?" I demanded, straightening up again as my anger got to me. "Why save Adam just to put him through more tests? Why do any of it?"

"Adam, I believe you can explain better than I could," Jigsaw said.

I looked at Adam. He looked to the floor, purposely not meeting my eyes. I put my hand under his chin and turned his face to face me. He finally met my eyes, a deep sadness showing through his. I looked at him in silence for a long moment.

"Adam," I said quietly.

He broke my gaze, looking down to the ground again.

"Adam, what is it?" I asked. "Tell me."

"My father . . . killed your father," he muttered. "He shot him when he and Rickers went on that drug bust. He was a dealer . . . I never knew it. It's his fault you went through all of that when you were 16."

I stared at him in shock. "What?"

"We knew each other around that time . . . Or, we at least went to the same school, anyway. It was around the time you almost died. It was a little bit after your dad died . . ."

I moved away from him, starting to tear up. I knew it wasn't his fault. There was no way I could blame him for it, but . . . The man that I loved, his father . . . killed mine? Adam didn't look at me. I looked over at Jigsaw.

"You knew all of this?" I asked. "You knew this whole time?"

"After I did some research, yes," Jigsaw answered simply. "As I told you back at the cemetery, it was an untimely death for your father. Neither of you deserved what happened. But it was how you reacted to that tragedy. Some cope, find ways to make themselves happy again. You, on the other hand, felt that death was the only way to get past such a loss. And why is that?"

It was my turn to look away. Rickers stared at me in shock.

"You . . . you did it on purpose?" he asked.

I never saw so much hurt in his eyes. Not since the day he told me my father was dead, or that day at the hospital when he thought I wouldn't wake up. I felt my tears come again. I never told him because I knew how much it would hurt him. I didn't even want to think about it, but now it was here, and I couldn't bare it. I looked away from him.

"I . . . I didn't know what to do," I answered softly, my voice shaking. "I felt so much pain. I just wanted it to go away. I missed my father so much. He was all I had in this world and he was taken from me. Everything I cared about has been taken from me . . . I just wanted all of it to stop."

I looked up at Jigsaw, who went back to studying the picture. I sniffed, but no more tears came. I stood up, not breaking my gaze on him. He glanced up, again as if he just noticed I was in the room.

"Tell me," I sighed, "tell me this isn't true. Tell me all of this is a lie."

Jigsaw shook his head. "I can't, dear, otherwise that would be a lie. I am John Kramer, your grandfather. Your grandmother died a little bit after your third birthday, completely heart-broken. Adam Faulkner's father killed your father, leaving you to Charles over there, and eventually that led to your suicide attempt. I tested your mother and she failed long ago. I started all of these tests to make those chosen see how valuable their lives are and how they wasted them. And you are one of my last test subjects. That, my dear, is the truth."

A/N: Hey, guys. Sorry, this chapter took a little bit longer than I expected. I was having an extensive with myself as to whether Jigsaw should have been married before.

At first I thought he shouldn't, but then I thought, where the hell would Maria's mother have come from? Jigsaw doesn't seem like much a of one-night stand kind of guy. Lol. I thought his character could be the kind of guy that has a broken heart, along with an illness eating away at his body. And I guess how the disappearance and irresponsible behavior of his daughter killed his wife helped him see how much some scoff at others throughout their lives. Seems to make sense.

Anywho, next comin' up . . . as soon as I finish my Humanities homework and then get ready for my philosophy test. But it'll be on here some time, I promise!