Rebirth – Chapter 9: Not A Moment's Peace
-Notes-
Kaliska Vanka: Oh, I love keeping you all in suspense. AHA! Ha ha! --brick--Thanks for sticking!
AngelGardian666: Old people?! RUN! XD Glad you're still enjoying!
Merry-2004: Yeah, his death also fits in sort of a little later with the story. I plan, anyway. This is starting to get pretty involved! Xx'
Agent182: Aw, you aren't slackin'! Lol, you guys are so impatient. I love it. But then, so am I.
Oh trust me, my pretties, things will heat up. :D
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"Dr. Gordon, you old son of a gun." Said a large man as he entered the room. Behind him was what Lawrence assumed to be his partner. "And here I thought I'd never see you again."
Lawrence looked at the man before him in confusion, hands situated in his lap while in a semi-upright position. Police officers? Someone could have at least warned him he would be up for questioning. But…he probably should've expected as much. "I'm…sorry…but…have we met?" he recoiled slightly in the instance that this was someone he should know very well. Something about that gruff voice was a little recognizable, but he wasn't sure what to make of that.
The large man froze for a moment in his sitting before quickly shaking his head, seating himself in the chair next to Lawrence's bed while his young partner stood at his side. "Guess you don't remember me, it's no problem. It was five years ago, anyway."
"Alright…" Lawrence continued to stare at him blankly.
"The name's Derek Palmer. Detective Palmer, actually—under the current circumstances." He reached out and shook Lawrence's somewhat limp hand with a hard grip. "Maybe you remember my son? He was sixteen at the time. They said that the tumor he had in his chest was inopperable, but damned if you didn't prove 'em all wrong."
"Oh, I…" Lawrence blinked once, his head too fuzzy to try and recall such an incident. "Happy that I could…help…" he cleared his throat. "And how is he?"
"Great." Palmer said cheerily. "Like it was never even there."
"Good." Lawrence nodded, still a litte confused.
"Anyway, uh, we should get down to business here. Sorry, I mean I just, you know, had to say something. I owe you my kid's life." He withdrew a pen, glancing over a shoulder. "This is Detective Alex Franklin. We just wanna ask you a few questions about what happened, if you're up to it."
"Uhr, y…okay." He agreed. "Yes, anything you'd like." He pondered this situation and paused. "Did you talk to Adam?"
"Yeah, but let's talk about you, okay?" Palmer clicked his pen once, already jotting a line down on his pad.
"Well I just wanted…he seemed alright to you?" Lawrence studied their faces.
Palmer nodded. "Yeah, doctor said he was fine, anyway. He a friend of yours or something?"
"I guess you could say that." He nodded back. "Is there any way I could see him?"
"Well let's get a few questions out of the way first. Then we'll make sure to drop a word by the doc about it. Sound fair?"
"Sure. Alright." Lawrence rubbed the back of his neck, trying to focus on Palmer's questions.
"Okay." The detective looked up at him from his last written statement. "So let's start with the first thing you remember. Do you know how you got into that room?"
"Sort of." Lawrence dismally lowered his head as he remembered. "I was…getting into my car when someone attacked me."
"And could you describe your attacker?"
He thought about it for a moment, trying to somehow pull up a coherent description of what he'd seen out of the mess swimming around in his head. He wasn't prepared for all this again. "I don't know. It was wearing some kind of mask. A costume. Like…like a jackal, I guess."
"Did this guy get out of a car?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. Well maybe, I mean he must have. Or…I-I didn't see him get out of a car. I just turned around and he was on me. The next thing I knew, I was in a room, it was black, and there was a chain on my leg."
"Well then let's talk about that." The old detective straightened up, fixing his collar. Lawrence arbitrarily noted an annoying habit Palmer seemed to have in drawing out the length of the first word of every staring sentence.
"Alright…uh…let's see, I was lying on a tile floor. I woke up and it was black…and once I gained a sense of what kind of situation I was in…I was looking for a light or something. That's when I heard the screaming."
"That was Adam?" Palmer pressed.
Lawrence nodded sharply.
"What did you do?"
"I told him to calm down…And I found the light switch."
"And what did you see?"
"…A man. In the middle of the floor. He'd…shot himself in the head, there was blood pooling all around him. He had a tape recorder in his hand." He relayed, fidgeting a thumb and forefinger as if he himself held the said device.
"Uh huh. Right, and did you recognize the guy?"
Lawrence shook his head.
"Mh hm…Well Dr. Gordon, I hate to be the one to tell you that the man on that floor was the murderer we've been callin' 'Jigsaw'." Palmer revealed, and Lawrence's expression became alert instantly.
…No, that was wrong. The murderer was Zep. Or at least…the murderer's hired goon was Zep. But…well wait a moment, he…"W-what?" he tried to process this, but he couldn't seem to grasp at it. "What do you…mean?" But nothing more was said by his two inquirers. Both detectives remained silent as they observed his reaction to the news, Palmer with his pen ready to write down any notes. Lawrence's head was spinning all over again. "That's impossible…You mean to tell me that he locked us in a room and shot himself? That it was him lying there?" he shook his head. "Why?"
"It was staged. He wasn't dead." Palmer countered. "He was under the influence of an extreme opium dosage. It prohibited his movement enough to give him the appearance of being dead. Fuck knows why."
That son of a bitch. Said a voice in the back of Lawrence's brain, but most of him was still trying to understand what was being said. The man in the middle of the floor had been their kidnapper all along. At a damn arm's reach and yet completely above their heads. Why hadn't he taken the time to consider who that man had been? Why hadn't he…noticed something? He was a doctor, he was supposed to know the difference between death and some drugged-up imitation. This had to be a joke. It had to be.
"Dr. Gordon…?" the room was silent, and the small creak emmitted from the chair as Palmer bent over slightly was very audible.
"I left…" Lawerence knitted his brow and looked down at his hands.
"What's that?" Palmer glanced over at Franklin and back to the doctor-turned-patient.
"I left…Adam." He rubbed his arm as a shudder passed through him. "With h-him…in that room."
Silence from the other end.
It all came back to him, even through the blurry haze of his tired mind. Adam begging him not to leave, not to leave him alone. Because he was scared, and hurt, and worried. But he had to go. They both knew he had to go. But…but if he'd known…What did he allow to happen? "Wait a minute…wait, so what…how did you find him? How… What happened? He got away? Did he hurt Adam, is that why they won't let me see him, w-what did he—!"
"Calm down there, doctor, easy." Palmer said instantly. "We told you; the kid's fine. We found him locked up in that room, bangin' on the door. He was hysterical, so we had to tranq him one, but trust me—" he gave Lawrence a stern look. "He's fine."
Lawrence took a breath, trying to calm his nerves. Stop panicking. He told himself. He didn't know what was wrong. He never used to panic. He was never that emotional, anymore at least. This whole experience had turned him into a blubbering child.—And Allison's right, by the way. The voice returned again. Stop pitying yourself you pathetic bastard. "…Then…what about Jigsaw? …What happened to him…?"
