AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here we are! Chapter Three! This fic would be a whole lot shorter if I allowed myself to segment it the way I want to, but I kind of want this to be a long one. I don't want any Eric Matthews' lovers coming in and bashing me, okay? I don't hate Eric...really. I just thought he was an idiotic jackass. XD ANYWAY. I hope that I've portrayed these characters well enough so as not to disappoint the fans. Please R&R, as always!!!

Again, Detective Tapp, Eric Matthews, Kerry, Michael, & Amanda belong to Lionsgate, Twisted Pictures, James Wan & Leigh Whannell.

THREE

Snap! The whine of the camera pierced the crime scene with a deafening sense of purpose. Several police officers milled around the area, discussing the whole situation, while others had jobs in particular to do. Two police officers were examining the television screen in which Jigsaw's tape was being played back, one woman was bent over the chair in which Amanda had been restrained, and others were checking the surrounding area for any clue of Jigsaw himself. It was common knowledge that he liked to watch his games first-hand, and they knew that there would be some kind of opening, or something that would show that he had been present or at least watching.

The photographer took another picture of Christopher's dead body. He had been dead for almost a week now, and the effects were starting to show. Longer fingernails, his hair growing slightly, and the internal gas making him appear slightly bloated although his stomach was cut open. Some bugs had gotten to him before the police did, that was certain, and the smell of the corpse combined with the old musty abandoned scent of the warehouse was making everyone a bit nauseous. Tapp's partner, Detective Sing, had already had to leave the premises to get some fresh air. The photographer was doing his best not to breathe it in, and just take pictures.

It had taken them a week to find the right place, and, ironically, it was the smell that confirmed it. They knew they must have the right place; after all, you didn't just find a chair, television, and some dead guy with his entrails hanging out with a jigsaw puzzle piece carved into his skin in every abandoned warehouse you came across, did you? Tapp had gotten a team together immediately, and he could feel his excitement building as his crew worked. "Hey, Tapp," one of the people by the television called out. "Come here."

Tapp left the photographer's side to approach the man who had called him over. "What is it?" He asked.

"Take a look at this." The man pointed to a small lens attached to the top of the television. "See that? It's a camera. A very tiny one, but a camera nonetheless. Apparently the layout of this room wasn't good enough for him to actually be present, but he was watching from another location. We'll try to find the manufacturer and all that good stuff for you."

"Good." Tapp nodded in approval. "If there's one thing we can count on, it's that the sick bastard is a voyeur."

The man gave him a bitter smile. "Yeah. Oh, Kerry and Eric are here," he motioned to the three individuals who had just crossed the police tape. "You better go bring them up to par on things."

Tapp groaned, shaking his head. He didn't mind having Kerry show up - she had been one of the first people he had called to help him out with this - but Eric Matthews? He wasn't too sure he wanted this guy in on a Jigsaw case. He strode towards the trio, holding his hand out politely for Kerry and Eric to shake. "Kerry...Eric," Tapp greeted them. "And who's this guy?" He gestured to the young man behind them. He had olive skin, dark eyes and hair, and kept looking at the cops uneasily.

"Mike, this is Detective Tapp, head of the Jigsaw case." Eric gave Mike a look that clearly said he had better shake hands with the detective, or else. Mike reached out and shook the older detective's hand. "Hi," Mike said. "You can call me Mike, if you want, short for Michael."

Tapp nodded, giving the kid's hand an extra tight squeeze so as to let him know he wasn't fucking around, he was serious. "All right...Mike." He released the young man's hand and turned to Kerry. "All right, let me give you the lowdown. A few days ago, a young woman showed up at the police station with her hands all bloody saying that she had beaten one of Jigsaw's games."

Kerry, a middle age woman and thus full of good, common sense and intuition, gave Tapp a skeptical look. "What? Is that even possible?"

"That's what I said at first, too, but...you should've seen this girl, Kerry. She looked practically crazy and really out of it. Definitely a survivor of some sort of trauma. So I believed her, and..." Tapp swept his arm to indicate the room. "Here we are."

"This is a fucking shithole," Mike muttered under his breath. "I still don't see why I had to tag along with you on this one, Eric."

"Shut the fuck up," Eric growled. "You came because you had nothing better to do, remember? Now stop complaining."

"If anyone sees me with any cops, I'm going to -"

"I said to stop complaining." Eric's voice was hushed and deadly. "If you've got a fucking problem, then leave."

Kerry and Tapp were continuing on with their discussion, oblivious to this exchange. "This guy, Christopher, had his stomach cut open with the knife right there." Tapp had led Kerry to the corpse where the photographer was still taking pictures. "He's been dead for nearly a week, and a puzzle piece has been carved into his chest there." He indicated the spot. Straightening, he then led her over to the television. "Just before you came in, the guys found a small camera lens on the top of the television. He wasn't actually in the room - you can see by the layout it would have been impossible to do so without getting caught - but he was watching from somewhere else. The 'where' is what gets me, though. Everything else makes sense. But...where could the fucker have been?"

"Who knows?" Kerry shrugged. "I'm going to talk to Eric for a second, he seems upset." She left Tapp's side, her wavy brown hair tossing slightly as she walked back over to her three companions. "Look, we have work to do here. If you two want to go and bitch it out, then do it someplace else, but not here. Understand?" She gave Eric a stern look.

"Right," Eric murmured, reaching out to rub her shoulder. "Gotta love these sort of cases, huh?"

"Yeah...definitely my favorite. Now come on. We can do other things later." Kerry gave Eric a significant look and led the two men back to Detective Tapp. "Let's see the tape."

The officer who had found the camera reached down and pressed the PLAY button on the VCR attached to it. The three cops watched in silence, while Mike shifted uneasily, looking around. What kind of sick fuck would do something like this? What had happened here? How did that guy get his stomach cut open? He wanted to get out of the room, far away from the whole creepy situation, the distorted voice from the television, the creepy puppet, but the cops most of all. If any of his more roughened acquaintances saw him with these cops, he'd be screwed. He'd get shot before getting even a block away from this place.

"...Look around, Amanda. Know that I'm not lying..." The voice continued ominously.

"Wait. Hold on one second," Eric said, and the officer paused the tape. "What's this woman's name again?"

Tapp frowned. "Amanda Young. Looks to be in her mid-twenties."

Eric frowned for a moment, as if he were in deep thought, his eyes widening suddenly in realization. "Shit," Eric murmured, running a hand though his hair. Mike seemed to come out of his reverie at the mention of the woman's name.

"Did you guys say Amanda Young?" Mike asked, surprised. "You've got to be shitting me. She survived one of these things?"

Kerry looked from one man to the other, confused. "What's so significant about this Amanda girl, besides the fact that she beat one of Jigsaw's games?"

"I know her. Knew her, actually," Mike supplied. "She's a heroin addict. I've been with her when she's gotten high at a couple of raves and stuff before. Pretty addicted."

Tapp seized the young man's arm without warning. "You know this girl?"

"Y-yeah..." Mike continued, startled. "Why?"

Tapp dragged the young man over to where Chris' corpse lay on the ground. Mike covered his nose with his free arm, disgusted at the smell. Maggots and other insects were sifting through the dead man's intestines, a dried pool of blood surrounded him. "If you know Amanda Young, then can you tell me who this guy is?" Tapp demanded.

"What the fuck? This is disgusting; let me go!" Mike tried to free himself of the cop's grip.

"Who is this man?" Tapp snapped, grabbing Mike's jaw and forced him to look at the corpse. "Tell me who he is."

Mike swallowed, his eyes lingering on Chris' pale face. He couldn't believe that he had just seen this man only a few days ago. "...His name is Christopher. Was, Christopher, I should say. Christopher Schmidt. He...he was a drug dealer. Mostly dealt out heroin. He was Amanda's drug dealer."

Tapp released Mike roughly, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen from his pocket and jotting all of this down. "Do you know any of his other friends or family? I need all of the information you can give me."

"I arrested her." Eric ventured over to the two men. "Don't take out your desperation on Mike," Eric said. "I arrested her for drug possession. She was really high at the time, so she resisted, obviously. I ended up breaking her jaw with a flashlight in order to subdue her. She got put in the hospital until her jaw healed, and then the nurses ended up getting all of the shit that was in her due to the drugs out. She had one hell of a time battling withdrawal when she got put in jail. That's all I know."

"I'm pulling up her file," Tapp said, closing the cap on his pen and putting the notepad back in his coat pocket. "I think you and Mike better leave, Eric. This isn't your investigation." Eric nodded, and put his hand on Mike's arm.

"Fucking cops," Mike muttered under his breath, turning from Tapp and storming towards the nearest exit, Eric Matthews close behind. Eric ducked under the police tape, ready to follow Mike out into the daylight and the bustling city. It would be a welcome change from this dismal environment.

"Hey Eric!" Tapp called out. Matthews paused in his tracks and turned.

"What?"

"...Next time you come to a crime scene...don't bring your informant." Tapp folded his arms and gave him a somber look. "I'm serious. This case isn't something to take lightly, all right? The last thing I want is to get even more people involved in this than I should. Got it?"

Eric nodded, turning away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. The whispered promise that Kerry gave him would get him through the rest of the work day. Detective Sing passed him in the hall and the two briefly exchanged glances. As soon as Eric was quite a ways down the hall and ready to turn the corner, Sing flipped him off, shaking his head and returning to the crime scene. He passed the police tape, and covered his mouth with one arm as he approached Tapp. God, he hated the smell of corpses. It made him sick.

"What the fuck was that asshole doing here?" Sing asked, his voice muffled.

"Oh, you mean Matthews?" Tapp wandered over to one of the walls, Sing following.

"Who else? The guy's a fucking jackass. What right does he have to be here anyway?" Sing coughed into his arm.

"Kerry brought him along," Tapp stated, as if that would explain everything, which it did.

"Ah. I see. I still don't understand what she sees in the guy," Sing muttered. "She could do so much better."

"What, like you?" Tapp gave his partner a wistful smile.

"Hell yeah! You know it, too. She'd be better off with me than that fucker."

"True. Come on; the coroner's here, I think, and we better finish up our work here." Tapp stopped Sing before he went to go and greet the coroner. "We're going to close this one, Sing. We're gonna show that fucker Jigsaw who's boss."

"What makes you so sure?" Sing gave him a weary look. Jigsaw scared the shit out of him. Yeah, he was a cop, and used to dealing with psychopaths, but this Jigsaw character was the most fucked up one he had had contact with so far.

"We've got our man, remember? We can get him to talk. On Wednesday, we'll fetch him from his sickeningly neat office and drag him out to the station to listen to the girl's testimony. He'll talk, and we'll have our man. All of this sick shit will stop for good. How does that sound?"

Sing grinned. "Sounds like one hell of a plan."

Amanda shifted in her seat uneasily. The office was small and crudely lit. A filing cabinet stood kitty-corner the desk, a type writer sitting upon it, untouched. A picture of her landlord's wife, children, and his oldest daughter's wedding hung on the wall behind him. She hated this office. It smelled of dirty socks, and it seemed to be a living example of an environment of someone who was living in a standstill for all of eternity. Their condition would never improve, and neither would their office. Their salary would always be something they wished was better, but would never be able to move forward, no matter how hard they try. Her landlord was certainly one of these individuals. It was obvious that he was discontent with his own life, despite the family life he had, and took out his anger on his tenants. For the past few days, her landlord had been taking his anger out on Amanda more than usual, mainly due to the fact that her rent was late.

"I've talked to you how many times?" He began to rant, glaring at her from behind his desk. "Your rent is overdue by nearly two weeks, Amanda. You can't avoid paying anymore. You need to pay it upfront by next week, or I'm calling the cops. Do you understand?"

Amanda drew herself up, taking a deep breath. "I've already told you, Mr. Duff, I don't have the money to pay you. I barely have enough to feed myself, for Christ's sake. For the billionth time, I was indisposed the other day, and I have been looking for another job-"

"I don't give a damn about why you were 'indisposed' or any of that other shit," Mr. Duff snapped. "Rules are rules, Amanda. I can't put this off anymore."

"...I'll do my best," she retorted. "I can't guarantee anything. It's kind of hard when you can't get a fucking job."

Mr. Duff ran a hand through his red hair. "Amanda, I know you have had problems with drugs in the past, and you've been in jail and all, but..." He straightened, rising from his seat to stand behind her. "You know, there are other ways that payment can be made..." He laid his hands on her shoulders, sliding them up her neck to draw close to her lips.

Amanda knew exactly what he was talking about. It was common knowledge that Mr. Duff treated his wife like shit. She had heard them arguing in the hallway before, had heard his wife crying in the hallways. She had heard him threaten to beat his wife, and badmouth her whether she was in the room or not. It disgusted her. As his fingers neared her lips, she suddenly found herself not in her landlord's office, but the chair from before, her wrists tied to the arms of said chair. Chris was unconscious in the corner, and that voice...that voice.

"Hello, Amanda. You do not know me, but I know you. I want to play a game..."

A game of survival. A game that she, and she alone, had beaten.

"The device you are wearing is hooked into your upper and lower jaw. When the timer in the back goes off, your jaw will be permanently ripped open."

Mr. Duff was touching her jaw, carressing it as if it were his most prized possession. She was not incredibly young, but not old either. She was a decent age, she was attractive in her own right. It would only make sense if she accepted his offer. Wouldn't it?

"Think of it like a...reverse bear trap. Here, I'll show you."

And he had. Jigsaw had shown her what would happen. He had shown her what direction her current life was taking her, what the only other outcome could be. Did she want that? No. She had proved that she didn't want to die, that she refused to fall into the same pit of miserable despair others had. She had been strong.

"There is only one key to open the device. It is in the stomach of your dead cellmate."

Christopher was dead. She had killed him with her own hands. He had been defenseless, just as she would have felt had her landlord asked her this same question only a week ago.

"Look around, Amanda. Know that I'm not lying. Better hurry up. Live or die: make your choice."

Jigsaw had not lied. He had been telling the truth. He had been truthful...he had not lied to her. And she had made her choice. She had chosen life, and was triumphant. She had come out of her test alive. Amanda was alive.

"Congratulations. You are still alive. Most people are so ungrateful to be alive. But not you. Not anymore."


She was grateful. So grateful to be alive...she could be a dead corpse in that room now, but no, she was here. She had been given a second chance, and how many people could say that they had been able to be given a second chance in anything at all? She wasn't going to screw this up. She wasn't going to throw her life away again.

"Well, Amanda? What do you say?" Mr. Duff murmured, his voice hushed, waiting expectantly. This young woman was desperate, and he was certain she would accept.

"Most people are so ungrateful to be alive..." She whispered, slowly coming back to herself.

"Hmm? What was that?"

Amanda took a deep breath. "...I said," she began, her voice louder this time, "fuck off. Fuck you and fuck your offer. I'm not going to get caught up in some shit with a bastard like you." She rose from her seat, and passed Mr. Duff, leaving his office and slamming the door shut behind her without looking back. His yells and threats drowned in the empty air, and she smiled to herself as she climbed the steps to her apartment. This was the first step to turning her life around. She wasn't going to take shit from a lowlife like that bastard. No, she deserved better. She was going to start over, start anew.