Chapter Rating: PG-13 for violence and language

Timeline: Majority of this chapter is before the Saw movies begin

Chapter 2

Vengence Can Change a Person

Mark's fingers twitched when he heard the knocking. He fought the insane impulse to seize his gun and instead stared at the door, anticipating the worst.

He wouldn't knock. You're being stupid now; if he came, he wouldn't knock.

"Mark, open the damn door," Eric said.

He sighed and got up from his desk to let Eric in.

"What the hell is your problem?" he said, putting his coffee on Mark's desk as casually as if it were his own. He sat in his usual chair, the one adjacent to the bookcase that gave him a perfect view of Angelina's pictures and of the peg board where Hoffman used to keep articles of his department's major accomplishments. It had been moral support for Mark, a way to help him cope when everything felt monotonous, all their efforts futile. Now articles about corruption covered his pegboard, mostly written by Pamela Jenkins. The article about Seth Baxter's release was in the center.

"Fuck, Mark. Are you trying to make yourself suicidal?"

"It's the only time we're mentioned in the papers anymore; I guess the era of being heroes is over."

"So what are we then? We sure as hell aren't the bad guys. They're out there," Eric said as he gestured to the door that lead to outside the building. "We put our lives on the line everyday; we keep order when there isn't any. There are lines, and maybe we crossed them. But we did the right thing. What we are doing is the right thing."

"Is it? You honestly believe that?"

"Yeah, I do," Eric said, reclining back comfortably in his chair as he said this. He looked up at Angelina's picture and then back at Mark.

"You thought anymore about what you are going to do?"

"No," Mark lied, looking directly at Eric. "I told you, there is nothing we can do."

"There is something. There's always something."

"Eric, as it is, you could face criminal charges or loose your job. No more. It's become an obsession with you."

Eric stared at Mark.

"One more time. It would be worth it," he said, staring at him with the eyes of an addict looking for one last fix, but Hoffman knew, and Eric knew deep down, that one last fix for an addict was the beginning of a new downward spiral. If he didn't quit now, he never would.

"No," Mark said, "You know you're sounding like a junkie right now."

"Screw you," Eric said, flying up from his seat. "I'm just trying to do you a fucking favor."

"I don't need anymore of your favors. Yeah, that's right, just storm out like an immature child," he said. The vibrations of the door slamming made his bookcase tremble, and quickly Mark had to catch one of the pictures before it fell. Eric's yelling could have still been heard if Mark hadn't mentally drifted away as he held the frame in his hand, staring directly into her dark eyes and smiling face.

I love you, Mark. You and me forever, he could hear her say in his memory. Then he heard his own voice speaking back to her.

But why do you always leave me to hang out with your friends? And that trashy guy you hang around that you call your boyfriend…you know he only wants one thing.

So that's what this is really about. You don't know him Mark. He's different. He loves me.

They always say they love you, Angelina.

But he means it!

No, I mean it. I love you, Angelina. I am the only one who really loves you.

Mark, I need a different kind of love. A kind you can't give me. More than just brotherly love.

Just promise me you won't ever leave me.

I promise, she had said.

She had lied, hadn't she? She hadn't meant to; there was no way she could have foreseen what was to come, but she did leave him, and now there was no one to turn to.

Nothing to hold on to.

As the tears began to emerge, a deep male voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What's going on with you and Eric? Lovers quarrel?"

Mark quickly swiped the tears away, thankful he had his back turned to Rigg when he entered. He placed the picture of Angelina back on the bookcase and tried to hide his face.

"What have I told you about knocking?" he said, like a father scolding his son. Rigg despised being talked down to. He thought Mark's reaction strange; Mark had always treated him with respect, as an equal despite the fact Mark was his superior. When Rigg saw Mark putting the picture back on the shelf, realization struck him. His expression turned from annoyance to sympathy, but he ignored Mark's tears to let him salvage some of his pride.

"Eric needs to learn to control his temper," Rigg said, feeling that Mark needed to hear this information more than Rigg needed to spare his feelings. "Kerry tried to calm him down, and he flung her off of him. He touches her again and I'll kill him."

Mark nodded his head. "I'll talk to him. It's partly my fault; we started talking about something, and I suppose I could have handled it better."

"I know you and Eric are friends, but you can't constantly keep defending him."

"Stay out of it. Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"I'm on no one's side," he said, but then added, "I hope Eric doesn't get kicked out. But a little reprimand wouldn't hurt him. He's out of control."

"And I'm sure you can relate to that feeling," Hoffman said, insinuation embedded in his voice. Rigg looked at Mark, his eyes quivering slightly as his mind flashed back to the moment where he attacked the man who beat his own daughter. The marks on that girl's arms were still seared into his memory.

Rex, he recalled only too quickly, the incident as fresh in his mind as if it had just occurred. He'd had no control in that moment. If Mark hadn't pulled him off, he'd be in even worse trouble than Eric.

Mark stared at Rigg, silently asking him, Do you really want to go there?

"I'm fully aware of how to handle Eric. Let me do my job. I do my best to keep everyone in line."

After a brief pause, Mark stared him in the eyes and said, "I can handle it."

Rigg quickly nodded his head and turned for the door. Suddenly he stopped and looked at Mark.

"I sure hope you're right about that," he said. He left. Before Mark could even turn around, the phone was ringing. He lifted the receiver to his ear and properly greeted the caller, even though he wasn't technically on duty. Silence answered him.

That's him, Mark thought. He flinched, and then, ashamed of his automatic response, he hung up the phone. Maybe he'd make a little stop on the way home.

Seth's apartment looked grungier than he remembered. He thought it would be harder to track him down, but with the vast amount of resources the department offered it had taken him literally a day to find him. Mark had hoped he would be strong enough to resist stalking him, but inside he kept hearing Eric's voice.

There are lines, and maybe we crossed them. But we did the right thing. What we are doing is the right thing.

"Room 420, the last room down the hall," the man at the front desk told Mark when he flashed his badge. He walked down the corridor and approached the door, contemplating his next action, when he heard shouting. His instincts told him to kick the door down to help the screaming woman, but the logical side protested that his presence here would not look good if some domestic disturbance were to occur. He would surely be accused of harassment or worse.

His impulse to help her overcame any reasonable apprehension he possessed. He knocked three times, his knuckles beating against the door twice each time.

"Open the door, or I'm kicking it down."

The door swung open, and a timid girl with bleeding mascara and an outfit that looked like it had been torn to shreds by a rabid dog answered. Her face was flushed with red in a way that can only by caused by intense crying. Although her appearance pleaded for help, her calm voice contrasted sharply with that message.

"What do you want?"

It was the voice of someone who mastered the act of suppressing emotional turmoil.

"Marie!" a voice from inside the apartment called, "Who is it?"

She cringed slightly at the sound of his voice.

"What do you want?" she said with more agitation.

"I heard screaming. Do you need help?" Mark asked, his voice full of sympathy.

She shook her head and attempted to shut the door, but his hand grasped the door, preventing her from shutting him out. Her eyes, made all the more conspicuous by the surrounding dark smudges of ruined make up, begged him to leave. He'd seen this face before. Despite what she said, past experience would not let him walk away to permit what was inevitably going to happen occur again.

"You ever need help, call this number," he said, giving her his personal number. She took it and folded it in half, her fidgety hands toying with the card as a distraction. She looked up at him helplessly, with new tears beginning to form.

"Please, please leave," she whispered.

So naive… he thought sadly.

"Marie!" he heard Seth's voice clear now. Mark clinched his fists, and because of years of practice, he was able to restrain his anger. With an expressionless face, he nodded his head and turned away.

He later convinced himself she was the reason for every action he took thereafter. All of it stemmed from that encounter, every meticulous detail and intricate plan associated with the execution of a man who escaped his condemnation. All of it was the result of her tear stained eyes, pleading for help without her even being aware of her desperate need for safety.