Timeline: Mostly during a flashback scene in Saw V and a little before

Rating: PG-13 for language

Chapter 4

Rehabilitation

"Once a subject has past one of my tests, they become instantly rehabilitated." –Jigsaw

"You didn't see the blood! You didn't see what he fucking did to her!" -Hoffman

"Hoffman, we got another body. You up for this?" Fisk asked.

"Yeah," Mark replied, after pretending to give it a little consideration. In reality, it was all he'd thought about since the night after Seth's execution. He got plastered afterwards and then fell asleep at the bar. After an annoyed bartender rudely woke him up, he somehow made it home and into his own bed. But since that night, he'd tried to stay completely sober, so he'd be more aware at work and thus less likely to slip up and say something suspicious about Seth. Now was the time to feign ignorance and put on an act he'd pray no one would see through.

A half-hour later, they arrieved at the crime scene. Fisk gave Mark standard information about the victim. Mark nodded thoughtfully as though he didn't already know all of this by heart. They walked around, at last coming to the body amidst all the carnage around them.

"He served five years. He just got out recently…" Fisk continued to say.

"I know him," Hoffman said. Fisk looked momentarily surprised, possibly shocked at Mark's cool demeanor.

"His name is Seth Baxter. My sister's ex-boyfriend."

Fisk's surprise intensified. The pitch of his voice rose a little higher as he asked, "This is the guy that murdered your sister?"

"He was supposed to serve 25 years. It got reduced to five on a technicality." He grew quiet as though that was all there was to say on the matter. He looked around and was thankful no one was looking at him suspiciously. Everyone was distracted with obtaining evidence and trying to solve the case, completely unaware that the person they were so desperately seeking for was right there among them.

Fisk looked at Seth, and then turned to Hoffman.

"Well then I'd say justice was served."

Mark made no expression at Fisk's statement, but inside he was smirking with self-righteousness.

As they left Seth's crime scene, Mark maintained a tranquil expression, yet inside he had an adrenaline rush from nerves. Everything had been planned perfectly. He knew the way these investigations worked, yet he felt trepidation consume him as he worried that something would draw the suspicion of one of the dozen crime scene investigators. He'd memorized their procedures by heart, but he knew they were meticulous when it came to inspecting crime scenes. Any detail, anything out of the ordinary could eventually lead to his ruin.

He carried this anxious emotion with him as he entered his apartment complex. On his way to his apartment, he heard a sound that caused him to go into defense mode. He drew his gun, allowing his automatic responses to take over. Maybe this time it would be advantageous to be cautious. Maybe this time it would be an actual threat.

Suddenly, a large German Sheppard leaped at him, restrained only by a leash held by a rather large black woman.

"Get down, Pee-Wee!" she yelled.

He sighed in relief. "Pee-Wee," he muttered, shaking his head at his own foolishness, "Shit."

He smirked a little, laughing at himself. It was only the mutt that had woke him up the night before once he'd finally managed to pass out, after drinking himself into a stupor and nearly breaking into his neighbor's place after he was convinced someone had changed the locks on his apartment. His muscles relaxed as he entered a more tranquil state of mind, sensing he was just overly paranoid again, a disorder many of the cops he'd counseled suffered from. He decided he'd drink the rest of the beer in his refrigerator and pass out rather than call Eric and see if he wanted to go out drinking again. Since Eric's grief with Internal Affairs had intensified lately rather than dissipated, he decided he really wasn't ready to deal with his temper today.

Mark didn't notice one of the guys leaving the elevator giving him a strange look, a warning glance, that there was something…not quite right with the man who remained in the elevator. Mark faintly sensed it as well, but he consciously decided that his emotions were just particularly out of whack because of what he'd been through lately.

"Going up?" Mark asked.

"Yes, thank you."

Mark pushed the button to his floor, and turned his back towards the man. He felt confident he'd make it to his apartment and was already imagining himself sitting in bed, drinking, and maybe he'd watch a few episodes of CSI and laugh about how terribly inaccurate and badly acted it was. Then imagine them trying to solve the Jigsaw case.

But as he happened to glance at the elevator buttons again, he noticed that only one was lit up. His own. The man in the elevator hadn't selected a floor. The man in the elevator had been waiting. Mark's suspicious were correct this time. He sensed there was something wrong, but he held himself together. All he needed to do to get control of the situation was to be calm and get a hold of his weapon. Just to grab the handle to the gun, and pull it out.

"What floor are you going to?" he asked as casually as he could, the only mind distraction he could think of as he focused his attention on obtaining his gun.

The mysterious man behind him was too quick though. One moment Mark was standing and in the next, he felt the coldness of the elevator wall against his face as he was shoved against it, as well as the sharp pain from the syringe jabbed into his neck, where the paralyzing drug took immediate effect on him before he even fully realized what was going on. He fought with all his instincts, but his body wasn't physically capable of fighting back once the drug was coursing through his veins.

"I think we're both going to the same place," the man said in a cold, calculating voice, one that would haunt him day and night in the months to come.

It was the last thing Mark heard before he collapsed onto the floor.

Angelina's soft whisper woke him. Her voice was sweet as always, but potent with warning and fear.

Mark…Mark…wake up.

His eyelids fluttered as he adjusted his eyes to the light. He felt a sharp pain in his neck from where the needle punctured him and turned his head in response. The first images that flashed before his eyes were quick snapshots of the day before. Seth's mutilated corpse, the crime scene, the apartment, the elevator…then emerging into total blackness. The first image of reality, of the present moment to come into his mind was the sight of the wrist restraints holding him prisoner. Confused and disoriented, he gently pulled at them, but ceased once he heard the faint sound emitted from the weapon strapped to him. He turned his head merely an inch and realized that he was staring into the barrel of a shotgun. Surprise became evident in all of his facial features, overcome only by the panic that consumed him, a feeling he couldn't even try to repress.

He looked up and saw the man who brought him there leaning against the table and sipping from a small cup. Somehow he appeared completely casual and yet terrifying at the same time. It was the unwavering stare he maintained, the direct eye contact that instigated those feeling in Mark. He felt like screaming and demanding answers, yet he was too petrified to move. And at the same time, he felt he must be dreaming or hallucinating. Maybe the fear of getting caught made him loose his mind. It's only when the man spoke that Mark realized the situation was reality.

"You know why you're here, don't you?

But Mark didn't know. If the throbbing pain in his neck and head had gone away, he might have been able to think clearly and give some kind of response, but at that moment, he was too unsure and too afraid to reply to his question. Mark looked at the man, silently pleading for mercy with his wide eyes and trembling bottom lip.

"They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but I find it rather…distasteful to be given credit for work that's not mine."

The man held up a newspaper in front of Mark. The bold headline caught his attention.

Jigsaw Killer Responsible for Pendulum Murder

For a moment the fear dissipated, and he thought like a cop again. He checked the date to see how long he'd been missing, to predict if his department was out looking for him yet. Unfortunately he hadn't been gone over 48 hours, since the article was only a day old. He scanned the article and wasn't surprised that he already knew who the author was. The only reporter who seemed to get information just as quickly as the police department. Pamela Jenkins.

He looked up at the man as trepidation began to creep into him again. He still wasn't sure what this meant, or who this man was. His mind was foggy with the aftereffects of the drug and the fear of the gun pointing in his face.

"…especially inferior work."

Who is this guy? Mark was trying to listen to him and assess the situation at the same time. And it was difficult just to ignore the pain searing through him, far worse than any handover he could remember.

"Like you, I know what it's like to loose family. I know what it's like not to be able to protect loved ones. It's a powerless feeling."

Marks wasn't fully comprehending what the man was saying. He tried pulling against the restraints again and quickly realized it was a bad idea.

"I wouldn't do that," the man said, verbalizing Mark's thoughts. Suddenly, the man pulled out a full-length mirror and set it in front of them. He glared at Mark and asked, "What do you see?"

What does this guy want?

"Vengeance can change a person. Make you into something you never thought you were capable of being. But unlike you, I've never killed anyone. I give people a chance."

"You call this a chance?" Mark said.

"We'll see. Our game has just begun."

"Our game?" Mark replied, getting angrier by the moment. It's just a bit of fun for him. The man is just toying with me. What right does he have to play with people's lives?

"You don't even know me," Mark replied.

The man seemed amused by Mark's comment. He seemed amused by Mark's every reaction, as though he knew everything that was going to happen in this interaction and was merely participating for the entertainment of seeing it all play out. He chuckled, his laugh raspy as though he wasn't accustomed to doing it. He smiled at Mark and replied, "Oh, I know you. I've followed you, as you pursued me."

Mark was instantly furious again. He wanted to tear through those flimsy restraints and choke the man with his bare hands. Someone really had been following him around this whole time, making him paranoid, making him feel as though Seth was stalking him, biding his time for revenge. If that damn shotgun wasn't trigged by the restraints on his wrists, Mark knew the conversation would have ended in bloodshed.

"I know about your sister. I know how you cared for her."

Mark thought of Angelina. Her hugging him and kissing him on the check after he got promoted to detective. She had been so proud. It had been one of the rare moments where Seth hadn't tagged along, where he'd had her all to himself. She had been so wonderful. She had been a bright light in contrast to all the darkness surrounding him.

"I know she was your only family."

Her corpse lying on the bed returned to Mark's mind. He fought against the officers pulling him back as he screamed at them. "Leave me alone! No!" He ran to her. That fatal wound in her throat, evidence of a moment of hostility on Seth's part, became clearer and clearer. Her hand, carelessly hanging over the edge of the bed, seemed to reach out for help. He took it and kissed it. If only he hadn't hesitated to get rid of Seth. If only he had forced her to come home…

"You sit in bars until closing. You drink so you can sleep. You stagger to your car, and then you do it all over again the next day."

The man's voice interrupted Mark's thoughts. Jovial memories contrasted by the horrific images of her death. It seemed they always came together in Mark's mind. He couldn't think of one happy memory without another agonizing one accompanying it, intensifying his pain even more.

He looked up at the man who was shaking his head in disapproval.

"Then I discovered what you do for recreation."

Mark looked away in guilt. He didn't understand. He didn't know everything. He didn't know about Marie, about the life Mark was saving by taking Seth's. He didn't know it wasn't all about the revenge. He didn't see what Mark had been through, couldn't possibly understand.

"You can dispense justice, and give people a chance to value their lives in the same moment."

He's an idealistic lunatic. So what does he want with me. What am I doing here?

"And by the way, the blade on your pendulum was inferior. If you want a true edge, you have to use tempered steel. Tempered steel is better for the long haul. Are you in this for the long haul Detective?"

"I've been a cop for 20 years. Is that long enough for you?" Mark said.

"Then you and I both know the statistics for repeat offenders. 67.5% of criminals in this city are back in prison within three years."

"What do you want from me?" Mark yelled. He felt blamed for this, perhaps not without cause. But the gun pointing in his face and the man's endless ranting and seeming omniscience was getting to him, making him loose his temper.

"You might look at what you did to Seth as a kind of public service."

"She was my only family," Mark explained. "He didn't deserve a chance. He was an animal!"

"Everybody deserves a chance!" the man yelled at Mark, pointing the blade at his face. It was the first moment the man's control wavered. The tension escalated with his every word.

"You didn't see the blood! You didn't see what he fucking did to her!" Mark yelled, gradually loosing the will to sit there and take the mental torture, the images of Angelina's corpse returning to him against his will. And he felt his hatred for Seth returning again, more potent with every thought of her.

"Killing is distasteful...to me," the man yelled. He paused, before stating in a much calmer tone, "There is a better, more efficient way."

He put the blade away, but Mark didn't even have time to sigh in relief before he sat down next to Mark and put his finger on the trigger.

This is it. This is how I'm going to die.

"What do you see?" he asked Mark.

"Look!" the man said, demanding Mark's attention. Instinctively, Mark's eyes darted to the mirror.

"What do you see?"

Angelina...he thought,remembering her smile. Yeah, that's the last thought I want to have. His lips still trembled in thought. He closed his eyes and imagined her, trying hard only to focus on the good things, on the happy moments that seemed so few, making them even more precious. Childhood memories were the easiest to remember with joy, that short period of time before Seth, before the car accident that took away their parents, before all the horror they had to endure.

There was a moment of hesitation in which Mark was unable to answer, because he knew that even the right answer was the wrong one.

"Tell me what you want!" Mark said. All the fear he tried to suppress in his voice was evident in his face.

"I want to know if you have what it takes to survive."

The man's finger grazed the trigger.

It's over. Mark realized. He's insane. Survive…a shotgun blast to the head? Impossible.

He was either going to die and see Angelina again, or at least he'd die and never have to think of the painful memories surrounding her death. He focused on the good thoughts while bracing himself for the impact of the shot that would end it all. The moment stretched on and on. He was sure every second would be his last. Until the sound of the trigger shattered his thoughts. He flinched, and the air in his chest that he'd been holding in as he anticipated the attack that never came got caught in his lungs. For a moment he was in denial of what had not happened. Once he finally realized that he was indeed alive, he panted, expelling all the air trapped inside him. He gasped like a drowning man as he remembered how to breathe.

"Fuck you," Mark said, once he could finally form words again. Tears emerged from his eyes. All the painful memories would come back to him again after all. Mark turned his head to face him. "Fuck you."

"You see it's a different method that I'm talking about. If a subject survives my method, he or she becomes instantly rehabilitated. Now do you want a chance? I'll give you a chance."

The man looked into the mirror, making eye contact with Mark as he did so.

"I am the man you call Jigsaw."

Mark's eyes widened.

Everything finally made sense.

"Now it's your duty to bring me in, but I know who you are. And I know what you've done."

"So this is blackmail?" Mark said, stating what he felt was the obvious, just for clarification.

"No, no, no, no….this is redemption."

Before Mark could even fathom the possibility of it, the man was already freeing him of the restraints that bound him to the chair.

"I'm just giving you an option, that's all. Now you can arrest me, but in doing so, your life ends as you know it. Or you can explore another method of rehabilitation that will permit you to sleep at night."

He shouldn't have let me go, Mark thought with increasing confidence. He's pretty intelligent, but he slipped up big time if he thought scaring the shit out of me and lecturing to me would make me suddenly work with a serial killer.

He looked around for a weapon to defend himself with. Mark picked up the tempered steel blade lying on the desk.

"Or I could kill you right now," Mark said, hinting at his intention. He was mentally preparing himself for the act, but inside he still felt pangs of guilt at what he did to Seth. He wondered what the effects of committing another murder would have on his soul.

"But you're not a true killer. That's your dilemma. And the information I have on you is exactly where it needs to be, and it will be released in the event of my…disappearance." He smiled. Mark cringed inside.

"They'll never believe your word over mine," he said, more for the benefit of trying to convince himself than to convince Jigsaw. Mark couldn't look at him. If he was going to go through with it, he wouldn't be able to watch this time.

"You're willing to take that risk? Risk ruining your own life in order to protect a corrupt legal system that puts murderers back on the streets?"

Mark hesitated. He thought of Seth's trial and the insignificant technicality that got him released, despite the fact he was a confessed murderer caught red handed, literally red handed, drenched in Angelina's blood. The system Mark fought for was corrupt. Immorality always won in the end. The innocent were not always protected or even avenged. All his efforts seemed lost in futility.

Mark hated to admit it, but Jigsaw had a point.

"How would your sister feel?"

As if it was even needed, that was the clincher to Jigsaw's argument, the moment that Mark's final decision was made. He paused and thought of what she would want. She wouldn't want him to become a killer. If he was completely honest with himself, she wouldn't have even wanted him to kill Seth, and she certainly wouldn't have wanted him to risk ruining his life, ruining all of the good he could still do, by committing another murder and getting convicted of Seth's.

"You're at a crossroads Detective. Make your choice."

He set the blade on the table. It clanked against the wood.

"So…how does this rehabilitation work?" Mark said.

Although his back was still turned, Mark could feel it in his bones, could feel it all over.

Jigsaw was grinning.

Author's Note: Thanks for being patient. Please comment and/or add story to your favorites. I'm almost done with the next chapter, in which Amanda will make a return to the story! :) And I'm sorry for any gramatical errors. I checked and double checked for mistakes, but I'm sure there are still a few.