Rating: Pg-13 for mild violence and language

Timeline: A couple days after the last chapter

Chapter 5

Jigsaw Accomplice

"Tonight you will see the difference between killing and rehabilitation." - Jigsaw

Mark frowned as he opened the refrigerator. As a rule, he never threw alcohol out unless it spoiled. Well, if it ever spoiled. He'd never had to check for an expiration date because it never lasted very long in his house. But here he was, trash bag at his side, as he threw out bottle after bottle. Fortunately Jigsaw had trusted him to eradicate all the alcohol in his home without supervision, but Mark still wasn't taking any chances. He threw away bottle after bottle because once Jigsaw called Mark an alcoholic and said that he'd better solve that problem before it became an issue, Mark obeyed.

As he slammed the door, Angelina's photo fluttered down onto the floor. He picked it up and smiled. Well, at least he knew she'd be proud of him for giving up drinking. She'd begged him to go to AA meetings, as if what Seth did wasn't far worse than drinking, but she'd always had higher expectations for Mark. She idolized him, perhaps undeservingly or perhaps with reason. His sense of morality hadn't gone downhill until after she was gone.

Mark put her picture back on the refrigerator. It would be the motivation he needed to never put another beer in there or in his body ever again.

"Tell me more about this rehabilitation," Mark said.

"I'll do something better than that," Jigsaw said with a smile. "I can show you. But first we have a task to do."

Jigsaw showed him a picture of a rather large man smiling with two adorable children. They were at a park, and he was lifting the boy and putting him on top of a slide while the girl looked up with a big smile with one of her teeth missing.

"Okay," Mark said. "What are we going to do to him?"

Jigsaw shook his head as if Mark's question had disappointed him.

"Only what he has already been doing to himself."

The next picture was far more disturbing than the previous. That same man had cuts all over his arms and wrists.

"What did you do to him?" Mark exclaimed, looking up at Jigsaw, who remained expressionless.

"He did that to himself, and he continues to. Tonight, we are going to help him. We are going to show him the error of his ways. Are you ready for this, Mark?"

"Yeah," Mark said. "Like I have a choice."

Jigsaw grabbed Mark's arm. He was surprisingly strong for an elderly man.

"You have a choice," he said. His grip remained firm. Mark yanked his arm away.

"Okay," Mark said. Jigsaw sighed.

"Mark, the man has a family. He has a purpose, yet he is completely oblivious to his fortune. We are going to show him what he has failed to appreciate. If he survives, he'll be thankful. It will be the best thing to ever happen to him."

"Let's just agree to disagree," Mark said. "Just because I'm being forced to help you doesn't mean I have to agree with you, does it?"

"We'll see. You may feel differently after tonight."

Jigsaw handed Hoffman a robe similar to the one he currently wore. Hoffman grabbed it and put it on over his clothes. He turned around and saw Jigsaw holding what looked like a huge chuck of flesh with hair. Upon further inspection, it resembled a pig head. He shirked away from it as though it carried the swine flu.

"What the hell is that?"

Jigsaw let out another chuckle, a little less creepy than the last laugh Mark had heard emitted from him. It almost sounded human.

"A disguise. I don't suspect you'd like to kidnap him without one, especially if he survives and could identify you."

Mark hesitated and then took it from him. "Let's go."

The car ride only lasted five minutes. Mark wished it had been longer. He'd said he was ready, but inside he felt his insides turning. He felt nauseous, but throwing up would be a terrible idea. The guys working in trace evidence would love that. He closed his eyes and remembered the scars and fresh cuts on his arms. Maybe this guy could learn a thing or two.

"Now. There he is."

Mark looked straight ahead. Sure enough, the man was sitting in his car, having an emotional breakdown, both hands gripping the steering wheel.

Mark flinched as Jigsaw opened the door.

"Are you sure we can take him down? He's huge."

Jigsaw removed a syringe from his pocket and dangled it in front of him, causing Mark to cringe as he remembered the elevator. Jigsaw gave Mark a small chain.

"I trust you know what to do with this," he said, before sneaking out of the car.

Mark exited the car, crouching low and mimicking Jigsaw's movements, trying not to stray too far from him. He felt like a rookie cop again, about to bust a couple drug dealers and make an arrest. His heart pounded like he was new to the police force. After 20 years of being an officer, he never suspected he'd feel that way again, and he wished he never would. Before Mark could fully comprehend what was happening, Jigsaw attacked the man, but like Mark suspected, he easily threw him off. Mark came up behind him and tried to strangle him with the chain, but the man shoved Mark up against the brick wall several times, knocking the wind out of him, before he threw him on the ground.

"I'll fucking kill you!" the man screamed, before Jigsaw stabbed him in the neck with the syringe. He collapsed, helplessly trying to clutch something to stay upright.

They removed their masks after the task ended. Mark didn't realize he was crying until he felt the cold air on his face, turning his warm tears cold. He exchanged glances with Jigsaw. There was no going back now.

"I didn't expect to feel any remorse," he explained later as they sat waiting for Paul to wake up and begin his test.

"The heart cannot be involved. Emotionally there can be nothing there. It can never be personal."

"Let's go," Mark said, wanting to leave the warehouse and forget the events that had occurred earlier.

"No! Not yet. Tonight you will see the difference between killing and rehabilitation."

He led Hoffman over to a spot where he could observe the victim during the test. Hoffman cringed. He appreciated the irony of Jigsaw's trap, and understood the purpose of what he was tying to do, but the cruelty of it bothered him.

"There is another detective you should be aware of. His name is Tapp. He's smart and he's getting closer," Mark said. He didn't care about Jigsaw getting caught, but he was concerned about himself. Jigsaw could help him, since he was the reason he got into this mess in the first place.

"I know who he is. I need you to lead him to someone for me. A doctor. A healer in need of some healing."

Jigsaw placed a penlight on top of a table and turned to leave.

"Wait," Mark said.

"Yes?"

"The man we kidnapped tonight…what's his name?"

"It's of no importance."

"It is to me. I'm going to know eventually anyway. When they find his body. When I or someone in my department has to tell his family."

Jigsaw shook his head. He turned away, and Mark though that was it. Then he said, "Paul. His name is Paul. Now stop asking questions, and do what I ask."

Mark turned his head. He watched for almost three mind numbing hours. He watched a nearly naked man crawl through a maze of razor wire and scream in agony. The blades scraped his flesh. Constant animalistic cries reverberated in the room. Soon his entire body matched the wounds on his wrists. Mark watched, afraid to look away while Jigsaw was in the room. He closed his eyes when it became too much to bare, but by the end of the first hour, watching became easier.

Mark knew what Jigsaw was trying to do. He was trying to desensitize him to the victim's agony.

Mark only hoped it wasn't working.

A little after the second hour, the man stopped moving. For the first time, Mark looked away. He resisted the tears he wanted to shed. He looked over at Jigsaw.

"He's dead," Mark said.

Jigsaw nodded. His emotionless face made Mark wanted to slam him against the wall and demand that he feel something, anything. A man's life was over. Children were fatherless and a wife had lost her husband, and Mark had helped.

"Plant the evidence and go home," Jigsaw said. "And remember that I hold your life in my hands."

It had been harder to resist drinking after the incident with Paul. Everyday he went to work thinking that would be the day his body would be found. A few days later, Mark received another hang up call at work. It was time for another game.

"What is it?" Mark asked. Jigsaw's back was turned. He spun around in his chair. In his hands sat the most hideous wooden doll Mark had ever seen, with freakishly demented eyes and targets painted on his cheeks. Mark had made a replica of it for Seth's trap. It wasn't something he wanted to see again.

Then the doll unexpectedly laughed, if the terrible crackle coming from its mouth could rightfully be called that. Mark jumped back in response.

Jigsaw barely smiled at Mark being startled, but it was a genuine one. Jigsaw had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and his illness. He seemed to age years since the last time Hoffman saw him mere days ago.

"The trap is set. All we need to do is get our next subject."

"More like our next victim," Mark said. Jigsaw didn't reply. He looked too tired to put up any kind of argument. He knew he had Mark's obedience because of the blackmail, and that was good enough for the time being.

"Here," Jigsaw said. He extended his hand, giving Mark a syringe. He nearly dropped it before Mark was able to take it from him.

"What's wrong?" Mark said. His voice lacked true concern, but was filled with curiosity.

"My body is not well."

"Then maybe we should do this another night."

"No! No, everything is set. We cannot wait, and my body isn't going to be getting much better. There is no need to postpone our test. Come on."

As they travelled to their destination, Mark driving and Jigsaw giving directions, Mark remained silent. He didn't want to ask questions. He didn't want to know anything about this victim. He didn't want to think of the victim's family suffering, or the mistake they made that supposedly was a good enough reason to be tested. He wanted this person to be a complete stranger to him. A Jane or John Doe. Maybe that would make it easier.

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

Amanda yanked on her leather jacket and stumbled towards the door. The potent drugs were still in her system; The effects still felt strong.

"Amanda?"

She jerked away from the friendly hand on her shoulder. One of the security guards looked at her full of concern.

"You okay?" he said.

"Yeah," she said, clearly uncomfortable being in his presence. She'd seen him around a few times, but never bothered to talk with him before. Something was off about him. Although he did seem nice. The shy and harmless type. But quiet.

"I'm fine…" she said, squinting to read his nametag. "Noah."

She smiled at him, and he reciprocated with a bashful grin.

"Be careful. There are a lot of weirdoes that hang around this place at night."

"Yeah," Amanda said. Noah obviously didn't pick up on her sarcasm, for he flashed her another smile before she walked off.

Once she got to her car, however, she almost regretted not accepting his advice.

"Detective Hoffman? What are you doing here?" He didn't answer her.

"You know, if you keep spending all your free time in places like this, people are going to start thinking you're a crooked cop." The irony of it brought a smile to his lips. In full light, the smile would have looked subtle, radiating amusement, but half hidden in the dark, and perceived by a startled woman all alone, it looked intimidating.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, lowering his voice to a deep whisper and looking her in the eyes. His intense gaze paralyzed her, ripped her of all conscious thought except the realization she wanted to get physically closer to him, to have that skin on skin contact once more like that moment in the private suite that seemed so long ago.

She stumbled towards Mark, her attention completely devoted to him in that moment, hypnotized by his allure. She didn't know the answer. Her body reacted based on instinct alone, unaware it was seeking self-destruction like a moth enamored with a flame.

She didn't feel the needle penetrate her flesh until he had injected all of the drug into her system in a matter of seconds. She collapsed in his arms, and he held her up easily with his strong upper body. She struggled against him for a few seconds, her arms flailing wildly, her mouth gaping open in an almost silent scream, but her efforts were futile; He just tightened his hold on her.

"Trust me," he murmured in her ear. She lost consciousness and went limp in his arms.