Timeline: Two Weeks later

Rating: PG

Chapter 19

Confession

"It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution." – Oscar Wilde

Within two weeks, Amanda's body had forgotten the majority of her wounds. They were mostly just a memory now- a memory that Mark continued to resurrect every time he saw her, either with his seething remarks directed at John or by the mere sight of the medical kit that Amanda had come to associate with Mark as much as his gun and badge.

"Really, I think I can bandage myself now," Amanda said, blushing as Mark opened the kit, a subtle but strong reminder of what had occurred only two weeks ago. She wondered if he was secretly wishing for a replay of that kiss as much as she was. Neither of them had mentioned it since Amanda's outburst.

We'll talk about this later, he said. Clearly he didn't have a timeframe in mind, Amanda thought, the truth was that, like her, he didn't know how to bring the subject up. Silence was just easier, so they settled for it.

"There's no point in straining yourself," Mark told her, continuing to proceed with the task as usual.

"I really don't think I even need bandages anymore..."

"I beg to differ, and until you've spent years working alongside paramedics and gathering experience and knowledge from them…" he sighed, lifting up her shirt a few inches to reveal one of the most stubborn injuries that remained, a surge of anger coursing though him. "…Just let me do my job, Amanda. Okay?"

"Fine," she said, wondering when he had decided taking care of her had become part of his job description.

"It's a miracle you didn't have to be hospitalized," he said. She nodded her head in agreement, not really sure how to respond otherwise. "But then again, maybe you would have finally seen the light and gotten the hell out of here if…" Mark said, his words trailing off as his thoughts did.

"That wouldn't have happened," Amanda said with a stubborn scowl. "I'm not leaving."

Mark didn't have a reply. The silence that followed became too intense between them, particularly when he pressed against the gauze tape in order to secure it, stroking her skin in the process. It reminded Amanda of how his fingers had traced the outline of her bandage when he kissed her. She shivered.

"So how's the case going?" she asked, mainly to distract herself from his busy fingers.

"Terrific," he mocked, "I think I have a lead. Sometimes I get the feeling the answer is right in front of me…" He locked eyes with her and smirked.

"Shut up. You know what I meant," she snapped, but the sting of her tone was suppressed with a smile she couldn't contain.

"The investigation isn't going anywhere…and why should it? I'm leading everyone in circles," he said with a smile, although his voice didn't match his expression. His tone had become saturated in animosity. He hated being an obstacle in his own department, hindering his own investigation. It was a necessary evil.

"Do you ever feel guilty? Showing up at work and lying to everyone every day? Lying about who you really are?" she asked. She didn't have time to wonder if she'd gone too far until the words had already left her mouth, wanting already to retract them.

"I'm not lying to the world about who I really am," he said coolly, but his fingers inadvertently compressed a little too hard on her back, disagreeing completely with his words.

"Oh really, Jigsaw accomplice?" she said, peering into his eyes in an effort to discern the truth. They were the windows to the soul after all…

"Well…I don't exactly have much say in the matter, do I?" Mark snapped.

"Because John's blackmailing you," Amanda said, her tone softening, unable to stem feelings of pity towards him.

"Well…yes. Although I'll admit, I bought John's act at first. Bringing justice to people who deserved it. It sounded right somehow. Then we started testing people like you, people like Laura…"

Amanda cringed, remembering the dying girl writhing and seizing, before going limp in her arms.

"…Then people like Daniel started getting in danger, people who shouldn't be anywhere near these games. Everything became a mess. The line between who deserves to be tested and who doesn't hasn't just been crossed, it's been completely discarded, like crime scene tape thrown away after an investigation."

Amanda nodded sympathetically.

"Sometimes…it's confusing…trying to understand John's logic," she admitted. Mark looked up at her with surprise.

"That almost sounded like criticism, Amanda," he said. She shrugged.

"I trust him though, even if I don't always understand him."

Mark raised his eyebrow and shook his head in disdain. "That kind of blind trust often makes us fools. It can make us believe lies, even when the truth is glaringly obvious."

Amanda shot him a disapproving glare, all the ammunition she needed for a proper scolding expressed in her face.

"Okay," he said, indicating his defeat in once again failing to persuade Amanda that John was a manipulative madman, and also that he had finished the last bandage. He tossed the rest of the gauze in the kit, and then made a mental note to get more the next time he was out.

"So, what is it that keeps you from leaving then?" she asked. She was thinking about Mark's dirty secret and what could possibly be bad enough that John could possess that kind of control over a man like Mark Hoffman. She didn't really expect an answer, but she couldn't help wondering aloud.

The look in Mark's eyes indicated he had clearly misinterpreted her innocent question. He looked taken aback, and then serious, like a man ready for confession.

"It's complicated."

She raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Oh?

"At first, it was because of John. He was very persuasive," he said, the last word pumped with bitterness. He looked down at the ground for too long, clearly avoiding her gaze. He was hiding something. That much was obvious. The concrete couldn't have been that fascinating.

"But now?" she pried, leaning a little closer.

When Mark looked up again, he didn't realize just how near she'd gotten, and like two weeks ago, he was taken aback by just how alluring she could be, particularly when she was less than a foot away from him.

"…Now it's complicated," he repeated, a little breathless.

"How so?" she said, tilting her head slightly.

"Well, now it's because of you," he whispered, as quietly as a particularly sinful admission in a confessional.

"The blackmail…keeps me from turning John in. But even if John did reveal what I've done, even if he double crossed me…I couldn't just take off and leave you with him. I couldn't…leave you like that..."

Amanda inhaled deeply, and once again, the closeness reiterated in their minds as her breasts nearly brushed against him. She knew he was protective of her, but she never really expected him to say something like that out loud. Their bodies remembered what their minds had tried to shut out for too long. He licked his lips; she bit hers. His neck craned down slightly, remembering that first kiss as his body forced him to pursue that pleasure once more…

…but before the actual contact was made, they were interrupted by earsplitting noises reverberating from an adjacent room, the rattling and banging sound of objects being clanked around, crashing against each other and the hard, solid floor, like a child's version of playing the drums. It provided a wakeup call that instantly made them back away, their hearts beating with the fierceness of the shrill sounds that had separated them.

"I better see if John's okay," she gasped, and nearly sprinted out of the room.

"Good idea," he said, although Amanda was too far away to hear him by the time the words had actually left his mouth. He swallowed and rolled his eyes in frustration. It had nearly happened again. The thought both pleased and intimidated him.

She wanted him like he wanted her.

Two weeks hadn't been enough time to get the memory of their kiss out of her system either. But now they were definitely going to have to talk about what happened, and what had almost happened again. No way around it. The part that really bothered him was that he had no idea how that conversation would end.

He winced as the memory of Amanda pushing him away returned…

What the hell, Mark?

I think you should go now.

…and he smiled slightly as the more recent memory of her drawing close to him and nearly repeating that blissful moment replaced it.

"John, are you okay?" Amanda asked, her eyes flickering around the dimly lit room, searching for the source of the commotion. The image of John lying on the floor, helpless and injured, trapped under something heavy that had collapsed on him, haunted her imagination, until she found him safe, standing over a heap of metallic junk and broken gears and staring at the garbage with the intensity of a dedicated overseer.

John apparently didn't hear her meek voice amidst his deep thought. He shook his head and happened to glance up at Amanda, realizing she was there for the first time.

"Just a potential trap in need of some adjustments," he explained when he saw the confused expression on her face. He crossed his arms and glared at the mess as he tried to mentally calculate his error. Amanda then realized that the twisted scraps of metal that were now scattered all over the floor had moments ago been part of a plan to rehabilitate someone, change their life forever…or else provide a final lesson.

John closed his eyes and nodded his head as he realized his blunder. He went back to his blueprints and made critical corrections, marking the paper with his pen fiercely, like a teacher with a harsh grading policy. Amanda stood there, feeling relieved and a little curious as to what the broken pieces of rubbish were originally intended to do.

"Amanda," John said, still glancing over his blueprints, "There are three test subjects I need you to bring in soon. The file on the desk beside you contains all the necessary information."

Amanda glanced to her right and picked it up.

"Okay," she said with a weak smile that John, still preoccupied with the stubborn problem before him, missed entirely. Amanda watched him with great interest, wishing she could be inside his head for just a few minutes to understand how it worked….but perhaps for a man like John Kramer a few hours inside his mind would be required to fully grasp the mechanics. For everything she didn't understand, she had trust to fill in the gaps.

Blind trust…

Oh, shut up, Mark.

Amanda opened the file and glanced at the materials within. It contained only information about the location of the subject's residence and work, and photos of the possible victims themselves. Adam's pictures, no doubt. Amanda wasn't sure how she could be so certain, but she knew in her gut that he had taken these photographs. He had a certain distinctive style. She could see him, hidden from plain sight, his camera strapped around his neck, dangling around his stomach while he waited for the right moment to get the perfect shot. He caught his subjects off guard, not caring if the image was flattering or beautiful or aesthetically pleasing…the moment was real. It captured them at a moment when they thought they were privately alone with their thoughts. He portrayed the world in the perspective of a stalker. She wondered what she must have looked like in the picture Adam took of her. Even though she was aware of the camera, and it was a somewhat posed picture, he would have somehow captured the real her, and with a single photograph he would know more about Amanda Young than she did after so many years and years of trying to figure it out.

After getting over the realization and shock that she was looking at the pictures of a dead photographer, she studied the actual subjects of the photos with more focus. The test involved two women and one man. The details of the trap were excluded from the file. Just the information needed to kidnap them was included. That was John, practical and to the point, giving her just enough information to complete her task while being careful to never satisfy her curiosity in the process.

The man was particularly handsome, and eerily familiar. Amanda wondered if she'd encountered him in her previous life. More specifically, she thought she'd seen him hanging around the strip club she used to work at. Surely that wasn't the entire story behind him though. He wouldn't even be a bleep on John's radar unless he'd done something far worse.

Thinking of this man's dirty laundry made her curious about the secrets of another man she had on her mind. One that she couldn't get off her mind.

"John…what is it that you have on Mark that made him decide to help you?" Amanda asked. She sat down on a nearby desk and crossed her legs, like a child waiting for story time.

"That's between Mark and me," John said. "I've promised him my secrecy, in exchange for his assistance."

Amanda couldn't help but feel disappointed, as though she had expected total disclosure from him.

"Amanda, I promise you that if you needed to know, I would tell you."

"Okay, John. I trust you," she said. She punctuated it with a smile. John looked up, saw her looking at him with total admiration, and caught her smile the way some people catch a contagious yawn.

"I'm glad to hear that, Amanda," he said. "Trust is invaluable, and delicate. Like so many of life's most precious gifts; love, forgiveness…and time."

Amanda swallowed nervously. Time. So precious. We only get so much and then it's all gone…

"Mark says the investigation on us is going nowhere," Amanda said, wanting to continue speaking with him as long as possible, even if she had nothing to really say. His time was so short, and she wanted more with him, even if it was mere small nodded in approval.

"That makes sense, considering Mark's the one leading the investigation now," he said.

"Yeah," she said.

"I only wonder how long they will stand for Mark's incompetence before they begin to suspect him," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. His attention shifted away from Amanda and back towards his blueprints for an instant. Then he looked at her once again. "He can only hinder the investigation so long."

Amanda felt uneasy.

"What does this mean? Are you worried?" She sounded slightly panicked. If John was worried, she was as well, like a child whose emotions reflect that of their parents. But he smiled in response, reassuring her.

"I'm not worried. It will all work out. Mark is trusted by his department. And he plays his role well."

"But it's not like he's been the most competent detective in the past. I mean, he was oblivious to someone in his own department planting evidence on people. What if they begin to think he's…not up to leading this investigation?"

"You think that Mark didn't know about Eric's actions?" John said. He looked at Amanda curiously.

"And you think he did," Amanda said, the truth dawning slowly like the first rays of morning.

"I think…that it shouldn't be surprising to you, given what we know about Mark Hoffman," John said, neither accepting nor dismissing her accusation. But the expression on John's face said everything. Mark had let Eric get away with it. He knew what Eric was doing, and he looked the other way. She'd convinced herself Mark was the opposite of Eric…but Mark himself had admitted they weren't so different.

Now I know why…Amanda thought. That's what John's dangling over his head. That's why when John says "Jump", Mark will jump. When John says, "Stick a syringe in this person's neck and watch them go down without a fight," Mark will do just that. Because Mark let Eric plant evidence on people…and on me.

Suddenly it wasn't about the indignation of being left out of the secret those two shared, nor the fact that Mark had done something awful, or had at least let something awful happen again and again under his supervision. Marked with his fucking approval, even. No, it went deeper than all that. Now it was about betrayal.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Amanda asked John, clinching her teeth.

"It's only speculation, Amanda," he flat out lied. His voice was cold and callous, like a certain doctor he remembered dispensing a terminal diagnosis not too long ago, but it carried the quality of seriousness as well. A tone that promised truth. "…But I do believe Mark was aware of Eric's actions, and that he ignored them."

Amanda gripped the file harder, the pages sliding around beneath her fingers.

"Okay," she said, forcing a smile John didn't bother to acknowledge. "Well, if this conversation is over, I'm going to get started now. I'm going to go share this file with Mark...right away," she said, storming out of the room.

Normally, shopping for less than a dozen items didn't take Mark an entire afternoon, but he had left the warehouse more in necessity to clear his head than due to a dire need for bread and milk.

And gauze, he reminded himself.

He returned with grocery bags in both arms, and put everything away as Amanda stood just out of sight, her arms crossed, her face a perfect reflection of her internal inferno of seething anger.

"I know why you're really here," Amanda said, her voice taking on an unrecognizable coldness he had never heard from her, imitating the usual emotionless tone of her mentor. Clearly she was not referencing any part of their encounter earlier that day. "And it has nothing to do with me, does it?"

A sadistic smile spread across her face. He hadn't seen her look at him that way since she first got here and resented him for helping John only because of the blackmail. Somehow, over the course of a couple hours, he had become the enemy again.

What did John tell her?

Immediately his mind burned with the searing memory of Seth, screaming and struggling against his restraints as the pendulum gradually descended into his flesh, flinging guts all over the room like a careless butcher tossing away the bad parts of a fresh carcass.

"So why did you do it?" Amanda asked.

Seth looking over at the door, staring at him with dying eyes, as though he knew Mark was watching from the other side.

"What exactly did he tell you?" Mark asked.

He had no right...we had a deal. He would tell no one if I did what he asked. That includes Amanda. Especially Amanda...

"He told me you knew what Eric was doing before he was tested. Did you? Did you know he was planting evidence on people?"

Mark inwardly sighed. She didn't know after all. He resented John for a multitude of reasons, but he had kept to his word.

"Yes."

"Why did you let him?"

He paused for a long time, not wanting to answer prematurely before he'd accumulated all his thoughts. It was difficult to think with all this mounting anger, and there were so many explanations, but in order to fully appreciate them, she would have to experience all the ugliness of being involved in the criminal justice system for decades and seeing how it could be hypocritical and unfair, and how sometimes it seemed to self destruct and lose its purpose right before his very eyes.

"I let him because I'm sick of the disgusting injustice of criminals getting back on the street for technicalities and good behavior. When they hurt innocent people and get away with it…that's not justice. I had to look the other way and let Eric continue. I had to do whatever the hell I could to save people, even if it meant breaking the rules." He ended his rant with a deep sigh, and added, "For me, there was no other option. I would have rather died."

"Really? Is that what you thought when you were strapped to a chair with a gun pointing in your face? 'I'm glad I did nothing; I'm glad I let Eric plant evidence on innocent people'?" Amanda snapped, her arms crossed over her chest tightening, constricting herself.

"Oh, no, Amanda. That's where you're wrong. They were never innocent, even if they didn't commit the crimes we incarcerated them for," Mark said, his voice lowering to a malicious whisper, burning with self righteous conviction. He believed in the morality of his actions, of Eric's actions, the way Amanda believed in John.

"What about me? I was innocent. I was trying to get clean before Eric screwed it all up."

"Well, that was a mistake. It's not like I signed off and gave approval for every one of his actions. I just...overlooked them. And sometimes I made suggestions..."

"Made suggestions?" she snapped. Her nostrils flared. The sound of her sneaker scuffing against concrete could be heard in the silence that followed.

Oops. That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Once. One suggestion."

"Who?" Amanda asked incredulously.

"Someone that I knew was damn well guilty and needed to be locked up," he yelled, slamming his hand against a table. The force of the movement caused it to shift several inches. Amanda's eyes grew wide. She'd never seen him so riled up over anything. For a moment, he reminded her of Eric, except...scarier. Because it wasn't like him at all. Mark repressed his anger, he clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, he growled until his throat was raw, he shot dirty looks at John whenever he could, but he never looked like this.

"What did someone do to you that pissed you off that much?" Her voice sounded weak, almost afraid. It snapped Mark out of his anger immediately. Amanda wasn't the one he was pissed at. Mark had already taken care of him. Yet it wasn't enough, not nearly enough. He still wasn't satisfied that justice had been done. But how could that be? He'd done the job himself.

But it wasn't enough. Nothing could ever be enough...even with a death so gory it made me have to turn away, it still wasn't enough...

"This discussion is over," Mark said coldly, turning to leave. Amanda watched him go without protest. Both of them were shaken and furious and in desperate need of a separation period.

This discussion is over...

...like hell it is.

"I guess this is something else we'll talk about this later," she whispered.