A week later, Amanda could see that she was improving. The withdraw symptoms decreased significantly over the next few days. Her energy level also increased. When she had first woken up, she barely could eat, or take a bath, or hold a conversation with John before exhaustion would take over.
Part of it, she knew, had to do with the fact that she was living with a serial killer who had tried to kill her before. John might be kind to her now, but she had no way of knowing if the serial killer, Jigsaw, would be back.
It had been nine days since she initially woke up. John hadn't let her go to the bathroom or wash her hair by herself until yesterday. He still watched when she took a bath, but he stood outside when Amanda had to pee. This was a relief. Of all things, it had particularly been embarrassing to have John watch her when she relieved herself. More than that...even though she was fairly certain, now, that he wouldn't rape, but Amanda still felt uneasy when he tried to dress and undress her.
Yet, to say he was overprotective of her would be an understatement.
Still, if she was to be completely honest with herself (and it was hard not to be, when there was little she could do aside from thinking), Amanda didn't know how she felt about John helping her deal with drug withdraw. At times she thought he owed her the help he lent because Jigsaw had tried to kill her. At other times, she thought he would be cashing in as soon as he believed she recovered…if not earlier.
If the latter was the case, Amanda thought that she should be relieved John was slow to pronounce her healthy.
Yet hadn't he taken care of her over the last two weeks? Hadn't he fed her, even given her his bed (as he had told her on several occasions)? More importantly, hadn't he saved her life?
Did saving someone's life after trying to kill them cancel out trying to kill them?
Amanda sat in bed, musing over these questions, huddled under the warm covers. Most of the blankets tucked neatly under her legs and back, but a heavy one spread out under her chest and ending well over her shoulders. John must have rearranged them while she slept.
It should have frightened her how aware he was of her needs, how he anticipated them and responded to them just after the thought had reached her mind, but it didn't. Amanda was used to elements in her life that most people would have considered unbearable horrors. This was just another thing that was once alien, and now familiar. At first John's care had been foreign, but now it was comforting and somewhat normal. Amanda had simply adjusted to it. She rarely woke up cold not to have another blanket applied (which was regularly- possibly another side affect but, according to John, more psychological), hungry only to be fed, or comforted after waking up, screaming, from nightmares.
Amand had had a lot of those over the past week.
She pulled the covers closer to her as she reached to turn on the lamp next to the table John had recently provided, and retrieved one of the books he had placed there yesterday.
John had allowed her to start reading four days ago, when he first supplied her with books. The unused books changed daily; the used books remained until she was finished. Amanda had never been an avid reader but with nothing else to do, she embraced this new activity.
John certainly had a strange collection. A textbook on Biochemistry, a book on philosophy which had several writers, a book of children's fairy tales (filled with lines crossing out most of the words and scribbles indicating what they should say), and oddly enough, a Bible.
Yes, a Bible. What a serial killer was doing with a Bible was a question Amanda had no answer for. She had leafed through it and John had clearly marked some passages, but it wasn't her first choice of reading material.
She had more fun reading the fairy tales, or what were the revised fairy tales. John had taken stories that everyone had heard at one time or another and, in essence, rewrote them to give them a darker meaning. None of the stories ended happily in the traditional sense of the word, but the endings had a realistic feel to them. It made sense, for instance, that Goldilocks was devoured by the bears. She had broken into their house and eaten their food.
Amanda was so immersed in the revised stories that she didn't hear John enter until she felt his arm on her shoulder.
She jumped. His touch didn't freak her out as much as it had the first day she woke up –she knew that he wasn't going to hurt her, or at least not that way—but it still unnerved her. She was not used to being touched.
John must have recognized this, because he withdrew his hand. "Sorry," he apologized. Then he hugged her briefly. "Good morning."
"Morning." Amanda marked her page (another thing John hadn't minded--in fact, it was probably helpful because it let him know which books were being used and which ones weren't) and closed the book.
John sat on the chair beside her bed. "How's the patient?"
"I'm fine."
He leaned forward to put a hand to her forehead. "You look healthy. How do you feel?"
"I'm fine," Amanda began, then stopped when she realized she must sound like a little kid. "I feel healthy," she clarified.
John raised his eyebrows. His lip edges twitched, a true sign he was trying not to smile. "Judging solely from what I've read in textbooks, and on the internet, and on your case in particular, I'd say you're out of immediate danger."
No duh, thought Amanda.
John clearly recognized her unspoken reaction, because then he did smile.
"Do you want your bath now?"
John made her take two a day--one in the morning before breakfast and one before going to bed. He did this so that if Amanda refused, he could threaten to refuse to feed her. Of course, if she really felt too weak, he wouldn't follow through on it. But since Amanda always woke up ravenous, his method worked unfailingly.
Amanda nodded and pulled off the covers. John lent her an arm in case (Amanda thought wryly) she needed help on the long ten foot walk to the tub.
He turned on the water to fit Amanda's preference--hot but not scalding--as she stripped. She had been wearing John's night shirt and would change into her black shirt and jeans after the bath.
She didn't know what had happened to the rest of her clothing. Probably Liz had thrown it out, or tried to sell it on ebay for some extra cash.
The water felt as comfortable as the blankets had, and Amanda leaned back and tried to relax. Then she let John bathe her, washing and conditioning her hair, and then carefully moving onto her face. By now, she was used to this treatment and remained still throughout the process, savoring it. She knew that he would not hurt her.
He sprayed her off and reached into the closet, and retrieving a large red towel. He unfolded it and walked over to the tub, holding it so that he could wrap it around Amanda.
It was what he had done for the last week, but it couldn't continue. "Can I do it?"
He nodded.
Without comment, John handed Amanda the towel and, after securing the towel so that it covered most of her body, she gingerly stepped out of the tub. As she dried herself off, Amanda noticed John starting to run a brush through her hair. It had been one of the less embarrassing tasks he had taken on since she awoke, and something that she enjoyed. It reminded her of when her mom used to brush her hair, before she turned six and had to struggle with knots on her own.
His strokes were intent, even, and relatively pain free. Once he was finished, he parted Amanda's hair in the middle and handed her clothes.
John left while she changed, returning ten minutes later with breakfast. This time, it was cheerios with milk, and then another glass of milk on the side. Today's flowers were daisies.
He never asked her what she wanted, but his tastes were generic and Amanda was not a picky eater. No doubt the day would come that John would serve her something she despised, but Amanda tried not to think about that.
He sat on the chair beside the bed and watched her eat silently. It had been one of his habits that truly unnerved Amanda, and caused her to chew quickly. Once she was done, John took the tray, put it on the floor, and remained seated. Amanda stared at him questioningly.
"I'd like to talk you to," John said with his piercing eyes, "about the day I found you."
Amanda nodded, resigned, then stared at the covers. He lifted her chin up so that she was forced to look at him, but Amanda focused her eyes on the tub in the center of the room.
John noticed and leaned over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I want to understand what happened that caused you to relapse. I thought I had helped you."
Amanda sighed. "You did," she lied. "I just...the police..." she trailed off.
"They made you testify. I suspected as much," John responded, nodding.
Amanda's vision started to blur. "I didn't want to tell them what had happened." She didn't finish her sentence with "because I knew you'd come after me and kill me", but John correctly guessed the meaning.
"I wouldn't have harmed you for that," he sighed. "You were the only survivor. Of course they were adamant."
She shut her eyes. "When I came back, no one was there...I went to my room..."
"I know," John soothed, wanting to hug her, but feeling that he shouldn't. Not now, anyway. She wouldn't like it. He moved the hand that had been on her shoulders to her arm. "What happened next?" he prodded, obviously trying to be gentle but sounding harsh nonetheless. "When I saw you, you were in shock. Vomiting blood, shaking. You wouldn't stay still when I tried to lift you up."
Amanda could imagine. She didn't want to give anything away unnecessarily, though. Best not to give any unwarranted information to a serial killer.
No matter how nice he might appear when he wasn't trying to kill her.
This had been part of what Amanda had spent the past eight days--and the week before that--fearing.
"What do you know about me?" she asked instead. "I wake up three weeks ago and you're trying to kill me. I wake up a week ago and you said you saved my life. What gives you the right?" Her hands became fists.
John sighed, reached out, and put a wrinkled hand on her arm. As usual, it felt soft but horribly cold. She flinched noticeably, but John did not let go. "You're avoiding the question."
So are you. "I don't want to waste your time telling you stuff you already know," Amanda responded, moving her arm away determinedly.
John laughed harshly. "Fine. You have a drug problem. Six months ago, you overdosed on heroin and wound up in the hospital. You almost died, but that didn't scare you enough. You went back to the drugs as soon as you got out. You wait on people and you're a stripper for the drug money."
Amanda turned bright red and then fumed. "You only have the facts," she snarled. "You have no…no fucking idea how any of this happened, or why I am the way I am."
John blinked his pale eyes, momentarily regretting his outburst.
"Enlighten me," he encouraged.
But Amanda turned away, obviously fed up and not hearing the sympathy in John's voice. "Go to hell. I'm tired," she stated, facing the wall. She pulled the blankets over her head and pressed them against her face so that all she could see was darkness. When she did not hear him move, she made a growling sound. "Leave me alone!"
She heard him breathe heavily and then rise from the chair. He hovered there for what felt like an eternity but was probably less than half a minute, sighed, and left.
Amanda shivered under the covers and tried, without much luck, to sleep.
-----------------
John usually relied on Zepp to keep him from resorting to violence. He had been there when John first received the news about the cancer. Inoperable. Impossible to prevent. Walking time bomb. John had tried to kill himself that day, only to return to the hospital later where they stitched him up. They couldn't cure the cancer, but they assured John that there would only be a small scar where his chest had split open.
Zepp had taken an interest in him. He was one of those few people who seemed to realize that people aside from himself existed in the world. He had been on the night shift, when everyone else had gone to bed. John had lain awake in agony because the pain medication had worn off. Zepp wasn't authorized to give him any more medicine, but he spoke to John and listened to what he had to say.
Zepp shared John's view that many people disregarded their life, and had come up with a list of Jigsaw's first test subjects.
Amanda was one of them.
John had believed, perhaps naively, that if someone survived one of his life or death situations, they would fall to their knees in thanks. Jigsaw would be a type of deity to this person, and they would pledge to make better use of their life.
So far, this hadn't worked. Amanda had been the only survivor, and it did not escape Jigsaw that her test was one of the few where self mutilation was not required. His theory was not holding up. Only a week later, Amanda had reverted back to drugs.
Jigsaw had never tested Zepp's ability to survive as he had tested so many others. It seemed vaguely disloyal to test your right hand man.
Zepp would probably take over after John died. It did not matter, Jigsaw tried to tell himself, if Zepp had not truly faced life or death situations. He knew enough to continue Jigsaw's work.
Amanda's survival, however, brought new possibilities to Jigsaw's mind. Perhaps he could convince Amanda to help Zepp. Surely having two assistants would be better than one. Should others survive, Amanda and Zepp could seek them out, and train them. It was entirely possible that by the time John died, there would be multiple Jigsaws, ready and willing to take over.
It had been a relief when the police forced Amanda to go to the police station and bear witness against Jigsaw. They always found his traps, but sometimes as late as weeks after the people had died. Jigsaw could wait weeks to confront Amanda, but he wanted it done sooner rather than later. Her disappearance, along with her sister's, gave him ample opportunity to set his plan in motion.
It was true that John did not know many details about Amanda's life. Just what Zepp had told him, and that had only been enough to determine that the young female did not truly appreciate life. Whatever circumstances causing this choice were, Jigsaw believed, irrelevant. Certain things were black and white and the details did not matter. He thought that Amanda's attitude towards life was one of them.
Now he sat on Zepp's dingy couch, pondering the events that had just taken place. Perhaps he had overlooked some details involving his test subject.
He decided he would give her another hour to cool off, and then speak to her again. He would try to be more gentle with her the second time around.
Amanda had just fallen into a fitful sleep when John entered the room. A heavy sleeper, she did not hear him enter and did not wake up when he stood over the bed, shaking her gently.
"Amanda, wake up," John insisted, moving the blankets away from her face. It looked as though she had been crying.
She struggled, mumbling something that sounded like "Let me go" and trying to retrieve the covers.
"Amanda," John tried again. He moved towards the bed, and then sat down near her pillow, keeping most of his body off the mattress. He began to stroke her hair.
Her eyes opened slowly. She looked, and sounded, groggy. "What do you want?" she asked, clearly defeated, closing her eyes yet again.
"Just to talk," John answered, now shifting so that he was sitting against the wall, inches from her head. He moved her upper body so that she was seated across his legs. With one hand, he supported her back, and with the other, he continued smoothing her hair.
It felt nice. She could remember when Mike had done the same thing. Amanda choked back a sob. She missed him. She moved her knees to her chest, hiding.
"Tell me about yourself," John requested. "Please."
Amanda stayed silent, trying to pull herself together, trying to relax in John's arms. He wouldn't hurt her right away, would he? He clearly expected the worst. Even if he did, Amanda realized, it wouldn't matter what she said. Better to talk to him.
Amanda swallowed several times before speaking. "I first got into drugs without realizing it. My boyfriend, who I lived with, sold them. The police thought that he was dealing but they couldn't prove anything. One of them planted evidence on me so that I would be convicted. I guess he thought I'd rat out Mike that way. But I didn't even know that he was selling drugs." She sighed. "The cop who set me up was Detective Matthews. God, I hate that man."
"He's a pitiful excuse for a human," John agreed. "He's harmed many people like yourself. Killed just as many." He was fingering one of her wrists, pausing at the scars, but not asking anything about it.
"I started that in jail," Amanda explained. "Drugs, too. I just wanted to escape." She paused. "When I was in jail, I had to have sex with guys to get the money for drugs. So when I got out, I became a stripper. I needed the drugs. Mostly heroin, though.
"There were two dealers that sold heroin not far from where I lived. The cheap guy, which is self explanatory. His prices weren't high but the drugs were usually laced with some other stuff. Like dog crap or something. The other guy charged four times as much, but he was pretty reliable with just providing the drug you asked for. It was safer to go to him, even though the price took up pretty much everything I made.
"I went to the cheap guy once when I heard that some people got their heroin for less. That's when I overdosed and was sent to the hospital," she added. "It almost killed me."
Realization dawned on John. "When I found you, had you taken the cheap stuff?"
Amanda nodded, eyes on her legs. "Unintentionally. I had some of the cheap stuff left over. But I also had reserves from the other guy. They must have gotten mixed together."
She could feel John's body shake as he let out a long sigh. "And then you went into shock."
"Yeah." It suddenly occurred to Amanda that had Jigsaw not broken into Liz's apartment, she might have died before Liz found her.
Again.
It occurred to John that had he not placed Amanda in the bear trap test, she probably wouldn't have gone to the reserves. She would have continued her job and gotten the drugs from the more reliable dealer.
Which meant he was as much to blame as Amanda for her relapse. He had intended to hold it over her head, and perhaps he still could, but he was the cause of it.
He tightened his grip on her considerably. John had not wanted Amanda to die.
"I won't hurt you again," John promised.
Amanda was silent for awhile, trying to phrase her question in a way that wouldn't anger John. Shivering somewhat, though not from the cold, she tried to pull a blanket over her. She had wore the same clothes for the past week—jeans and very light t-shirt—which was fine in Liz's usually overheated apartment, but gave her little emotional warmth here. Even with John holding her in a half hug, her teeth started to chatter.
"Cold?" John asked, gently repositioning himself so that he was no longer seated on the blankets, and pulling them over Amanda's body. "How's that?"
Amanda nodded as the warmth seeped through her. She turned her head towards his, started to speak, stopped, and then started again. "Um?"
"Yes?" John hid a laugh.
It was not the question Amanda wanted to ask, but she realized it was preliminary. "What do I call you? The police said you're Jigsaw, but you said you were John Kramer."
"They coined the phrase because out of the people who die from my traps, I carve a piece of flesh from their skin in the shape of a puzzle."
Amanda flinched. "W-why?"
"It's purely symbolic. It means the person is missing a vital part of the human puzzle. The survival instinct. Had they truly wanted to survive my tests, they would still be alive," John explained. "Like you."
Amanda had no response ready for that. "Oh." Then, "How long before I am well enough to go home?"
Even to herself, the question sounded dumb. John might not know it, but Liz had kicked her out. She didn't exactly have a home to go to. Nor did she have any money. If she left John's place, she'd be sleeping beside the streets. Her odds were better remaining with him, even if he planned to kill/test her again.
What Amanda had wanted to ask was how long Jigsaw was going to keep her hostage. When would he decide he was finished testing/fooling with her and let her go?
John knew the real question, of course. His answer reflected it.
"You may leave whenever you like, but I had hoped that you would remain here. At least for a little longer," he corrected. "I don't know what it's like living with your sister, but it can be lonely here."
"I don't want to be…made to stay here," Amanda explained. She didn't add that returning to her sister's was not a valid option at this point. He might make her stay, and then kill her.
"I won't make you remain against your will," John promised, resuming the stroking of her hair. "I hope that you will choose to stay, though."
Amanda nodded noncommittally.
"If you do wish to remain for an extended period of time," John added, "we'll need to purchase some items for you. The bed you've been using, for example, was mine and although I did not mind giving it up for this period of time, I would like to be able to sleep there again."
She stared at the blankets. "Sorry," she mumbled.
John lifted her face with both hands so that she was forced into looking at him. "Don't be. You needed it." He paused, let go of her face and, receiving no response, continued his list of items. "So you'll need a bed, a mattress, several pillows, and blankets. I took some of your clothes with me, but I do not know how thorough I was. So you'll need more of those." He paused, thinking. "Also the obvious. Hairbrush, shampoo, toothbrush, and so forth. We should be able to find most of this at Target, though."
Amanda lay her face against his soft, denim shirt. "And the bed?"
"There's a website that delivers," John laughed. "We'll share a room."
"The bed...everything...will be expensive," Amanda sighed. "I don't have any money."
"Don't worry about that. I have plenty," John reassured. "So, are you staying?"
"Okay," Amanda replied, closing her eyes wearily.
She knew could do worse.
A/N: Please please please review! (makes a puppy face) As soon as I get five reviews, I promise to post the next chapter. I might post before, but five's a guarantee.