Disclaimers: I don't own Saw or any of the characters.
Other: I'm sorry for taking so long to update! I lost all motivation for a really long time. I almost didn't continue - I was going to let this rot in a corner and collect dust. But...Well, somehow I regained interest. I couldn't write the 'celebration' chapter I promised. I tried. But I couldn't. I didn't have the feel for it; so we're just going to continue on. I can't promise happy chapters from here. Because if I did, I'd be lying. So enjoy tragedy and horror for the next couple of chapters. XD
Thank you to those who are still reading along and reviewing. It makes me happy to know that people like my work. :)
Also, to those who are fans of the movie Inception, or know people who do: I'm in the process of writing an Arthur x Eames for Inception. I can't say how long I'll take before publishing, but it's just a heads-up. ^^ Enjoy the chapter!
Rain poured from the swollen gray clouds in thick sheets, splashing against the road and sidewalks heavily, sliding off of umbrellas and cars as smooth as butter across a hot pan. Sitting in his office, a pen in his stilled hand, Lawrence could hear the rain drops pelting against his glass window like tiny, liquid bullets. His sharp blue eyes lifted from the paper work he was filling out and focused on the window with a look of content. Storms were always relaxing for him. The ferocity that whirled outside was simply fascinating to him. It was enjoyable to sit in his office, warm and dry, and listen to the sky weep and sob. Diana was at the apartment with Adam; he couldn't wait to hurry home to see them again in an hour. He'd left the house before they had woken up. Diana was afraid of storms, and it made him feel a twinge of guilt knowing that he couldn't be there to comfort her, and assure her that it was just God playing bowling up in Heaven. But the guilt was somewhat eased knowing that Adam was there to cuddle her and distract her from the crashing thunder and flashing lightning by playing dress up with her. The memory of seeing Adam covered in glitter and wearing a pair of purple fairy wings made him smile.
A knock on the closed wooden door startled Lawrence out of his thoughts. He looked up in time to see a young nurse walk in. She was holding a clip-board carrying a thick amount of paper crammed with information.
"You've got a patient in room 214. Her name is Pamela Reynolds. She's a forty nine year old woman with stage four, terminal of course, brain cancer," the nurse said without preamble, handing him the clipboard. Lawrence read through the papers as the nurse left the room. There was a lot to read – she'd gone through many treatments. Most of them were the type that was given to the sick who had no money. The charity-paid ones. Apparently, every effort to slow or shrink the cancer had been in vain; she had days to live, if even. Judging by her health, Lawrence predicted three days.
The oncologist got up and left his office, closing the door behind him. It was time to confront the new patient. It was a sad and dirty job, having to tell someone that there was no hope, no chance of survival or beating the system, that they were going to die. She was the furthest gone one he'd received yet. It would be difficult to talk to the poor woman. Lawrence entered the elevator and pushed the button that would bring him to the fourth floor of the hospital at which he worked. The metal doors slid closed with a cheerful ding, and the elevator began to lift.
Once he reached the fourth floor, Lawrence walked briskly down the spotless white tile floor, his calm gaze flicking from door to door until he found the one marked '214'. He opened the door, stepped in, and closed it behind him before turning to see the patient.
Pamela Reynolds was a middle-aged woman with narrow greenish-grey eyes and black hair. Well, for the most part; she only had several patches of hair left, everything having fallen out already because of chemo. Her flesh was pale – paler than Adam's, even, though Lawrence assumed it would've been the same shade had she not been so ill – and there were dark bags beneath her eyes. Her cheeks were sunken, her lips chapped, and she was very thin. A weak smile spread across her face at the sight of Lawrence.
"Hello, doctor," she greeted warmly, raising a surprisingly steady hand. Lawrence returned the smile, walking over to the side of her bed and sitting down in the chair, taking her hand and shaking it.
"Hello, Mrs. Reynolds – ," he began. The dying woman interrupted him with a light laugh.
"Please, call me Pamela – Or, Pam, if you will – My husband died years ago," she said. Lawrence nodded.
"I'm sorry to hear about your husband, Pam. My name is Dr. Gordon. How are you feeling today?" he said, holding a red-ink pen in his right hand, which hovered over the clipboard in his lap, ready to write down anything of importance. The woman smiled at him – a kind, gentle, 'it's okay' smile.
"Dr. Gordon, I know I'm dying. There's no use beating around the bush. I've lived a long enough life. And though I've done many things I wish I could take back, many things I wish I'd never done or said, it's time to move on. Death is just another step in life. I've accepted my fate. How long do I have, Dr. Gordon?" she spoke softly, resting her right hand on the wrist of his left hand. Lawrence blinked, a bit surprised by her words. His expression lost the blank professional look that he always held when working, taking on an apologetic, unhappy, honest expression.
"My estimation is three days. You've been battling for a very long time, Pam. And from what I see on your file, you were just transferred here this morning. There's nothing left to do…I'm sorry," Lawrence said quietly. There was a long silence in which he sat there feeling bad for this kind lady and her lying there with a gentle look of acceptance. Finally, she drew in a deep breath, exhaled through her nose, and looked over at him with a smile that was meant to cheer him up.
"Well, that's quite unfortunate. I just feel terrible for making an attractive young man like you feel guilty for being the bearer of bad news. Don't you worry about me, honey. I've lived my life. I have nobody, really. I'm quite…interested in seeing what happens next. My husband's dead; he's probably waiting for me in that beautiful golden light," she said, making her voice as bright and careless as she could. Lawrence was appalled by her calmness. If someone told him that he had three days to live – if he was lucky – he would be devastated and terrified. He couldn't help but feel slightly amused by this woman who kind of reminded him of Adam – not just appearance wise with her greenish-gray eyes, black hair, and pale skin, but also in the way she just brushed things off. Despite what she said, he still found it necessary to find ways to help her make her passing easier.
"Do you have anyone you'd like to contact? No children, nieces, nephews, siblings?" Lawrence asked. The woman was silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her sickly face.
"I grew up as an only child, Dr. Gordon. I married my late husband when I was twenty, and had a son two years after that. He was an accident, but God must have given him to us for a reason. I…I wasn't the best parent. He didn't grow up as happy as most children should have. We were very poor, and couldn't afford to treat him with nice clothes and toys. He'd often go days without eating a proper meal. And we believed in strict punishments. Though, now that I looked back on it, we were horribly cruel, and I feel…"
She broke off, her throat constricting as she choked down a sob, tears trickling down her pale cheeks. Lawrence frowned, waiting patiently for her to continue, pitying this woman who had such terrible regrets. Not everyone was a perfect saint. It was obvious that the past pained her, and that she wanted to take it all back, to somehow redeem herself.
"I feel so guilty for causing such a lovely little boy such great pain and unhappiness. He hated us. I know he did. He ran away, eventually, and I never heard from him again. A few years after that, my husband died, and I was alone. Oh, Dr. Gordon, I was such a terrible woman in my younger, healthier days. I wish with all my life that I could take it all back. I wish so badly that I could erase it and go back in time and raise my beloved son properly. But it's too late, isn't it? Life's short. You must appreciate every second that ticks by, every person who you care for. You never know when you'll be diagnosed with terminal, stage four cancer," she said, wiping at her face and looking out the window.
Lawrence nodded slowly, taking in what she was saying. She hadn't made many good decisions or moves in her life. It was sad, witnessing a human being in such physical, emotional, and mental pain like this. It was heart-breaking. It truly made him thankful for what he had.
"Pam, would you like me to contact your son? Maybe I can find him and see if he'll come visit you. Surely he can find it in his heart to forgive you, if you talk to him as you did to me," he said softly. Pam hesitated, biting her lower lip worriedly, considering the option. Finally, she took another deep breath, and nodded.
"That would be lovely. It's worth a try. And if he doesn't forgive me, at least he'll know that I care and am sorry," she said. Lawrence leaned forward, waiting for her to give him a name and address, maybe even a phone number.
"I don't know where he lives, or what his phone number is, because, like I said, he ran away. And after my husband died, I went back to using my maiden name, so I'm sure he still carries his father's last name. Maybe you can check for him through your records? He's always had a knack for thrill and danger; I don't doubt he's gotten hurt at least once," she told him.
"Alright, well, what's his name?" Lawrence asked. Pam smiled fondly.
"Adam Faulkner."
Dun-dun-duuuunnnn! Time for a whirlwind of horror. :(
Hopefully this chapter wasn't too awful; I threw it together in half an hour on a whim of motivation. xD Thanks for reading. Review, please? ^^