Chapter 8: Pieces
(Brass)
"Congratulations, Mr. Brass, you survived. Most people take their lives for granted, but not you."
'That's it?' he thought, still holding the tape player. 'I just flash-steamed my back and have severe steam burns from the sixty-second exposure! Then I crawled to the door with ten seconds to spare and played the tape. And all I get is some 'you survived' bullshit?' he thought angrily, throwing open the door. He immediately regretted the action as his blistered back screamed at the sudden movement of his shoulder blades underneath the tender skin.
He stepped out of the room and immediately fell face-first onto the floor. Wincing and cursing, he pushed himself up and got onto his feet, turning around to look at what he tripped over. His heart skipped a beat as he saw a red tricycle lying on the ground, on its side. The red tricycle. The one from the Jigsaw murders and was supposed to be in evidence!
He moved down the hall, taking a fifty-fifty chance and heading left. He saw something in the middle of the hallway and inspected. Shards of red glass, like the kind from the lightbar of a police car, formed an arrow pointing towards him, back the way he came. An even twelve inches away was another arrow fashioned from blue glass, pointing down the hall, away from him.
He decided to continue down the hall and found a blue 'X' painted on a door. He cracked it open and peered inside, checking for a trip wire or other kind of booby trap. Seeing none, he gently pushed the door open the rest of the way.
"Woah." was all he could utter before his jaw fell slack. The floor was littered in garbage, and the stench was sickly sweet; pungent, but not overwhelming.
Hanging from a meat hook suspended from the ceiling was his gun. He walked through the clutter of litter and plucked up his gun, then checked for ammo and was surprised to find half a clip of bullets remaining. He huffed and returned the gun to his holster.
Impaled on the meat hook was a note, which he removed and opened. Scrawled across the page in black ink read the words: HERE'S A PIECE OF THE PUZZLE, JAMES. RONALD E. WORGNEC.
"Who is Ronald Worgnec?" he asked aloud, looking around the room for clues. All he could see were candy wrappers, pizza boxes, soda bottles, beer bottles, Styrofoam cups…pretty common garbage.
He left the room and decided to see where the red arrow would lead him.
(Brad)
After helping Gordon load Hoffman into the car, he drove. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he followed his mentor's directions.
"When we're done with him, I'll take you to the current game. We'll let them all go, I promise. Just…don't be mad at me." he said, practically begged. Gordon remained silent, speaking only to give directions.
They soon arrived at some no-tell motel. "What are we doing here?" he asked, but Gordon didn't reply. They silently opened the passenger door and Gordon unlocked one of the motel's rooms. They carried Hoffman inside and set him down on the floor. The man stirred, but remained unconscious.
"What now?" he asked, looking to Gordon for answers.
"Now I end this." Gordon said, heading back to the car. As he watched the trunk be opened, a hand pressed against his mouth, preventing him from making a sound.
"Once a Lawrence Gordon groupie, always a Lawrence Gordon groupie, I guess." Hoffman said, his breath hot against his cheek. Another hand latched onto the back of his head and as he realized what was about to happen, his neck was effortlessly broken.
(Greg)
Every hobbled half-step he took with Grissom not only hurt like hell due to the severed handcuffs rubbing against his crushed hand and foot, but the broken chains also jingled softly, which was fine at first, but now it was just annoying.
"I sound like a wind chime." he said, hoping to elicit a chuckle out of his boss, but all he got was a huff, and he knew why.
"Grissom, come on, you can't blame yourself for what happened. You want someone to blame? Blame the bastards who put us here!" he said, trying to ignore the knives stabbing up his leg.
They passed another security camera as they moved down the hall.
"How many cameras do they have in this place?" he wondered out loud.
"So far, I've seen thirteen." Grissom replied.
"Oh. Good, someone's keeping count." he said, not expecting an actual answer. They saw a shadow quickly dart by a window up ahead and they stopped.
"Did something just fall in-" he started, but they heard a scream of pain outside the window. They hurried over to it as fast as they could, looking up to the tiny window.
"Will you be okay if I let you go?" Grissom asked.
"Yeah." he answered. As Grissom moved away, he balanced himself by putting his good hand on the wall. Grissom had already grabbed a rotted-looking wooden chair from a pile of junk down the hall and tested its strength as he cautiously stood on it. It didn't collapse, so he used the chair to look out the window with ease.
"Oh my god. It's Archie." Grissom said.
"Archie? Is he alive?" Greg asked, fearing for his colleague's safety.
"Yeah. He's alive. His leg's broken, but he's moving around." Grissom replied, picking up the bolt cutters and smashing the window. The glass shattered and Greg heard a gasp behind the wall.
"Archie!" Grissom yelled.
"Grissom?" Archie replied.
He could tell Archie was in a terrible amount of pain from his voice alone.
"How are you doing?" Grissom asked.
"Fine…okay, I guess, under the circumstances." Archie replied.
"Do you think you can get out of here?" Grissom asked.
"Yeah, I think so." Archie answered, through gritted teeth, it sounded. "Have you seen anyone else?"
"Greg's with me. You're the first person I've seen since finding him." Grissom replied.
"And you're both okay?" Archie asked, letting out a small gasp of pain as he tried to move his leg.
"I'm fine, but Greg's hurt. Listen, Archie, there are some buildings about a quarter mile behind you. It's pretty dark out, but there could still be people there." Grissom said.
"Then that's where I'll go. I'll send help guys, I promise." Archie replied.
Grissom remained on the chair for a minute before stepping down. At first Greg thought he had imagined it, but after a second look, he definitely saw it. Grissom was smiling.