Sawed Chapter 11: Moments Flee
Chikorita-Trainer1
T
Disclaimer: I don't own Saw or anything else I might reference or shamelessly rip off.

Adam went back to his own room, blinking back tears. Lawrence was fighting for his life, and now he had been humiliated. Even that insensitive nurse could see right through him.

He got back into his bed and turned his head away from the door.

A few moments later, he heard the door quietly open.

"I apologize. That was inappropriate. I was out of line," came Amber's voice.

"Yes, you were," Adam agreed.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, coming closer to the bed.

"Could you just leave me alone?" Adam muttered.

"I just need to check a few things," said Amber. She looked over at the IV pole and saw the end of the coiled tube resting on the floor. "You really don't like this IV, huh?"

"It's empty," Adam growled. "I don't need it anymore."

"Yes, I can see that," said Amber, gathering up the tube and removing the empty saline bag from the pole. "I'm going to get your doctor, have him look you over. You'll probably be able to go home by tomorrow. Maybe today."

"Good," Adam said resignedly. I'm clearly not doing anybody any good here.

Once he heard the soft click of the door closing, Adam finally let loose the breath he had been holding, and allowed himself to cry softly.

Lawrence, he thought. He lost his foot, he's got an infection, and on top of that, is it THAT obvious? He still couldn't allow himself to repeat the words in his head, even though he knew they were true.

Even Amber can see it? Am I that pathetic? Am I clearly that lonely and desperate that the NURSE could see it?

Yes, you are, said his mind. And Allison can see it, too. You know what she was trying to say. What did you think she meant that first night, when she asked you to "take care of him"? Why else has she been so willing to just hang back and let you visit Lawrence as often as you have? You didn't think it weird that she's basically letting you have him? She's not telling you to stay away from him, she's practically been encouraging you to get closer to him. She's divorcing him, and she's able to not feel guilty about leaving him at this critical stage of his life, because she KNOWS you won't leave him alone. She can see that you've been clinging to him like the sad little mope you are. You think Diana doesn't know, either?

I did think it was weird, Adam argued back at his mind.

Yeah, but you didn't say anything.

Yes, I did! I JUST said to her, I JUST asked her why she was being so nice to me! I JUST asked her if Diana thought it was weird!

You asked her because you were hoping she would tell you what you wanted to hear. You wanted to hear her say that Lawrence likes you. Admit it. You like him and you want him to like you. He's all you've been able to think about since you got out of there.

He's my only friend. Who else am I supposed to be thinking about?

Can we get back to the fact that you just admitted you like him? So much that it's obvious to other people?

Yeah, I like him, Adam answered back at his mind. He then heard Amber's words echo in his brain. More than like him.

He still couldn't put the sentence together in his mind, even though it was all he wanted to admit to himself.

Well, if he's in isolation, and possibly unconscious, I guess he isn't feeling any pain. Hell, I'd know if he was.

About an hour later, a doctor came in to evaluate Adam's progress. He made sure the swelling in his shoulder had gone down and removed the sling. He checked Adam's vitals and took his temperature, which had reduced, but was still above normal.

"Still having pains?" he asked.

"Sometimes," said Adam.

"How often?"

"Uh…" Adam began. 'I have a strange, psycho-symbiotic connection to Lawrence. When he's distressed about something, I feel pain in my shoulder, and when I have a nightmare or something, HE feels pain in his ankle,' he rehearsed in his head. No, I don't think so. "Just…every once in a while."

"Scale of one to ten, how bad?" asked the doctor.

"Uh, it varies," said Adam.

"What's the worst it's ever been?"

"Like…eight, maybe?" said Adam. "But it's only ever lasted a few minutes."

"OK. I'm going to send you home with a script for Vicodin. But you've got to be careful, and only take them if you have severe pain."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I had Vicodin in high school when I had my wisdom teeth out," Adam assured. He knew opiates were addictive, and he had never developed a dependency.

"Good. Let me just ask you a few more questions, and you should be out of here by pretty soon."

After answering the series of bureaucratic questions, Adam finally had to ask the one question he'd been avoiding.

"So, uh, how much is this all going to cost me?"

"Don't worry about that," said the doctor, tucking his clipboard under his arm.

"What do you mean?" asked Adam.

"It's been taken care of. You just concentrate on getting better," said the doctor. And he turned to leave.

"Wh—?" Adam barely had time to form the word before he was left alone again.

He sat back in bewilderment before everything clicked in his mind, and he smiled.

Allison.

Outside Lawrence's quarantined room, Allison and Diana stood, looking into the window of the door. Their husband and father had never looked worse.

Aside from the intravenous antibiotics, he was also hooked up to a catheter and a ventilation system. Tubes going into him wherever they looked, a heart monitor beeping ominously beside him.

"Does he feel anything?" asked Diana.

"No. He's unconscious," Allison assured her daughter. "He's not feeling any pain. He's just resting and getting better."

"How long will it take?"

"I don't know. But he's in good hands, sweet pea. This is the best possible place he could be in. It's not like the olden days of bloodletting and leeches."

"He's getting medicine?" the child asked.

"Yes. That's what all those tubes are for. They're putting medicine directly into his veins, so it works a lot faster," Allison tried to reassure her daughter.

Diana managed a little smile, and then walked back to sit down on a chair in the hall. Allison followed.

"Did you tell Adam?" Diana asked.

"Yes."

"Is he going to come down?"

"I don't know," said Allison. "I don't know when he's going to be allowed to leave."

"Daddy would want him here," said Diana.

"I know."

"Mrs. Gordon?" came a voice. It was Adam's doctor, approaching Allison and Diana where they sat.

"Yeah?" Allison said tiredly.

"Mr. Faulkner's just about made a full recovery. Now, are you going to take him home?"

"Yes. Is he ready now?"

"Yeah. Does he have any clothes he can wear out?" asked the doctor.

"I don't think so," said Allison. "Does he have to be dressed in regular clothes to be discharged?"

"No. I just thought he wouldn't want to step outside in a gown. But it's fine. And he wasn't brought in here with any possessions?"

"No. He didn't even have shoes on when they found him. Larry, neither."

"Alright. I'll tell him you'll be taking him home," said the doctor.

"He already knows. Come on, honey," Allison said to Diana as the two of them got up to go see Adam.

Adam was sitting in a chair in his room, happy to finally be rid of that IV for good. He couldn't stand how it made him feel—shackled, fettered, essentially chained up. That was a sensation he never wanted to feel again.

He had been given some hospital slippers to wear out of the building, but he thought they looked so stupid that he'd kicked them off and resolved to go barefoot. All he had with him was his bag of prescribed Vicodin, and the get well card Diana had given him.

He wondered for a second if he would be required to leave the hospital in a wheelchair—that's how it often was after surgery, or so he'd heard. But he felt fine, he'd been walking around of his own accord for the past few days.

Before he could start thinking about other things, things that scared him, things that excited him, Allison and Diana came into his room.

"Hey," Allison said gently.

"Hey," he answered.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah," he said, standing up. It felt good to let his right arm hang at his side again. That sling wasn't as annoying as the IV, but he was still so glad to be rid of it.

"Thanks for taking the time," he said as the three of them walked to the elevator and went down to the parking garage.

"Don't worry about it," said Allison.

"We want to help you out," Diana offered, reaching out to hold Adam's hand. He smiled down at her.

"I appreciate it," he said softly.

They got to the car, Diana sat in the backseat, and Adam in the passenger side seat. To ease the awkward silence, Allison turned on the radio. The news would have caused too much tension so she tuned the dial a bit until she found some music. She must've landed on a 90's station because the song that was playing was 'Closing Time' by Semisonic.

Adam leaned back and closed his eyes, absorbing the poignant and eerily relevant lyrics, allowing his mind to drift back to a simpler time.

But he still couldn't stop thinking about Lawrence. Now that he had admitted to himself that he liked him, what was he supposed to do with these feelings?

Look, why don't you quit being a little bitch and just ask him out or something? said his mind.

Ask him out?! he thought back. You don't just walk up to a guy in the hospital, hand him a beer and say "Hey, remember me? We were chained up in a bathroom for six hours. Will you go out with me?" No, it just isn't done that way.

Come on, Faulkner. Grow a pair and talk to him, Adam's mind argued back. At least broach the subject.

It's no use, man. I've thought it all out and it just wouldn't work. Besides, what have I got to offer him?

Well, for one thing, you can't act, Adam's brain reminded him as he thought back to his pathetic attempt to fake his own death back in that bathroom.

I'm serious. He's a rich, respected doctor.

So he's got class. So what? Adam just couldn't stop going back and forth with his own thoughts.

I'm a "bottom feeder," that's what. That's no kind of partner for a man like that, always scraping by with odd spy jobs. What kind of a future is that?

Well, you're going to have to face these feelings at some point, said his mind. The dude DID ask you to live with him. Couldn't that possibly mean he likes you, too?

It could. Or it could just mean he's lonely and wants a roommate after he gets divorced.

You do remember that he almost kissed you on the cheek that one time, right?

Yes. Key word ALMOST. Then he didn't. Maybe because he realized he didn't want to. Also, he's very sick at the moment. It's not really appropriate for me to be having these thoughts right now. Plus, what if he wakes up, has an epiphany and wants to get back together with his wife? Then what?

Fine. Be a pessimist. Deny everything. Move on with your sad, pathetic life. God forbid you look forward to something and find some positivity in it, right?

They drove through the city to the crummy, poor neighborhood in which Adam dwelled, found a space about half a block from his building, and got out of the car.

Adam definitely felt the inquisitive looks from passersby at his appearance, but being in a hospital gown, obviously having come from a HOSPITAL, was nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, he figured people were sympathizing with him rather than judging him.

He led his two companions up the dark stairs to his hallway, and at the door, he saw that his assumptions had been correct—there was, in fact, police CAUTION tape wrapped around his apartment door.

"Now, do you have keys…?" Allison asked awkwardly. She didn't know in what state Adam had been kidnapped from this place, what had been removed from his pockets before he was placed in that bathtub.

"There's a spare," he said, reaching up (he actually had to jump) to the lintel above the door, and produced a single, dusty key.

"Good," Allison sighed. Adam inserted his spare key into the lock and opened his door, using his free hand to yank down the police tape.

He turned on the light and stepped into his abode.

Allison and Diana stepped in lightly behind him and looked around. It certainly wasn't welcoming, but they figured Adam didn't entertain much.

Adam set his spare key on the table where he always tossed his regular keys, to find that his key chain and every key he owned was still there, right where he'd left them.

The closet from which his kidnapper had sprung was still open, nothing else looked like it had been touched or moved since the incident. He knew the police must've preserved everything and taken lots of photos. He quickly closed the door and looked around.

The baseball bat he had brandished against that puppet was just lying on the floor, so he picked it up and leaned it against a corner. The chair on which he had found the puppet was empty, much to his relief.

"I'm going to go change," he muttered, stepping into his bedroom and closing the door.

Allison and Diana wandered around a bit, looking at the filthy kitchen and the ancient television set in his living room.

"What's in there?" Diana asked, pointing to a small room with clothesline strung from wall to wall.

"I think that's where he develops pictures," said Allison. "Don't go in there."

"Why?"

"Because it's not our business," said Allison. She also didn't want to find out if there were still any pictures of her husband in there.

Within seconds, Adam emerged from his bedroom wearing a black t-shirt and baggy jeans. He walked over to his refrigerator and opened it, looking for any kind of beverage he could offer his guests.

"Alright, you guys want anything? I've got…looks like…expired milk, and…like, a centimeter of orange juice?" he trailed off.

Allison chuckled. "No, we have to get going. Just wanted to make sure you got home safe."

"Thank you, again," said Adam, coming over to where Allison stood at the door. "For everything."

"It's OK," she said in barely above a whisper, wrapping her arms around Adam's neck. "Thank you for saving Larry's life."

"Yeah. Thank you," said Diana, reaching up to hug him too. Adam crouched down and embraced the child.

"When Larry gets better, we should all go out to dinner or something," said Allison. Adam shrugged.

"Sure."

"Take care. And call us if you need anything," said Allison.

"Oh, right! Hang on," said Adam, dashing into his dark room to grab his phone, which, thankfully, was still there, along with his camera and CD player. "Let me give you my number."

"Right," said Allison, getting out her phone so the two of them could add each other as contacts.

"OK. Call me when Larry wakes up," said Adam. "Or if, y'know, you just want to talk."

"You, too."

"OK. Thanks again," said Adam. He followed the two of them out into the hall and carefully placed his spare key back on top of the door frame.

They said their goodbyes, and parted.

END OF CHAPTER 11
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