"Sco-Scott? Are you...?" Adam faded off as he stared at his friend.
His best friend, once upon a time.
Scott stared back, brows scrunched together. His bound hands were curled up into fists, and he had a wild look in his eyes. "How—" he scoffed. "How are you here, Adam?"
Adam stepped closer, his mind racing.
He wanted to know if Scott was okay, first of all.
But of course not, he's in a fucking trap.
He didn't manage to ask before more questions filled his head. Questions about if Scott knew anything about what had happened to him. If he knew how long he had been here, or had any idea where 'here' was.
But he could only look, mouth still dumbly hanging open.
"The fuck are you..." Scott grumbled something to himself, then snapped, "Get me out of here!"
Adam finally choked out one of his questions. "Are you hurt?"
"Adam, I swear!"
Damn it, focus.
Scott was right, they could assess all of that later. If Adam and Lawrence had fought the entire time, or fussed over the useless details, they never would have gotten anything done. Instead, Lawrence had insisted on helping each other. On gathering and providing information.
Adam nodded and turned to look around.
Gather info. That's what he needed to do.
And surely there would be a tape recorder, or a note, or that creepy puppet somewhere nearby to give him some more arbitrary rules.
All he had to do was find it.
One step at a time.
Next to him was a heavy door. In the corner to his left, he spotted a tape recorder in the shadows. Adam walked closer.
It was hanging from a wire that traced back to the timer above them.
"S-so look around first," Adam murmured to himself. "The timer can't start if—"
"What?" Scott asked loudly.
Adam spun on his heels and walked over, gesturing to the tape recorder. "It's connected to the timer. So nothing will go off, nothing will hurt you, while I look around and figure out what to do."
Scott's eyes still looked wild. He hissed through his grit teeth, "Adam, you had better get me out of this right fucking now."
"I will in a second, just let me—"
"Adam!"
"You don't understand!" Adam shot back, then he slammed his mouth shut.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
"Excuse me?" Scott spat.
"Lis— just listen, okay? I've..." Adam let out a breath. "I've been through hell here, okay? I am telling you, if I look around, I can find something to help us." He stepped closer. "Just let me look."
He could already tell that hadn't landed. The look wasn't leaving Scott's face. The one that he always got after standing up t—
"Get the tape," Scott ordered, voice rising, "and get me out!"
But looking around was part of the game. Knowing your surroundings. The bathroom had proven that much. So many secrets were held within those four walls. So many clues. If they hadn't looked around, he and Lawrence might never have figured out the stakes, never found the hacksaws. Or they may have sawed their feet off from the beginning and left, helpless, to bleed to death in the green hallway.
Adam glanced at his bare and filthy left foot.
Maybe that's what he should have done.
Instead of having a fit at the beginning and breaking his saw, Adam should have cut himself free. He should have been the one crawling out, searching for help as his blood stained the tile and concrete. He should've had to be the one to bring someone back.
Or he could have just let Lawrence kill him the minute he found that gun. Or let him really poison him with those cigarettes. Lawrence would be with his wife and daughter right now, and the band of misfits at Adam's little funeral would get over it one day.
He had made so many choices. But it felt like the wrong one over, and over, and over.
Adam sighed.
He had trapped Lawrence here. He had dragged Scott into it, too.
He did this.
So why should he question Scott?
"Adam!" his friend snapped.
He looked up. "You-you're right. I'm sorry."
Scott grunted as Adam walked right towards the tape. He clicked it, and Jigsaw's too-familiar voice echoed out into the dark room.
"Hello Scott."
Scott continued to struggle against his restraints. Adam furrowed his brow.
Gotta listen, man.
He put the recorder to his ear.
"You have been friends with Adam for most of your life. A friendship should provide many things: comfort, support, care."
What did that have to do with anything? His friendship with Scott has been rocky for a while, but Scott was the only one who stuck with him all that time.
Only one who could 'put up with Adam's crap,' as Scott always put it.
"But in poor Adam's case, you've caused him nothing but pain. You have been the Puppet Master in his life, and he has been the pitiful little Marionette, ready to do your dirty work."
Adam frowned.
Wrong. This guy has it all wrong, it—
"The hell did you do?" Scott snapped.
Adam had a habit of accidentally causing a lot of problems. Call it bad luck. And Scott was there to help him understand where things fell apart.
But here? Now? What had he done?
He had no idea.
"I—"
"Adam might be pathetic, but you are despicable."
Adam winced.
Thanks, he's gonna love that one.
"What was that?" Scott yelled.
"Adam has sat back in the shadows his entire life, watching you work. Sometimes doing the deeds himself. But now, it is his turn to play the Puppet Master."
"Oh, how fucking poetic!"
"Scott, ple—"
"Shut up, Adam!"
"Adam, I hear you always wanted to take a shot at the drums. Well, this is your chance."
Adam's blood ran cold.
"How do you know all this?" he whispered.
His eyes snapped up to the camera, as if they could hear him from all the way over there. As if they would give him an answer.
All he got was Scott shouting, "You and your damn drums!"
"The wires holding Scott in place are connected to the machine nearby. You must sever the connection to set him free. The only way to get him down is to set off the machine near you. It will cut his ropes."
Adam looked at the wires on Scott's limbs. They all hovered over blades, blades that had thick wires running to some box — the machine in question, probably — that connected up to the half-finished drum set.
Circuit.
"Close the circuit," Adam said under his breath.
"The machine will turn on once you correctly play a set rhythm on the drums in front of you. The sheet music for your performance is behind that door. All you have to do is open it, and put your knowledge to the test."
Scott demanded, "Open that damn door!"
Adam looked at it.
No way it's that easy.
"In ninety seconds, the ropes will fully extend, ripping Scott limb from limb. And every time you get the notes wrong, they will tighten further."
Scott's eyes looked like they were about to bulge out of their sockets. "Adam!"
"The band already tried to tear you apart. Now, we will see if it finishes the job."
Get Scott out. Get Lawrence out, get Scott out, get—
I have to get him out of this.
"Scott! Scott, just hang on, it'll be okay!"
"Adam, can you take control? Or are you forever bound to be an apathetic pawn?"
"Who the hell is that?"
"I don't know!"
"Make your choice"
Adam heard a click and he spun around. He lost his balance and doubled over. The world faded in and out, a ringing started up in his ears.
Shit, shit, not now.
He gasped for air.
All the while, a mechanism was making loud sounds and Scott was screeching over it.
"Adam! What are you doing?"
Adam groaned and looked at the timer.
81...
"Fuck!" he hissed.
He was wasting time. Had just wasted precious seconds. He was always so good at messing stuff up.
He looked at Scott. "I-I'm gonna fix this! You're gonna be alright!"
Scott kept shouting. The ropes tightened as each second went by.
76...
Adam ran over to the heavy-looking door below the timer.
Open it, and get the sheet music. That's what he had to do.
72...
"Adam, what the fuck do I do, what, what do I—"
There was no way it was that easy.
He tuned out the whirring of the machines and the yelling. He needed just a moment. All of the tricks from the bathroom, and this house...
There had to be something here.
68...
"Come on, Adam! Please!" Scott's tone made Adam wince.
He hadn't sounded like that since they were kids.
Adam slammed his hands against the wall.
Do it, do it, come on Stanheight.
He grabbed the doorknob and started to open it.
He froze.
There was resistance there. Resistance against the handle. Even starting to turn it was a struggle.
Adam took in a deep breath and peeked in through the door. Connected to the opposite side was a black wire.
Adam's gaze followed the wire and—
Shotgun.
Adam slammed the door.
Gun. There was a gun. Not just a gun, a shotgun. He closed his eyes and thickly swallowed.
Open the door, and boom. It'd be over. No Adam left to save Scott.
Careful.
61...
Adam's eyes flew open.
He grabbed the door handle, crouched, and slid to the side.
The shot echoed in his ears.
58...
He sat there for a moment, shivering.
If he hadn't looked, if he hadn't taken the time to figure that whole thing out, he would've taken another round to the shoulder. And that was best case scenario.
Can't believe a single thing these tapes say.
He forced himself off the ground and through the door.
In the middle of the small closet, a sheet of music was dangling by a clothespin on a string. He yanked the sheet off and marched to the drums. Scott continued to scream at him, but he was doing his best to tune him out.
52...
Tighter. Those ropes were getting tighter. Adam could hear the strain as the ropes pulled against Scott.
"Hurry up, Adam, please!"
He was. He would.
Adam reached the drums and looked at them. There were four parts to this set.
A bass, a snare, and a ride and crash cymbal.
Lark had tried out the drums before and gave Adam makeshift lessons. Reading the music was never something Adam was too comfortable with.
But he'd have to make an exception now.
He let out a breath and put the sheet on the rickety music stand, squinting at it. "C'mon, c'mon."
There were four different notes. Four different parts of the drum. Two circles and two X's.
Circles were drums. Lark had taught him that. Two drums and two cymbals.
Full fuckin' set.
Or half-set, anyway.
Only other thing he remembered was FACE for the spaces between the lines. Although Lark said it didn't matter for percussion, it stuck with Adam. And thank fuck for that. F at the bottom, E at the top. 'Where eyes go,' Lark had rattled off, as if he'd heard it a million times.
Adam didn't notice at first, but he started rambling to himself under Scott's noise. "First note, circle, C, the, the..."
Adam ran his fingers through his hair.
Then he slammed his finger on the note. "Snare."
If he had a pencil, he could write a reminder. But he didn't have the luxury.
Didn't have the time, anyway.
He looked at the snare drum on his left and put his hand on it before looking at the other notes.
Then Scott's screaming got louder.
"Hurry the fuck up, man, please! This shit—"
His own screams cut him off.
45...
The next note was an X. A cymbal. Way high up on the sheet. So high up that they made up a new line for it.
"Shit," Adam whispered.
He always got these mixed up. They were so close together.
He studied it, held the sheet close to his face.
"Crash," he decided aloud.
Maybe it was right. Maybe it wasn't. But going with his gut was better than dawdling all day and wasting Scott's precious seconds.
Okay, snare, crash cymbal.
And next was the ride. Right above E.
"Snare, crash, ride."
38...
Adam swore he heard something tear as Scott screamed.
He turned around, and his eyes widened.
Scott was suspended in the air, stretching out between the tightening ropes. Tears ran down his face and his eyes were closed. "Adam, please!" he choked out through his grit teeth.
Adam faced the drums again. He kept staring at the sheet.
It was quaking in his hands.
Snare, crash, ride, F, F, F, F.
"Bass!" he shouted. Although he couldn't hear it over Scott.
32...
Adam picked up the drumsticks next to him and pounded out the notes in order.
Snare, crash, ride, bass.
26...
He heard a blood-curdling scream. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
"Idiot!" Scott shouted between his grit teeth.
He didn't want to look. He couldn't. His heart beat against his ribs.
He fucked up. Where? How?
"What did I do, what did I do, what did I—"
He gasped.
The cymbals. He mixed the cymbals up.
'Ride to the right.' Lark's silly little mantra echoed in his ears.
"Fuck!" Adam snapped.
19...
The sticks slipped in his clammy palms. He cursed again and forced himself to beat out a rhythm.
Didn't have to be good. It had to be right. Fuck the proper way to hold the sticks anyway.
Snare, crash, ride, bass.
Adam turned around to look at Scott.
And he let out a silent sigh of relief as the machine chugged to life.
The sticks slipped out of his hands and clambered to the ground. Adam raced over. The wheels in the contraption spun, just like the blades near the ropes.
They sliced through and Scott fell to the ground in a heap.
"Scott!"
Adam knelt down and grabbed his shoulders. "Scott? Scott, I'm here."
His friend was quaking under his touch. Tears were mingling with the beads of sweat rolling down his face. He jerked away from Adam, eyes wide.
Scared. When was the last time Scott Tibbs was scared?
Adam forced words out.
"Are-are you okay?"
Then he sighed.
Of course he wasn't okay, none of this was okay.
Adam should have taken the bullet instead of milling around and wasting time. Should have just done what he was told instead of asking questions.
So stupid.
He needed to figure this out. Whether Adam liked it or not, their lives hinged on him. He was the one with experience now. The one with some sort of direction.
He needed to get them both out.
Adam didn't reach for Scott again. But he did try to offer a smile.
"You'll be okay."
He choked on his next words. Words he wished he could say to Lawrence, too.
"We're gonna get you outta here," he whispered.
He couldn't fail. Not again.