Disclaimer: I don't own Saw, or any of the music or movies I may reference.

Do you think you'd sell your soul
To just have one thing turn out right?
For the thousandth time
You turn and find
That it just makes no difference to try
-The Offspring

FLASHBACK, November 30, 2005

"Dr. Gordon, I'm sure you're wondering why I selected you out of all the adulterous doctors in the world."

"You've made your reasons for things very clear," Lawrence said with contempt.

The two of them were sitting in John's new lair—The Gideon Meat Packing Plant—as he could go back neither to the mannequin factory he used to operate out of, nor the factory from which he had monitored the players in the nerve gas house.

"As you know, my insurance refuses to cover any further experimental treatment or surgery," said the old man.

"I don't make the laws, John," said Lawrence.

"Which is why I need you to find me a surgeon who can be persuaded to work around the laws."

"You want me to kidnap one of my colleagues and drag them here to force them to perform surgery on you?" Lawrence asked incredulously.

"No. Your hands will be kept clean, Dr. Gordon. All I require is a name."

"A picture wouldn't hurt, either. And by the way," came a snarky voice. Lawrence turned around and saw a skinny, pale woman with dark brown hair and red lips. "We have your ex-wife and daughter's address. You can use your imagination as to what I'm implying."

Lawrence's eyes widened as he tried to control his temper; Amanda was always blunt, and it stung.

She saw the fear on his face. "If you can give us the name of a qualified brain surgeon by tomorrow, we can all go on living peacefully."

Lawrence gulped. How much further down this rabbit hole was he willing to go? Would the people he loved ever be safe again?

"I'll find someone. I promise."

The doctor limped slowly out of the room, past all the models and dolls, the twisted torture equipment and the dioramas of future games.

How did he ever agree to be a part of all this?

He stopped and looked over the scale model of the upcoming game that would take place in this very building. He hadn't been told much. He wasn't even sure if he was going to play a part in this ordeal. So far all he'd been asked to do is sew a key into someone's eye, which he had, and find the best brain surgeon in the business and give their name to John. He hadn't killed anyone yet.

…anyone besides Adam.

That poor, innocent young man. Lawrence couldn't keep himself from imagining what must have happened after he'd left him there, begging for him or anyone to come back. The pain in his shoulder, the dehydration accelerated by blood loss and the tears he must have shed.

Knowing that despite what Lawrence had promised, no one was coming back for him. He'd left him to die slowly, alone and terrified.

Lawrence covered his eyes with his hand and tried to hold back tears. He had fucked up everything.

He had all the evidence at his disposal. He could make one call to the police and this could all end. He might even be able to get an immunity deal, given all the information he had.

But he had already decided he wasn't going to have John arrested. The man would likely be dead in under a year. He would face retribution soon enough.

Plus, though he would never admit it, he was beginning to feel compassion for the old man. Creatively cruel as he was, he had been dealt a crappy hand. Lawrence treated people who were in John's same situation all the time. Most of them made their peace and went quietly.

But John found purpose and motivation in his limited days.

Lawrence envied that. When was the last time he had really been inspired by the work he did, much less inspired others to make more of their own lives?

He could learn from John. He could crumble from guilt and regret, or he could pick himself up from the puddle of putrid waste that used to be his soul and do something meaningful with his life.

He would help John live as long as possible, or he would find someone who could.

PRESENT DAY

As he'd anticipated, the police did in fact show up at his office to question Lawrence about the bathroom discovery. Lawrence had told them, after he had woken up in the hospital, everything he could. They had his testimony on record; the dirty, industrial bathroom, the corpse in the middle of the room, seemingly dead from a self-inflicted gunshot to the head. Adam—the young man he had been instructed to kill, and probably had. The hacksaws, the act of self-mutilation. And of course, Zep coming in and being beaten to death by Adam.

And now the police had discovered an industrial bathroom, in which were three skeletons, one of which belonged to Zep Hindle. Naturally, they had to reopen the case.

Lawrence managed to keep himself composed throughout the interview. He repeated the same things he had told them back in 2004, and his story hadn't changed. He still never mentioned being saved by John.

When the police asked if the room that had been discovered was the same room Lawrence had escaped from, he said he couldn't remember. When they showed him photographs of the room and the skeletons, he still said he couldn't remember.

Both parties agreed that it didn't make sense for it to be a different room, since Lawrence had stated that Zep had died in that bathroom, and they had found his skeleton there. How could it possibly be a different room? Unless there were two Zeps, and they had both been killed in identical bathrooms.

Lawrence had no plausible answer for this, but his claim that he couldn't remember was supported by the fact that at the time of his escape he had lost a near fatal amount of blood and was going into shock, that he was traumatized, and his claim that the identity of the third skeleton was NOT Adam.

He claimed he didn't remember much, but he knew for certain that Aaron Norwood and Adam were not one and the same.

"You're positive?" asked the detective. "I mean, you said the kid was hesitant to tell you his name, and he never did tell you his last name. So, for all you know, Adam wasn't even his real name."

"I see this picture," Lawrence said, pointing to the photograph of the man who had gone missing in 2004. "And I am a hundred percent certain that is not the man I was put in that room with."

"How can you be sure?" the detective challenged. "You two were at opposite ends of the room, you said. Did you even get a clear look at the kid?"

Lawrence's face darkened at this accusation. He felt his temper rise, his muscles tense and his heartrate increase. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper and said,

"I held him in my arms as he cried. I looked straight into his eyes. He begged me not to abandon him. I saw into his soul. I know who he was, Detective, and he was not the guy in this picture."

The police had to leave it at that, promising that they would return with more questions if they found any more evidence. But Lawrence successfully bluffed his way out of the situation and was soon left to return to his work.

His research and writing of reports were interrupted late in the afternoon when an intern popped into his office without knocking.

"Dr. Gordon?" he said softly.

"Yes?"

"Uh, this was dropped off for you," said the intern. He walked up and tossed a small envelope onto the desk. Lawrence barely looked up, assuming it was a check or a thank-you note from a patient or something. The intern left without saying anything and shut the door quietly.

Lawrence's eyes remained glued to his computer screen for another ten minutes before he glanced at the envelope.

It had no postage or return address. It simply said DR. GORDON in black letters.

Before he could give it any thought, the doctor peeled it open. All that it contained was a folded-up piece of paper, on which were written the words,

See the news?

END OF CHAPTER 06
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