Dr. Lawrence Gordon

He still smelled burnt bacon and there was always that pain that shocked through his system in throbbing blitzes. The adrenaline had receded. The dizziness almost pulled him into the darkness, but the sudden splash of water had him open his eyes to stare into the face of a haunting old man. Death himself.

"Congratulations, Doctor Gordon, you survived."

He could not conjure words or thoughts and simply fell back asleep.

Voices filled his dreams, one deep and gruff, the other whispery like silk.

"So it's done?" A wide figure stood over him, another one of Death's cronies.

"Yes. He did well."

"So what do you want me to do with him?"

"Take him back to our workshop. We will need to care for him until he is ready to go home."

"You sure you want us to keep him? He'll see too much."

"Let me worry about that."

"Fine." He felt hands under his armpits hoisting him up, roughly, a grunt rumbled nearby. He felt as though he was flying.

"Careful, Detective," the old man's voice pulled him back to consciousness. "Treat him with the respect he deserves. Unlike the others, he has shown he has what it takes."

"Fine."

Why? Why could he not simply sleep? His body was damaged. He would be dead soon. So just let me sleep, he prayed.

"I'm no doctor, but won't he need a blood transfusion? He feels cold."

"That he will. Amanda has prepared for this."

"Diana?" Gordon muttered and he stopped flying. The woman's name had sounded like Diana to him.

"Where's the wife and kid?"

"Amanda is checking in on them as we speak."

"So they made it? Was wondering about that, after I saw Zepp in the room. So what's the logic there, the kid not appreciate life? Didn't know you wanted to start bringing in test subjects so young."

Gordon tried to yell out. How dare they. He knew they were talking about his daughter. How dare they involve her.

"Zepp's… behavior was not anticipated. An unfortunate diversion from my expectation."

"So you didn't think the kid was in danger? Could have fooled me."

"I assure you, Detective, I have no intention of harming children."

"Then why involve the kid at all? Why not just knock her out until the game is over and drop her off at the fire station?"

Gordon was too weak to scream but he still felt fear.

Is Diana and Ally okay? Please, God, let them be okay.

"When will you learn to trust me, Detective?"

"You and I both know that all of this went down and almost got out of control."

"But in the end, every piece fell into place."

"Next time, John, I don't want kids involved."

"Detective, there are many subjects who are parents. And the only way to break some out of their own mental prison is to remind them that they are responsible for those too weak and still not ready for the cruelty of the world."

As the thick and strong arms dragged him away from death's whispery voice, he heard his carrier mutter under his breath, low and thick, "hypocritical bastard."

The exhaustion was too great for Lawrence, so he let the sleep come - pulling him into its deep quiet.

Allison Kerry

"How do you plan on approaching this?" Hoffman asked her as they studied Diana Gordon through the one way mirror. Kerry sighed.

Another survivor. Thank God.

She wasn't ready to face this one. A mother and her daughter. Her husband, still missing. They would have questions. Demand answers. And Kerry would not be able to offer much.

Jigsaw was still at large, that damn puppet's face always plastered on news outlets.

Jigsaw still at large. MPD incompetent.

Her own portrait would be shown, smiling dumbly through the screen while the spokesman would loudly vocalize the building anger of the public. The storm was growing. The mob had begun to sharpen their pitchforks.

"The lead of the investigation, Detective Allison Kerry, clearly is outside her depth and needs to step down for someone more capable. After the retirement of Lead Detective David Tapp, the MPD Homicide Department has been fumbling about trying to fill the void. This city continues to live in fear as this crazed serial killer walks among us. Who will be the next caught in one of this monster's sadistic traps? A petition for Detective Kerry to step down has been gaining public attention."

"Kerry." Hoffman put a hand on her shoulder and she jolted. Blinking, briefly disoriented, she realized he was watching her with pity in his eyes. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I should be asking you that," she muttered, knowing she shared the same thick bags and dark shadows under her eyes as Hoffman wore these days. She could not rest. The guilt would keep her awake. How could she ever relax knowing she was the one responsible for catching the bastard?

And she was failing.

She wouldn't rest until Jigsaw was caught. But it was just her, Hoffman, and Fisk. Matthews stayed in his basement 'office', sulking and smoking, refusing to step up. Apparently, the commissioner and director of the FBI had a pissing match, so they wouldn't send Lindsay or Strahm anytime soon. And Will. Will was off trying to solve some dead case, Strahm in tow, while an active case continued to mow victims down.

"If you need, I'll take point," Hoffman offered.

At least she had Hoffman.

"I've got this, but thanks. Back me up. She'll probably ask about her husband. You can explain about the child victim advocate process."

"Yeah. This is a lucky break," he added, the faintest turn of his lip more forced than genuine. "We'll get him, Kerry."

She nodded, relieved, glad he had become so helpful and involved with this one. She regretted all the times she had side-eyed his work, now appreciating his presence in this hell more than anything else.

"Hey," Fisk entered the observer's room. "We're ready. I'll be in here recording."

"I'll wave you in if I need you," Kerry called over her shoulder as she and Hoffman left to enter the adjacent room.

Alison Gordon was hugging herself, curled forward over the table, defensive and exhausted. When Kerry and Hoffman entered she jolted up with doe eyes before softening in relief.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Alison," Kerry gently smiled. "I'm Detective Allison Kerry. This is Detective Mark Hoffman. Thank you for seeing us."

"Yeah. I want to help. Lawrence is still out there. Please, find him."

She kept the grimness from her face. It was unlikely Dr. Gordon was still alive. "We'll do everything we can to bring him home."

"I saw his face." Alison Gordon volunteered, jaw clenched. "I recognized the freak. He works at my husband's hospital. I don't remember his name. But he was an orderly."

Hoffman was scribbling the notes down. "Mrs. Gordon, can you start from the beginning? How far back do you remember when you and your daughter were kidnapped?"

"Lawrence had just left for work." Her face twisted and she shut her eyes, a sob escaping her lips. "And then Diana screamed. When I got to her room, the man was standing over her, covered in a bedsheet. He grabbed her." Tears burst and streamed down her cheeks. Kerry slide a box of tissues towards her, waiting for her to collect herself. Alison Gordon took a tissue and wiped her face, shoulders shaking as she moaned into the paper.

Hoffman continued to write in his notebook next to her, focused intently on his writing. He was avoiding Mrs. Gordon's eyes.

Now's not the time to be awkward, Hoffman.

"I tried to fight him. But he had a gun. I should have stopped him. But I couldn't make myself move fast enough."

"You did the right thing," Kerry put a hand out, gently touching the woman's balled fist. "You and your daughter are safe now."

"When he grabbed Diana, what did you do?" Hoffman softly asked, keeping the conversation focused.

"He put the gun to Diana's head, told me to be quiet. Or he would shoot her. He had me tie her to the bed. And gag her. And then to tie my feet. Then he bound my wrists. He kept us gagged there for hours. He had a cell phone and it would ring every so often."

"What did he say?"

"Just yes or no - I couldn't figure out but I think he was getting instructions. And then he took out of her closet all these monitors. Oh, god, he had been in our house and somehow stored all this equipment without any of us knowing. How?" Diana was rubbing her temple, her emotions growing hot with anger. "That bastard. You have to stop him."

Kerry looked to Hoffman who was turning to the mirror, giving one distinct nod. She knew Fisk was likely calling in for all available bodies to head over to the Angel of Mercy Hospital to begin the hunt for the orderly.

"We will. Can you go over what he was doing? His behavior? What did he tell you? Anything will help."

"He kept saying Lawrence's time was running out. That he was waiting for a phone call. He was so cruel. He told me he was going to kill him. And - oh, god," her eyes brightened with recollection. "Another man - a cop - he broke in. He saved us. How could I forget?"

Kerry blinked, confused. She looked to Hoffman who flipped pages back, also looking thrown off. "Sorry, another man? That was not in the initial report you told the officer on scene."

"No - I - I'm so sorry - I - no, I don't remember everything when I first spoke to the officer who arrived. But I assumed you already knew - he came in with his gun. He called himself police - and he helped us. A-are you saying that was someone else?"

"Well - it may just be a detail we're not tracking yet," Kerry tried to soothe. "But we had not received report of a second man from the arriving officer on the scene." She looked to Hoffman who shook his head as he flipped through the pages of the report.

"I'm sorry, I - I don't recall what I told him."

Kerry was not surprised. The ordeal had happened only hours ago. She was still in shock. The fact she was sitting across from her and able to share anything was short of impressive endurance on the woman's part. "Take a breath, Mrs. Gordon. It's okay. Nice and easy. You and your daughter are safe now." She waited for the woman to collect herself, allowing the clock on the wall to tick peacefully by. "When did this second man appear?"

"When I tried to take the gun from the bastard."

"Let's focus on that," Hoffman suggested, "Elaborate. You," he flipped back and read aloud, "Managed to free yourself and catch him off-guard. Before or after did the second man arrive?."

"Well," Mrs. Gordon sighed. "I had loosened my bindings. But then I heard him in the other room. Jigsaw."

"Did he claim to be Jigsaw?" Hoffman interrupted, his calm holding a glimmer of curiosity.

"No," Mrs. Gordon bit her lip. "But it's him, isn't it? Who else could he be?"

"We're still trying to figure that out. He could be an accomplice. Though this is an unprecedented case. You and your daughter are now the third and fourth survivors-,"

"That we know of," Hoffman calmly added. Kerry threw him a warning glance, not wanting to terrify the poor woman any further or complicate the questioning.

"Oh, God. Do you think Lawrence is dead?"

"There's still hope," Hoffman softly comforted, surprisingly tactful. "The sooner we know everything you know, the better his chances."

"Right. Right. Sorry. Well, Jigsaw - the man - he was angry. He was in the other room and constantly shouting at his screens. And I think he was sick. He coughed all the time. I heard the gun getting loaded. And I knew our time was running out. I tried to untie Diana but the knots were too tight. I could hear him getting ready to come out. So I pretended to still be tied. And then Jigsaw - he came out of the room. And he went to me. Told me Lawrence's 'time was up'. He said he 'had to do what he had to do'. He had a phone that he had been calling Lawrence with and I was supposed to tell him he failed. He had already told me that he would kill me if Lawrence failed. So I knew I had nothing to lose." She wiped another tear. "So when I told Lawrence he failed, I grabbed Jigsaw's gun as fast as I could."

"That was brave," Hoffman encouraged her to continue.

"I managed to get it out of his grasp. I pointed the gun at him. I needed Diana. That was all I cared about. But - it's all a blur. He pushed me down. He was so strong - I couldn't hold onto the gun. But then I heard a crash. And then the other man attacked him." The light danced from the gloss of her eyes, lips parted as she whispered, "Yes, I can see the cop's face right now. Clearly. He was a black man. Older. He burst into the room, fought with Jigsaw. The gun went off. And Jigsaw was gone and the man chased him." She was trembling, eyes distant, as if she was trapped in her memories.

"Any other features? Scars, tattoos?"

Mrs. Gordon blinked. "Yes. He had a terrible voice. And I saw his neck. He had a terrible scar on it. Like he had his throat slit."

Kerry and Hoffman shot alarmed glances at each other. Kerry knew immediately who it was.

"If you saw a picture of the man, would you be able to identify him?" Hoffman got to his feet.

"Yes. He saved us. I don't know if he's one of the good guys, but to me, he was an angel."

Hoffman stepped out, shortly coming back with a framed photograph. Kerry recognized the picture of David Tapp, the very same placard normally hung on the wall of fallen heroes outside the breakroom.

"That's him! Oh my god, so he is a cop? Thank God he was there." Alison Gordon was smiling, shining, and Kerry felt her eyes burn in gratitude.

Thanks, Tapp.

But that left some new problems. What happened to him? And where is he now?

"Gordon's neighbor's here," Fisk announced, looking uncertain at Kerry and Hoffman who were gathering their notes after Alison Gordon had left. "But we need someone at the hospital. They're not giving us anything on their staff without a warrant."

"You kidding me?" Kerry sighed, her head throbbing. "You'd think they'd want to not get in our way trying to catch the prick."

"Hospitals always get cagey when it involves releasing records. They brought out their lawyers."

"Christ."

"Kerry, go. Fisk and I've got this," Hoffman stepped forward. "I'll have Grissom get that warrant faxed over. It's now," he checked his watch, "Sunday morning - Judge is probably getting out of church."

Kerry bit her lip, not wanting to leave to play politician.

Hoffman must have recognized her hesitation, adding, "I know Tapp will be most forthcoming with you, out of us three."

"You think he's still out there?"

He paused for half a second. "He's a survivor. He's probably ready to gloat to us on how two steps ahead he's been. Grissom will lose his shit." Kerry's gut flipped at the slight twitch of Hoffman's mouth. She felt as though he was lying. But maybe he didn't want to share a more pessimistic outlook with her. Maybe it was just the fifth cup of coffee she had before the interviews playing tricks with her mind.

It's probably their bad blood. They just hate each other. That's all that's about.

"I'll head over then."

"Try to bring Matthews," Hoffman added, "It's not safe going alone."

She let out a breath of dark humor. "Yeah, if he'll go."

Amanda Young

She pulled her sleeves over her wrists, insecure at the slight bulge from the bandages. John would be angry when he saw. But she had gotten nervous, thinking about Adam. His face, his smile, his kindness. She needed the pain to remind her of who she was and what she deserved.

John needed her and she couldn't let him down. But the silence - the thoughts - she needed to get her mind focused on the bite of the blade and the rush of adrenaline with the heavy beat of her heart to drown out the thoughts in her head.

The second guesses. They kept trying to worm their doubts.

What is this is wrong?

No, it wasn't. It couldn't be.

A noise announced their return. She quickly looked around to make sure everything was put away and hidden and then went to them.

When she saw Hoffman and John enter with the doctor in the wheel barrow, she snapped to action. She had prepared a recovery station for the blood transfusions. She had prepared two beds. "John," she wanted to throw her arms around him, but chose to grab his robe and wrap his shoulders with it. "I'll get you some water. Are there any other survivors?" He was shivering, still in his underwear, damp and looking sickly.

"No." John's answer smacked into her and caused her to freeze in shock.

He didn't make it? She stood frozen to the concrete while John and Hoffman went about their business not noticing her upset.

"Where's the painkillers?" Hoffman interjected and for once she was relieved to see him. His stupid face filled her with renewed anger. Anger was good. Anger gave her strength.

"No." John held his hand out and planted it on the doctor's shoulder. "Let him work through the pain. This is part of his rehabilitation. To face the suffering and to triumph over it."

"He needs a blood bag if he's going to work through anything. Amazing he's made it this long."

John nodded. "That, we better be quick with. Amanda, if you please."

Amanda led them to the nook far from the majority of surgical steel and aluminum shelving and pulled open the makeshift curtain held up by rusted wire tied to the hooks bolted to the walls. Cameras were pointed over the setting, in case Gordon found himself strong enough to try escape. But it would be unlikely, considering the leather straps that were attached to the hospital bed. She went to the minifridge where the blood packs were stored.

Behind her, she heard Hoffman grunt to lift Gordon onto the bed as the doctor let out a low moan, whispering, "Ally? Diana? …who are you people?"

Amanda blinked, and blurted out, "They're fine. Your neighbors are with them. And the police are with them." She darted her gaze to Hoffman and he nodded with a grim frown. He understood the problem with that. Police meant Gordon wouldn't be dropped off until they were gone. Hoffman would take care of the police. He's good for that, Amanda hated to admit. That's all he's good for, though.

"You can help by bringing John some water before you leave," she was trying to not come off as hateful as she sounded, per John's request for her to try to be more civil with the cop, but it came out full of venom anyway.

He turned, expression wickedly amused, and stepped toward her.

For a split second, Amanda felt a wave of fear, wondering what he would do.

"A glass of water would be appreciated, Detective, thank you."

A slight smirk lifted his lips and he brushed by her as he left. He had seen her terror and knew he had won this silent spar. "Hiss all you want, you're all bark," he muttered under his breath so only she could hear. Her face burned and her balled up fists trembled at her sides.

"Amanda, please, Doctor Gordon needs to be our top priority."

She turned, feeling mildly hurt that John did not acknowledge how difficult Hoffman was, but smiled. "Of course, John." She brought the blood pack and hung it above the nearby intravaneous pole.

Doctor Gordon looked like he was in a bad spot. He was pale. Sweating. Gray shadows lined his eyes and face. "Adam. We need to save Adam. Please."

She felt the blood drain from her face. Adam was still down in that basement bathroom. And he will stay there. She cleared her throat and tried to push the thoughts away. "So what's the plan with him?" This was the first survivor John had ever brought back here. That meant something. She wanted to hear him out before she jumped to conclusions, but she was nervous and impatient. Was this going to be another one of John's selected? Another Hoffman to compete for John's attention and affection? Another man to get in the way?

"We will ensure he makes it through this. He will die if we do not intervene."

"Why him?" Amanda blurted out before thinking. "Why not leave him to figure it out on his own?"

"The game is over. He won. It is only fair to give him a chance to recover from his injury." John carefully took a needle and pressed it into Gordon's inner arm, aligning the metal to the vein. Amanda tapped her foot, impatient, arms folded until he finally added, "He could be of use."

Amanda half wondered if this was because he was an oncologist, able to care for John as the cancer progressed. It had to be. "What about Adam?"

"He had the key. And he lost it. He should have been more careful."

"How did he lose the key?"

"Who knows?" He sounded unconcerned. Amanda's heartbeat quickened.

"He'll starve."

"He knew the rules, Amanda. He lost the game and must now suffer the consequences."

She blinked, surprised by John's callousness. "But all the others - theirs was a quick death. So why make Adam suffer? This is -,"

"Torture?" John looked up at her with a small smile. "Pain?"

"Yes, John. Shouldn't we…"

"We are not murderers, Amanda. Adam still has a chance. With enough… willpower… he still has the means of escaping his prison."

She suddenly felt a rush of hope. "Like how?"

"Amanda, can you please boil some water and return with some antiseptic?" John chose to ignore her question, engrossed in studying the stump of Gordon's leg, paying her no further mind.

She pursed her lips together, wanting to snap at him but held it back. "Yes, John," she left him, heading towards their kitchenette, a makeshift breakroom of a propane stove, sink, and refrigerator.

Hoffman was there, hunched over the wooden counter, staring off in the distance. He turned at the sound of her approach but said nothing. She suddenly didn't want to start a fight with him. He was the only other. And as they locked eyes she recognized that indignant fire that she felt burning in her heart. We were here first. And now there's an intruder in our midst.

"What else does he need?" Hoffman had three bottled waters in his arms, the plastic frosting from the humidity.

"Antiseptic. Boiled water." She loudly dug through the shelves for the giant pot and put it in the industrial sink, blasting the faucet to drown out the intrusions of her own inner dialogue.

What's John planning?

Will he let him go?

What if he talks?

He's seen all our faces. If he talks, they'll all get screwed.

There's no way around it. He needs to go.

The pot was full so she stopped the water. A steady drip echoed in the room.

"He can't leave here. Not until we're sure he's going to keep his mouth shut." Hoffman, who rarely spoke first, broke the silence and was rummaging at the shelves above the fridge, pulling out a bottle of iodine. She turned to him, watching him, silently agreeing.

"John knows what he's doing." She wanted to believe this, but this was the first time she felt so insecure about it. She had not expected Gordon to live. Or Adam, for that matter. And yet…

"Let's hope so. Otherwise, it's back to prison."

She smirked. "Yeah, well, did it once. I can handle it. But how about you? Cops don't last long behind bars. A lot of payback comes their way." The idea of him getting a beat down made her feel giddy. "I hear they're extra nice to pretty boys like you, too."

He narrowed his eyes. "That won't happen. I'm not going to jail."

She scoffed. "Big talk. But I bet you're all talk. What, you'd rather die first before letting them arrest you? Go out, guns blazing?"

He smirked back. "Guess we'll see, won't we."

"See, this is why I don't trust you." She pulled up the pot and carefully placed it over the propane stove, turned on the gas, and waited for the click of the flint to ignite the flame. "I know you cops are close. I thought you'd look out for each other, at least. But not you. You'd stab 'em in the back without flinching, huh?"

"If it means staying out of prison, yes." His tone held menace, laced with a hidden message in his sneer. If I can kill my friends easily, imagine what I can do with my enemies.

"If you're not attached to your precious fellow cops, then there's little you can do to gripe when it's time to test Eric Matthews."

Hoffman rolled his eyes. "You and Matthews. You're obsessed."

"He's the reason my life went to shit. In fact, so are you." She allowed herself that last bite, to be honest with him. Her eyes stung and she stared intensely into the pot of water as bubbles began to form. "You're lucky John likes you."

"Didn't John teach you that the 'heart cannot be involved'?"

She let out a low laugh. "That's your lesson. Me? I've got other demons. It was your heart that got you into this."

"Then what's your lesson?"

She had no idea. John never explicitly told her what she could not do. Only that she had to give every ounce of herself to him. But she knew the catalyst had been her addiction. But her lesson? She was still searching for it. She swallowed, thinking how cold it must be down there, in that dark, dank bathroom, where no one can hear you scream. What lesson would Adam learn? And what was she supposed to learn from any of this? "That's none of your business."

Mark Hoffman

He got home, his neck and shoulders tight and sore, ready to collapse on his bed. He had six more hours until he had to wake up for work. He smiled to himself, thankful for the reprieve. Now that one of John's most elaborate games was finished, the old man now had his prized survivor to focus on. Mark enjoyed a noticeable lack of orders or instructions. That meant he had less oversight. Finally.

Kerry and Fisk had sent him home - the three of them were rotating shifts, now focusing on interviews and waiting on forensics to return with lab results. This would take weeks of waiting. Hoffman was thankful for it.

He wouldn't try to bring up the lack of workload to either John or Kerry and instead spent the day nodding off at his desk and his night finishing the latest traps. He even had the time to clean up the workshop before leaving. He turned off his burner phone, and slunk away before anyone remembered to throw one final order at him.

He had locked the door to his apartment, eyes scanning for anything amiss. He could never be too careful these days. Though he was sure Amanda didn't know where he lived, he always expected John to have a means of finishing off Mark when he was no longer useful.

He knew too much. He knew this.

But he also knew John more, now, and was ready for any violation of his home. The door knob had a distinct scratch he left so if not properly rotated in the right position, he would know someone had tried to come into his apartment. There were a couple of detail markers he looked for - hair subtly stuck to the foyer drawers that would fall off if someone tried to stick their nose in his things. The healthy coating of dust on the walnut surface made him feel relaxed. He had purposely neglected deep cleaning his place these days, not wiping down furniture or the floors, scanning for any unrecognizable tracks.

He looked at the corner of the living room, where, hidden behind the books and DVDs, was his camera, recording perpetually while he was gone. He went to it, brushing aside the books, taking out the cable from the far back, and plugging it into his TV.

He grabbed the remote, turning the TV on, and turned to study the environment. The magazines were kept neatly arranged on the coffee table. The couch and recliner were as unused as he had left them. Blankets neatly folded. The kitchen, also unused, save for the lone shot glass by the sink. He hadn't remembered the last time he ate at home. Normally, it was a can of tuna at the workshop or instant ramen when he was moonlighting. At work, he just ordered fast food or opted for the donuts in the break room.

Despite the options being grossly unhealthy, he had lost a notable amount of weight, working for John. He would likely skip a meal tonight, opting for extra sleep instead. He fast forwarded the recording, watching as the light from the window being the only change as the entire day sped through in front of his eyes with static jaggedly crossing the screen. Satisfied that no one had come into his home, he decided to let his guard down and relax.

He got ready for bed. He showered, brushed his teeth, threw on sweats, and sat on his bed with a grunt of relief. In his nightstand drawer, was his main cell phone. He turned it on and let it process and wake up as he prepared to wind down. He got under the covers, his muscles aching as he sank into the mattress. He flipped open the cell phone and saw the single voicemail notification. His stomach flipped, worry a wave that took away his moment of hesitated, wondering what bad news or misfortune he'd have to confront when he checked the inbox but finally held down the 1 button and braced himself.

"You have… one… new message."

"Hey, Mark." Her voice broke though and all his anxiety evaporated. He sat up, ear pressed against the receiver, eagerly savoring every decibel of her voice. "Just calling because -," her voice trailed off, hesitation thick. And he recognized this inherent need, calling to him, pleading. His heart was skipping. "Not to sound corny here but I miss you. Hope you're well. Gimme a call sometime. We can catch up. Later."

He should call her back. But it was three in the morning here. It wasn't a good time.

What time was it in California right now? Midnight?

His phone clicked, followed by, "To replay, press one."

Mark felt warm and euphoric. She missed him. She needed him. A sudden wave of pride swelled in his chest and he smirked to himself. Strahm not cutting it for you, Will? He immediately replayed the recording.

"Hey, Mark, just calling because… Not to sound corny here but I miss you. I hope you're well. Gimme a call sometime. We can catch up. Later."

He had his eyes closed, pretending the audio was crisp and clean, as if she was sitting right next to him and not hundreds of miles away. He pretended she was resting her cheek right against his shoulder, saying this just below his ear.

He pressed the 1 button again. "Hey, Mark, just calling because… Not to sound corny here but I miss you." Her voice, by itself, reminded him how insufficient it was. He needed more of her. Where's the box?

He kept listening to her voice, replaying the message, and went to retrieve his mementos of her. The box of all the treasures he had collected, ever since he had first met her. "I hope you're well. Gimme a call sometime. We can catch up. Later."

He had an old lipstick tube, the faded brass cylinder completely spent and for some reason, she had stopped using that color after she had tossed it in the waste bin by his desk in the summer of '89. Fired Up in the faded label declared the color.

"Hey, Mark, just calling…"

An old hair tie, satin and bright green, another symbol of that decade that she would always wear in her hair or around her wrist to control that crazy hair when she had gone through lazy periods of not taming it in the morning. Back then, she always wore her hair wild, all glamrock and crazy.

"...Not to sound corny here…"

Old movie ticket stubs, of Beetlejuice and Rambo. The Silence of the Lambs and E.T. They used to go to the theaters Friday nights. He could practically smell the popcorn and cigarettes, blended with her shampoo and strawberry body spray.

"I miss you."

Her hand written notes, mostly work reminders to him.

Don't forget - Grissom's work anniversary.

Don't forget - bug spray tomorrow!

Always for him. He smiled at one of her notes. One of a poorly drawn caricature of a cartoon man with steam blowing out of his ears, an arrow crudely pointed with HOFFMAN labeling the hothead. The eyes weren't focused and the drool had been inaccurate. He used to hate that thing. But now, he smiled, his fingers continuing further into the box, pushing away the innocent contents, pausing as it brushed against the soft fabric.

"…I hope you're well…"

It had been one of those weeks she bummed at his house, leaving her clothes all over the place, never tracking what she had brought or left at home. She had always been a hurricane with her laundry. The black laced thong was something he had known would have crossed the line - but he hadn't been able to resist when it had greeted him under the sheets back then. She never asked for it back. She never even noticed.

"Gimme a call sometime. We can catch up later."

He felt his pants tighten and he closed the box, holding the lacy fabric in between his fingers, knowing he couldn't control himself tonight.