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

Now it's gone too deep
You wake me in my sleep
My dreams become nightmares
'cause you're ringing in my ears
-No Doubt

PRESENT DAY

Lawrence stared at the note in his hand as he felt what he was sure must be ice water run through his veins.

He took a deep breath and then sighed. He thought this was over, and now he was being pulled back in.

He almost laughed at the cliché.

Laughing lightened his heart a little, and he remembered the possibility that could just be somebody messing with him.

That intern, Jeremy, could have just been trying to get a rise out of Lawrence. He had always been rather cold to the boy.

He quickly blew off that thought. It was actually far more likely that someone out there knew that Lawrence had informed the police, or at least knew that he had something to do with the bathroom.

The list of suspects was short—he only had two accomplices that had helped bring Mark Hoffman down.

But why would either of them taunt him? Maybe they were worried that they would be implicated in the investigation. But why not just ask Lawrence personally? Why send a cryptic message?

Well, the hospital was full of people who knew Lawrence was a Jigsaw survivor, and they had always been too respectful to talk about it in front of the doctor. Maybe someone saw the news and figured that Lawrence ought to have had a visible reaction, and when he didn't, they just wanted to poke him a little.

No, that didn't make sense either.

This had to mean something; Lawrence had also once written an anonymous note to someone, hadn't he?

But Mark Hoffman was dead—it had been confirmed.

Maybe while he was still alive, Mark had told someone in his life what kind of work he'd been doing and had left instructions for someone to go after Lawrence in the event of his death.

OK, that was plausible. That's EXACTLY what Lawrence had been told to do if anything happened to Jigsaw's ex-wife Jill.

Maybe someone was coming to avenge Mark Hoffman.

It was actually a comforting thought, Lawrence decided. It felt good to have an assumed answer that wasn't the one he didn't dare to entertain.

…Adam?

Lawrence quickly weighed the possibilities in his mind.

Adam's body wasn't in that room. While that didn't automatically mean he hadn't died there, it certainly left the door open to the possibility.

Lawrence allowed himself that thought for just a few seconds. He closed his eyes and thought.

Adam was alive.

Adam was out there somewhere. He knew Lawrence was alive, he knew where he worked, and he knew Lawrence must now know that it wasn't Adam's body that had been found in that bathroom.

But why send an anonymous note? Why not just come to the hospital and say hi?

Lawrence crumpled up the piece of paper and leaned forward on his desk, resting his face in his hands.

OK, he thought. Let's start with the obvious. Who delivered this message?

Not that that would yield anything immediately beneficial. Lawrence had paid someone to deliver his tip to the police, anyone could have easily done the same. Jeremy had delivered it to him, but that didn't necessarily mean it had come from Jeremy. Someone had to have brought it to the hospital to give to him first.

But Lawrence knew he couldn't ask around. He couldn't risk looking like it had had any effect on him at all. Whether someone was messing with him or there was something bigger going on, he couldn't let anyone see him and think he was scared.

Because there was always the possibility that someone, maybe someone in this very hospital, merely suspected that Lawrence had something to do with Jigsaw and had sent him this message to gauge his reaction.

Maybe someone was working with the cops and needed to see how Lawrence would behave if he thought someone was onto him.

If Lawrence appeared rattled or concerned by this letter, whoever had sent it could tell the police that he seemed like he had something to hide, and then they'd come back to question him.

So, asking anyone around the hospital if they had seen anyone come in and drop off this note was out of the question. Lawrence had to pretend it meant nothing to him. Fortunately, masking his emotions and putting up a false front, (pretending to be happy) was something he was quite good at.

And that night, after he was supposed to have gone home, Lawrence slipped into the security office of the hospital to observe the footage of his floor that day.

All he was able to see that was out-of-the-ordinary was a moment shortly before Jeremy had come to his office with the note, in which someone in a hoodie concealing their face shuffled up awkwardly to the nurse's station on Lawrence's floor, and carefully slipped an envelope across the desk to the person currently working there, then scurried away.

Alright, that must've been it. That person dropped off the note, and from there, Jeremy brought it to Lawrence.

That still didn't tell him anything. Whoever that person was, they still weren't necessarily the one who wrote the letter. There could be multiple pawns in the game who had no idea what they were part of.

Lawrence knew that better than anyone.

FLASHBACK, April 2006

Lawrence limped into the warehouse, his right hand on his cane, his left hand clutching a case of medical tools. Amanda, in her tight t-shirt, cargo pants and combat boots, greeted him with a smirk.

"Thanks for coming," she said succinctly. She turned around, not even glancing behind her to see if Lawrence was still following. They arrived in a room containing two tables, upon each one was an unconscious man.

"Better scrub up," Amanda said without kindness, pointing lazily to some surgeon wear that was folded neatly on a nearby chair. Lawrence sighed audibly, setting his case down on the floor and tiredly walking over to the chair so he could do as he was told.

Amanda didn't watch as he undressed, but she didn't leave the room either.

"This is Trevor and Art. You sew his eyes shut, you sew his mouth shut," she indicated as she pointed to either body while she spoke. "Any questions?"

Lawrence shook his head. He wanted to know as little as possible about what he was involved with. He just wanted to do the job and leave. He didn't even want to know what these two men had done to deserve being placed in one of Jigsaw's tests.

All he knew, and all he wanted to know, was that what he was about to do to them was not lethal.

He wasn't killing anyone.

He wasn't a murderer.

PRESENT DAY

Lawrence arrived back at his condo at about two in the morning. He would sleep until ten, then return to the hospital for his next shift.

The condominium's street entrance was a large archway that led into a big vestibule with mailboxes for each unit. The outer door was always unlocked so deliveries could be left in the foyer. Having checked his mail yesterday morning, Lawrence knew his box was likely empty, but he did notice a large manila envelope haphazardly tossed onto the floor. It was face down, so he poked and fumbled at it with his cane until he was able to flip it over. And even though he hadn't given himself much time to anticipate it, he actually wasn't shocked to find the words LAWRENCE GORDON written on the front of it.

Sighing, he picked the envelope up and carried it with him to the elevator.

When he got into his unit, he flicked on the lights and hobbled over to the nearest chair.

The envelope felt heavy in his hands—clearly it held multiple sheets of paper. It had been sealed shut with glue, not the foldable bracket one would use if they planned on reusing the envelope. The paper fold tore as he opened it.

Inside was a stack of black-and-white photographs of himself, going about various activities such as getting into his car, stopping for coffee or casually talking to some bystander with a dog.

The more he flipped through the pictures, the farther back in the year they went, through changing seasons. These pictures had been taken over the course of several months.

No. Get that thought out your head, he told himself. Anyone can take pictures. This does NOT automatically mean Adam is out there stalking me.

Then he came across a particularly significant photograph. It was of him, several years ago, wearing sunglasses. He appeared to be looking right at the camera, but of course, he knew the photographer had simply gotten a good candid close-up shot.

This picture, this one picture, was in fact one that Adam had snapped of him all those years ago.

There was a reason this photo had been included.

Stop it. Adam is dead. Just because someone has been stalking me and taking pictures and one of them just happens to be one that Adam took of me before we woke up in that bathroom DOES NOT MEAN HE'S ALIVE.

Lawrence whipped out his phone to open the app for the door camera so he could see who had brought this envelope into his house.

He fast-forwarded through the day's footage and no one who didn't live in the building who didn't come and go every day made an appearance. But once the activity had stopped for the night, the footage showed the door opening, and a hand tossing the large envelope into the vestibule.

That was it.

Whoever delivered this package knew they would likely be caught on camera and had deliberately revealed as little of themselves as possible.

This person was smart.

Or whomever they were working for was smart.

Lawrence had a dream that night about reuniting with Adam. When he woke, he couldn't remember much of it, but he remembered that he had it. It didn't surprise him that he'd had such a dream. He knew he was being deeply affected by all this, even though he was pushing it way down, so it didn't show on the surface.

It wasn't like it was the first time he had seen Adam in his dreams. But all the dreams he had had of him since escaping the bathroom had featured an Adam he couldn't talk to.

When Adam had appeared in his dreams, he had always been mute or catatonic, and Lawrence chalked that up to his knowledge and acceptance of the fact that Adam was dead. He could see him, he could walk right up to him, he could sit down next to him, but he could never interact with him. Adam was always there, but not there-there.

He'd had dreams that he saw Adam on a park bench and had said hi to him, but all Adam did was sit there silently.

He'd had dreams of being at party, or at least a large room full of people, and Adam had been standing there, but not saying anything and not responding when anything was said to him.

Lawrence knew these dreams just meant that he missed him and felt guilty, and that he knew, deep down, that he would never see Adam again. Adam would haunt his mind, but never come back.

Lawrence actually felt comforted by these dreams, because they gave him a sense of finality. He was able to interpret them quite easily, and it made it easier to accept the situation.

Now that new variables had been added to the equation, Lawrence's subconscious was also outputting new results.

Now, for the first time since crawling out of the bathroom, Lawrence was feeling like Adam wasn't as far away as before.

END OF CHAPTER 07
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