Chapter Text
Light. Sound. The sharp smell of disinfectant and clean floors. Hands, bodies, voices, cloth. Beeping. The plastic smell of a respirator.
Darkness.
-
Help!! Please, help me!
What happened??
You have to help me! My name is Lawrence Gordon, I just escaped a serial killer and my friend is still there! He’s dying, you have to get him!!
I’ll call 911! Please stay calm!
You have to cauterize my leg! I’m dying, please—
It’s okay, Dr. Gordon! It’s going to be okay, I’m a nurse.
Please, you have to get Adam!!
It’s going to be okay—
-
Lawrence came back to consciousness in a hospital bed, around 5pm on the second day of his short lived coma. Immediately, he recognized the room; he was at his own hospital, in a private room on the third floor. Panicked, he briefly took stock of the room; a respirator, a heart monitor, a morphine drip for the pain, cards on the side table and a box of candy. The sun was streaming in golden and soft through the loosely drawn shades, his room half lit out of respect for his previous unconscious state. His door was open to the main corridor, where nurses, doctors, and orderlies bustled about in the late evening rush. Patients would be needing their dinners and evening medications soon. The familiarity comforted him somewhat. Then reality came screaming back in a familiar voice.
DON’T LEAVE ME!
Lawrence began to shake uncontrollably, his breath becoming constricted and his chest growing tight. The rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor picked up its pace, mocking him. His hands frantically shuffled to find the call button in his bed. Once found, Lawrence mashed the device as hard as possible and in rapid succession, though he knew it didn’t matter. His cries for help wouldn’t go ignored; not here.
True to expectation, a nurse ran in. Lawrence immediately recognized her not only as the woman who’d discovered him struggling for life in the middle of the street, but as one of his hospital’s newest employees. Jane. She’d just started a month ago, working mostly night shifts and early mornings. Lawrence had run into her on her first day, nearly spilling coffee on her. She’d laughed, blushing. Lawrence had smiled.
“Where—” he breathed before tearing his oxygen mask off. The air felt thin. He must have an infection, “Where’s Adam??”
“Dr. Gordon, please calm down,” she wasn’t smiling. Lawrence felt the blood drain from his face.
“Please,” he sputtered, struggling to sit up, “My friend, Adam—”
-
His name is Adam!
Police and EMTs had him surrounded. He was being carried away.
Sir, please—
He’s chained to a pipe. He’s bleeding to death! He… I shot him. I had to shoot him to save my family. Please, he’s dying!
Sir, can you tell us where he is?
The warehouse on King’s! It’s got broken windows and the door around back is open. The basement floor. He’s in the bathroom in the basement, he’s chained to a pipe. Please, he’s going to die!
We’ll get him.
Please…
-
“Your friend’s in surgery.”
Lawrence’s head felt like it was full of fog. Surgery? Why?
“He needed a transfusion… among other things. I don’t know the whole story. He’s been in and out for the past few days.”
“Is he unconscious?” Stupid question. Adam probably bled himself into a coma. Regret filled his stomach with nausea. I didn’t have to shoot him .
“He’s been in a coma since they brought him in.”
Lawrence began to cry. Hands shaking, he pulled at his matted blond hair and sobbed. Jane stood by his side, hand reaching out before settling on the safety bar alongside his bed. Lawrence hiccuped, clawing at his face, though he flinched when he touched the gauze adorning his cheek. He shook, helpless, for long minutes. Jane stayed by his side.
“Dr. Gordon…”
He looked up. Jane regarded him with more love and understanding than he’d seen in a long time; not since when he was a child and came running to his mother when he was hurt. He stopped bawling for a moment, but trembled nonetheless.
“He’s going to be okay.”
“... Thank you,” Lawrence hiccuped again, throat feeling dry.
She got him to eat something to calm him down—crackers from the bedside table—and told him about the long surgery he’d undergone to save what remained of his leg; not all of it, of course. Lawrence’s foot had been long forgotten in that decrepit bathroom, tabled in favor of retrieving Adam’s unconscious body. Lawrence barely reacted to the news. He’d long ago accepted the loss of his foot, even now with one hand skimming over the bandaging at the end of his shin.
It all seemed so far away.
Then Jane gave him her cellphone so he could call his family, which she assured him was safe. They’d visited a few hours ago, while Lawrence had been unconscious, and were responsible for one of the cards and a box of Lawrence’s favorite candy—Raisinets. It made him feel a little better, but mostly ridiculous, as if they weren’t really in danger at all. But he’d heard her over that shitty little Nokia. He’d heard her cry and wail for him to save them. It had to have been real.
It had to have meant something.
“Alison,” his voice was rough from crying. He wiped clumsily at his face while Jane stood just outside his door, giving him some privacy.
“Larry?? Oh thank God.”
He winced, but continued, “Are you two alright?”
“Y-yes, of course we are. Are you?”
Lawrence shrugged before verbally answering, “I’m okay. My head hurts. And my leg.”
“Yeah,” she paused and he knew she was fiddling with her hair; she did that when she was nervous, “They said…”
“I cut it off,” he sighed, “Stupid.”
“Larry, don’t do that…”
He grunted.
“I think we can still make it for visiting hours if you feel up to it. Diana’s been really worried.”
The corner of his mouth pulled, attempting a smile, “I’d love that.”
“We’ll bring by some dinner. You want anything?”
He didn’t, “Tuna club from the deli would be great.”
Alison chuckled. Lawrence felt a little better.
“We’ll be there soon,” she paused, “... I love you.”
He paused. Too long.
“I love you too.”
Click .
Lawrence held the unfamiliar phone for a moment more, staring down at it and trying to think of anything but the current shit show that was his life. He’d never been great at processing tragedies; his parents’ deaths had left him numb for almost a year. Getting behind the wheel was still daunting, but doable; it wasn’t as if people were exactly gracious when you tried explaining your phobias. What would be the new one? Saws? Blue button down shirts? Bathrooms?
Leaning back against the plush pillow, Lawrence called Jane back in. He felt significantly calmer; or less panicked, at any rate. Jane told him whatever he was going through, the hospital had a therapist on retainer. Dr. Feldman. Lawrence knew him.
“Thank you, Jane.”
“Do you need anything else?”
He shook his head, suddenly feeling very tired. But Alison and Diana would be here soon. He asked to have the television turned on.
Jane left and Lawrence drew his arms up over his chest, trying to focus on the television. The news was on, but thankfully no word of his or Adam’s situation. Not yet anyway. Two survivors from one of Jigsaw’s games? That’ll be national, real quick. The thought exhausted him further.
Time must’ve gotten away from him because before he knew it, Diana was there, leaping onto his bed, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!” and bringing him into a choke-hold hug. Lawrence was startled but quick to recover, holding onto his daughter tight and pressing his cheek to hers.
“I’m here, honey, everything’s okay.”
“I was scared, daddy…”
He hugged her tighter, hiding his face in her tiny shoulder. His felt like his chest could cave in at any moment, like the sudden heat rising from his gut to his heart would melt him from the inside out and leave nothing but withered bone. He felt guilty.
“It’s okay now, honey. Everything’s okay. You did so good.”
Alison stood by, just as Jane had done less than an hour ago. And just like Jane, her hand hesitated before resting just next to Lawrence.
Some things can’t be saved.
But they could pretend, for a while. They could hold themselves to a higher standard, for Diana’s sake, until the dust settled. They could be fucking civil for once. Lawrence looked up at Alison, silently signing this agreement. They could get through this.
But.
It was fucked up. Lawrence wasn’t going to deny what he’d done for their safety but he also wouldn’t say it was out of love. Not for Alison, anyway. He liked her. He was content with her company, like a good friend, and he wasn’t a monster. He wouldn’t spare the life of a man he’d met a few hours prior because he wasn’t in love with his wife. But remembering that he had “attempted” to kill Adam made him sick, so he stowed the thought for now and focused on the smile on his daughter’s face and the comfortable familiarity of Alison by his side.