Hold The Elevator {Saw/Detective Mark Hoffman}

Chapter 12

Alessia's POV: My eyelids are heavy. I'm struggling to even get them open. Was everything that just happened a terrifying dream? As my eyes finally opened, I realized I was laying on a cold, concrete floor. Fuck, it wasn't a dream.

I slowly sat up, groggy, and tried to stand, only to realize my hands were bound behind me so I couldn't help myself up. A rag or something was tied around my head as a gag. I frantically looked around my surroundings to figure out what the hell is going on, and saw the same man from the elevator, now in casual attire, sipping from a mug as he read a newspaper.

"Hello there dear." He gruffly greeted me. Fear immediately struck me. My eyes went wide in terror. "Don't worry, I'm not interested in you. I just had to cover my bases. I wanted to talk to him." He motioned in front of me.

When I turned my gaze, there was Mark, still unconscious, strapped to a chair with a shotgun aimed at his chin. I tried to plead for mercy, but the gag made it impossible. Slowly, Mark woke up and noticed his predicament. He didn't seem too phased until he saw me. His eyes were filled with rage and concern, but he said nothing.

"You know why you're here, don't you?" The man asked Mark, now ignoring me. Mark remained silent, but I could see the frustration on his face. "They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
But I find it somewhat distasteful. To be given credit for work that's not mine. Especially inferior work."

The man held up the newspaper in front of Mark, before tossing it aside. It just so happened to land in front of me. It was the front page headline announcing that Seth Baxter was murdered by Jigsaw.

My mind started racing. He can't be insinuating what I think he is, right?

"Like you, I know what it's like to lose family." The man continued, "I know what it's like not to be able
to protect loved ones. It's a powerless feeling."

Mark started to move his hands, trying to see if he could shift his binding in any way to escape.

"I wouldn't do that." The man interjected, pulling a mirror over in front of Mark. I could barely see him behind it, but I saw his eyes widen as he realized his situation.

"Hair-trigger." The man continued, "What do you see? Vengeance can change a person. Make you into something you never thought you were capable of being. But, unlike you, I've never killed anyone. I give people a chance."

"You call this a chance?" Mark asked.

"We will see. Our game's just begun."

"Our game?" Mark snarled, "You don't even know me."

"Oh, I know you." The man explained, "I followed you as you pursued me. I know you. I know about your sister. I know how you cared for her. I know she was your only family."

"Leave me alone!" Mark yelled, tears welling up in his eyes.

"No! You sit in bars until closing. You drink so you can sleep. You stagger to your car and then you
start it all over again the next day. Then you met her." He pointed to me, "And that urge to protect came back. You care deeply for her. And that need for vengeance rose again. And I discovered what you do for recreation. You can dispense justice. You can give people a chance to value their lives in the same moment."

"And by the way," the man picked up a straight edge razor from his workbench, "the blade on your pendulum was inferior. If you want a true edge,
you have to use tempered steel. Tempering's better for the long haul."

Pendulum? What is he talking about?

I glanced back down at the newspaper and my mind finally registered the headline.