The Scars of Kate Madison (A SAW FanFiction)

SIX.

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In the stars

is written the death

of every man

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

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Chapter word count: 1,327

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SIX.

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A dying cigarette in his hand, his walkman blasting out some of the latest tunes, his feet dragging themselves towards his crappy two bedroom apartment, today, he thought with a puff of smoke leaving his mouth, was one of those days. Sure, he had a couple of hundreds to blow and pictures to develop, but it was boring and if there was something he hated, it was being bored.

Fucking bored. Adam was fucking bored.

Reaching the front door of his apartment, fumbling with his keys, he sighed as he entered the dark failure of a home. There was nothing new, nothing exciting, not even anything interesting. It was just the same thing over and over again: Lather, rinse, repeat. He was sick of eating the same Chinese take-out across the street, watching the same crappy shit on television, eavesdropping on that new crack whore who looked like a mangy dog and dreaming of kissing and slicing the throat of his Maire.

Kicking off his shoes haphazardly and throwing his bag across the room, he flung himself on his patched orange couch, trying to catch sleep by its scalp. But he already knew it wasn't going to work. Even with Maire gone, she still ruined his life.

He squirmed on the couch, throwing a thin pillow on top of his head. Adam already knew what he needed: a girlfriend or something to the equivalent. Anything or anyone to let him forget his life for a day or two. He needed someone who wouldn't judge him, make him eat kale salad and choose out his clothes for him. No, he wanted someone to talk to, someone who'd laugh at his jokes and argue with him all night on whether Superman was better than Batman, then in the end settle with Batman. After Maire, he tried, he really did. He had his fair share of chicks like any other dude from the streets and he'd really try to make them work, but they never lasted longer than a few weeks. And every time, their reasons differed: His smoking, the way he dressed, his language, his job...even the way he brushed his teeth. It was no use.

Girls fucking suck.

Then he thought of the girl on the street. The way she leaned against the brick walls, talking to herself like some maniac, throwing her heels on the streets to see if any car would run them over. He didn't confront her, just watched her from across the street. She was just any other dollar sign on his list, a two hundred dollar check from the senator himself. But as he snapped those pictures, listened to her sing to an Oasis song playing in her head and tsking to grab the attention of a stray calico cat, he realized that she needed help-not that he was the man for the job, nevertheless, he felt compelled. So like the gentleman he was, he offered to walk her home.

Of course she said no, it wasn't like he was expecting any more of her. But as he warned her about the dangers of walking home alone, he noticed she was bleeding from her lip, likely due to a fight. She shook her head, brown waves falling away from her face and just like that, he knew who she was: fucking Katie Madison. On the card, she was Kathy Martel-Madison, the only daughter to senator Gene Madison and secretary Telly Martel. Here, she was the girl who got wasted at his and Maire's Christmas party. She peed on his sheets.

Now she sounded like an interesting person.

When it became clear Adam wasn't going to get any sleep, he stood up and picked up his bag which was next to one of his dirty pair of generic sneakers and walked towards his dark room. Work, that's all he was ever good for. Flipping on the lights, he fished the camera out of his bag and began developing his pictures.

Picture by fucking picture, he worked. But his mind wasn't on work, it was on girls. Girls, girls, girls. He never did have a specific type, they just had to be pretty good in the sack. Brunettes, blondes, short, tall and Adam pretty much liked them all. Especially the way they smelled after taking long showers, smelling all like lilacs and other girly scents.

Maire smelled like emptiness. He wasn't going to lie.

In front of Adam, hanging to dry were his pictures. The doctor, Lawrence Gordon, and Kathy-wait, he thought, she likes to go by Kate-Kate Madison magically evolving. His eyes lingered on an earlier picture. She had been dressed up casually, but with a professional look: Her hair in a nice loose bun to let her wavy curls drape her face, denim pedal pushers that stopped at her knees and a too big, men's white button-down that swallowed her whole. She was carrying a conversation with a student, down on one knee to help the child tie his shoes. Her mouth was half open, like those models in expensive magazines, her teeth little perfect rows. She wasn't beautiful but she wasn't hideous, she was almost homely. But to Adam, in a good way.

He felt like he knew her. Sure, his ex-girlfriend had dumped him and moved in with her. He remembered the day Maire told him it was over, little Kate was by her side playing a board game. Maire and him had gotten in some argument about living together then she just put her hands in the air, knocking the board over, and asked Kate if she had room. And of course, the alcoholic teacher had room. But other than that, he didn't hate her.

Fatigue finally began hitting him as he stared at the pictures of Kate. He stopped what he was doing and walked towards his bedroom, falling asleep once he hit the hard mattress.

He had dreamt of Maire and her copper hair, her sherry-colored eyes and her pale and freckled skin. There had been so many nights when he counted those freckles with purposely wet kisses, nights when she complained of his snoring and made him shower to mask the smell of cigarettes and sweat. He never thought he'd miss those nights.

Then his mind drifted to Kate. Though not as pretty as Maire, she was just as or even more splendid. He imagined her laugh, her singing to other Oasis songs, her holding a calico cat. And in those dreams, though he never really knew her, he felt happy.

Then Adam woke abruptly, the images of Kate in his head floating off to some distant and far away land. He reached up to turn his bedroom lamp, but there was no lightbulb. The room remained dark as he stood up and stretched, wishing to go back to his dream. As soon as his feet touched the shaggy carpet, he heard a thud.

"Great..."

"Is someone there?" he asked the now silent room, "I can hear you."

A louder thud echoed in the room. He reached for his camera that he always placed on his nightstand after developing and snapped a picture to let the flash be a temporary source of light. He walked in front of his closet, snapped another picture and saw that his baseball bat was by the doorway. He grabbed it.

"Who is that? Who's in there?" Adam yelled as he stared at his closet. Someone was in there, he could feel it, "Come on out! I'll kill you, you motherfucker!"

He opened the closet door, one arm holding the camera and the other clutching the bat. Swinging as hard as he could, he began hitting whatever was in his way. There was someone in the closet, he wasn't crazy. He knew he wasn't crazy.

And he was right; there was someone in the closet.