#Mark Hoffman x Emmy Hodges

[hoffmansnightmare]

Keep Away From The Edge

Chapter 1

Pairing: Mark Hoffman X Emmy Hodges

Canon typical violence, mentions of drinking, hint at alcoholism, hint of death, lacerations

Emmy Hodges had heard of the Jigsaw killer of course, everyone had by now, but like most people she thought that sort of thing happened to other people, not her. That was until she woke up in a game of her own. After barely making it out alive and in one piece, all she wants to do is recover and put it behind her. But she seems to have caught the eye of a certain detective.

(You can also read it here! Keep Away From The Edge)

The first thing Emmy registered when she came to was pain, a great pounding headache that felt like her head was about to split in half. Next was a horrid, sharp pain all over her front, arms, and legs. When she tried to get away from it by sitting up, the pain only dug deeper into her palms and knees. Then she found that something above her kept her from straightening up. It felt like a metal grate against her back. Where was she? Where had she even been before this place? Emmy couldn't remember anything. She had to force her eyes open, her lids heavy with physical weight.

Glass, there was glass everywhere. That's what was digging into her palms and knees. Smashed bottles covered the floor. So many that now matter where she landed her hands or knees there was a sharp edge biting into her skin. Emmy hissed in when she shifted, a new shard cutting into her calf. There were cuts all over her front from her laying down. Emmy lifted her hands, plucking the glass from her palms. There was something around her neck that felt suspiciously like a collar. When she touched it her fingers were met with cool metal, a heavy lock hung from the middle of the collar. Above her there was some sort of track. She felt around the back of her neck and found that there was a cable that connected to the track from her collar.

Blinking, trying to get her eyes to really focus, Emmy looked up and around, there wasn't much to see. The room around her was dark. There was only enough light to see that she was in some sort of cage-like tunnel. She could see that it looked like an entire labyrinth of the cage, and she was at the center of it. Suddenly Emmy's heart began to pound as the reality of her situation began to sink in fully. She knew what this was. This was the work of the Jigsaw killer. She tried to keep her breathing even. Panicking would do her no good. She had to figure out the rules of this game. If she could do that she could win, she'd get to live.

She'd heard plenty about this on the news. This guy trapped his victims in horrible ways, getting them to maim themselves or kill others in order to live. Emmy at least appeared to be on her own, so she didn't have to worry about fighting off another human. She looked around. There was always a tape recorder or a TV. The cops always found one or the other. There was nothing around her, so Emmy supposed her only way was forward. She had to get moving.

Heart still pounding, she balled her hands into fists and put her knuckles down on the shards of glass as carefully as possible, whimpering as razor sharp slivers sliced her skin and impeded themselves into her knuckles. This would at least keep her wrist from getting the worst of it. Forward she went, slowly, placing her knuckles down as carefully as she could. There was no avoiding the glass, but she could at least keep away from the sharpest ones. The cable moved along the track above her. She'd worried that it would make moving even harder, but it slid along with her easily.

A few feet in front of her was an immediate hook to the right, then it was straight for several feet. Dead ahead, was a fork. She could either go left or right, and hanging from the top grate was a tape recorder. Emmy pulled it down with shaking hands. She wanted to throw up, somehow seeing the tape recorder made all of this real, not just a nightmare that she would wake up from.

It was hard to push play with how hard her fingers were shaking, but she managed it, and the dreaded voice greeted her.

"Hello Emmory."

Emmy winced at the sound of her full name, like a child getting scolded.

"You've spent all of your adult life drinking your nights away, looking at the world through the bottom of a bottle. Days slip past you in a drunken haze. Do you drink to not feel? Or drink to feel something?"

Emmy swallowed hard, her throat beginning to close. How could he know how much he drank? How had he picked her out of the thousands of people in this city who drank too much?

"Well now you will face every single bottle you drowned yourself in. You'll have 2 hours to navigate this maze and find the exit. If you do not make it out in time the door will close, sealing you in forever."

Emmy hadn't noticed a clock, or anyway to keep time. She must not have activated that part yet.

"Also, you must have noticed the cable connected to the back of your collar. Have you ever heard of keelhauling? When that two hours is up the cable will activate and drag you back to the center of the maze."

Her entire body was shaking as she imagined getting dragged along the shards of glass, ripped from however far she'd managed to make it.

"Keep your head on your shoulders. You'll be glad you have a clear mind for this. Live or die. Make your choice."

The cowardly part of Emmy's brain told her to back up, return to the middle of the maze, and curl up to accept her face. But slowly starving and dying of dehydration would be a more horrible fate than being essentially keelhauled. She had heard about it. Sailors used to be tortured by being dragged along the barnacle encrusted keels of ships. This would either kill them, or leave them with ragged scars all over their body. But if she bled out it would go by much quicker.

Emmy slipped the tape recorder into her back pocket. For some reason leaving it behind didn't seem like an option. She put her knuckles back down, acquiring some fresh cuts, and began to move forward again. She picked left. As soon as she began to move in that direction her cable caught something in its track. It only took a slight tug to get it moving again, but a loud alarm sounded, and a giant digital clock on the wall Emmy could barely make out appeared. it started counting down from two hours, and she wasted a precious few seconds just staring at it in awe. Time to move!

Emmy stuck with her decision to go left, knowing that any hesitation would mean her death. Every new slice in her skin stung terribly, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. She kept up on her knuckles, keeping her wrists away from the worst of it. After two more lefts she hit a dead end. She turned around, back to the original fork, and went down the right turn, not even bothering to look at the clock. It didn't matter. Either she made it out or she didn't. Fretting over the time wasn't going to help her.

A couple of times a particularly sharp piece would jam itself into the tender part of her knees making her buckle and fall fully into the glass, causing her forearms and biceps to be lacerated quite badly. Blood ran hot down her arms. The tops of her feet were also quite bad, but she refused to stop. She couldn't.

She's moving at a good clip. Mark Hoffman thought. He was monitoring her game from an office in another part of the warehouse that Emmory was being kept in. As soon as she'd gotten her instructions she blazed through the maze of glass. It was perhaps more lenient of a trap than John would have designed, but John himself was gone, getting some experimental treatment in Mexico. He'd left Mark in charge of this test with his usual envelope of instructions. Who to test and for what. He'd let Mark design the test and trap itself, probably as a way to see how Mark would handle it.

Amanda hadn't been impressed, but Mark thought she'd hate anything he came up with anyway. He’d take the criticism from John if he had any, but when it came to Amanda he usually tuned her out.

Mark glanced at the clock. Emmory’s first hour was almost up, but she was making pretty good progress. It looked like she was about halfway out of the thing. Every dead end she turned right around and headed down the opposite direction. After every stumble she was right back up, pulling out the offending shard of glass and continuing forward. Maybe he had taken it easy on her, but he also thought she was a fighter.

She reminded Mark a lot of himself. They had had a lot of the same problems, both drunks who were far too familiar with the bartenders at their usual haunts. Mark had been trying to forget the memory of finding his sister dead with her throat slit ear to ear. Emmory seemed to drink just to get through her days. Was it monotony? Or was it some trauma John hadn’t been able to dig up?

Emmory fell again, this time staying down for several seconds. Mark leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. Would this be it? The camera feed was grainy, really only good for monitoring her movement, but it did look like her limbs were darkening with blood. She must be growing light headed by now. Another glance at the time said she started in on the second hour.

“You’re close.” He said to no one but himself. “Get up.”

That had been a bad fall. Emmy groaned, her arms shaking as she got back up on them. Fresh blood rolled down her upper arms and thighs. She pulled the shard of glass that had caused her knees to buckle out of her skin with a wince. She couldn’t tell how close or far away from the exit she was, but she could tell she was near the outside of the maze. That had to mean she wasn’t far from getting out of here. It felt like she'd been moving for a while, though she still couldn't bring herself to check her time. She just kept winding her way through.

Hoffman was right. She was beginning to feel light headed, growing wobbly and slowing down. The tops of her feet felt as if they had been torn to shreds. Another right turn and she was down a long straight away. Where was the next turn? Had she missed it? Her thoughts were becoming thick, like a quagmire. She found that she couldn't remember what her last turn had been. Should she take another right? Except there were no more turns, just this straight shoot. Wait…was this it? The end?

Literal light at the end of the tunnel, and hanging at the mouth of the exit was the key to her collar. She picked up her pace, still ignoring the time. That didn't matter, she had to keep calm. She reached the key and yanked it down, her hands shaking from weakness this time instead of fear. Her fingers were slick with blood, causing her to drop that key. She swallowed, finding it quickly and plucking it out of the mess of glass. Pinching it fiercely she jammed it into the padlock at her neck and unlocked the collar. It made a clang as it snapped back to the track. She was out! Out of the mouth of the tunnel she could see a larger door that stood open. That was where the light was spilling out of.

Emmy tried to rise from the mouth of the cage, but having been crouched for so long, her thighs didn't want to cooperate, buckling. It was now that she glanced at the clock. Twenty seconds left. The wind rushed out of her chest. She wasn't far from the opening, but it was far enough if she didn't move. Ignoring the pain, ignoring how her body screamed, how the glass dug deeper into her legs, she sprinted for the exit. She crossed the threshold. She'd made it! Then she promptly collapsed back to the floor, unable to hold herself up with the weight of such immense relief.

Fifteen seconds to spare. She'd made it with fifteen seconds left on the clock. He had started to doubt her. She had slowed down so much, it looked like she was going to collapse right before reaching her freedom. But she'd done it. With that amazing will power to live that John was always harping on about.

Mark stood, picking up the prepared hypo needle and pig mask as he did so. He couldn't afford for her to see him, even though he was pretty sure she was passed out. Better to not take any chances. It was a short walk to where she had collapsed. The door had slammed closed behind her once the clock hit zero. She was in quite the pool of blood from her wounds. Mark placed a gloved hand on her head.

"Congratulations." He said, "you made it, and you will live."

Emmory didn't move at his words. It looked like she was out cold, just as he had thought. He slipped the needle into the pocket of his robe for now. No need to dose her with such a low blood supply. Carefully he lifted her into his arms. This elicited a groan from her, but nothing else.

His phone was ringing on the desk when he returned. Mark cursed, laying Emmory down on the bed they kept there. He picked up the phone and flipped it open, discarding the pig mask as he did so. "Hello?"

"Detective." It was John, and his voice sounds strained. "I need your help locating some people."

"What happened?" Mark found a piece of scrap paper and a pen, ready to write down names.

"It's a long story." John sounded so tired. Broken even. "I'll explain more later. For now I just need your help."

"Give me names."

John did. The main one being a Cecilia Pederson. The others were apparently associates of hers.

"Just get me any information you can find on these people."

"Do you want me to fly out there?" Mark asked, jotting down the names quickly. He glanced at Emmory, still passed out on the bed. She wasn't in danger of bleeding out, but he needed to get her wounds treated.

"No, Amanda is coming. There's one man I want you to find state side. His name is Henry Kessler. He was a fellow cancer patient in my group. He's the one who told me about this treatment."

She heard a man's voice. It sounded far away, but she could hear it. It was deep, almost resonant. Was he talking on the phone? Emmy tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy. She got so far as to see a blurry shape hunched over a desk covered in monitors, then her eyes slid shut again. She was out again. Far away. Out at sea.

Mark hung up the phone, looking over the names he had written down. He didn't know how much he'd be able to find on people that operated out of Mexico, but he'd find everything he could. He'd get started later. For now he needed to take care of Emmory. He turned to see her still passed out. Taking the first aid kit off the wall he knelt beside her. It looked as if the worst of her wounds weren't bleeding as much, the blood growing thick and slow. Her shallower cuts had stopped entirely. Mark pulled his glove off and placed two fingers on her neck. She had a steady pulse that maybe could have been stronger.

To be safe Mark pulled the needle back out. He gave her only a portion of it, not wanting to give her too much and complicate things. He just couldn't risk her waking up. He had to clean the wounds and disinfect them. The pain could wake her up if she were just passed out. Snapping on some medical gloves he got started

The dose he had given her had been enough. Her body automatically flinched when, after he had gotten done cleaning up the worst of her wounds (making sure to swipe his finger prints off of her neck, just in case), he'd sprayed the disinfectant into the cuts. There were no other reactions otherwise. It took him ages to carefully pick out the shards of glass between her knuckles and down her legs with a set of tweezers. She'd managed to pull the worst of them out when they first stuck her, but many tiny slivers remained. He removed all of the ones he could find then set about stitching up the worst of the cuts. Once he was done he looked her over. She'd be fine…well at least physically. Mentally he wasn't as sure.

Satisfied he took off the rubber gloves to replace them with his leather ones. He lifted her back into his arms. He had to ensure her safe retrieval. He'd fixed her up sure, but she'd need more in depth medical attention. He couldn't risk being seen, however, so he brought her to a payphone a few blocks away.

Carefully he set her on the ground inside of the cramped glass box, then he dialed 911. When the dispatcher answered the phone Mark held up a tape recorder to the receiver. He'd pre recorded himself saying the cross streets, and that medical was needed at this particular payphone. He'd then distorted it, just like John's typical Jigsaw voice, so that his own voice was not heard or recorded. Then he hung up the payphone and retreated to a safe hiding spot to watch over Emmory until she was picked up by the ambulance. As he was stepping out he couldn't help but get one more good look at her. She was breathing steadily now. Some blood had seeped through her bandages, otherwise she looked as well as any surviving Jigsaw victim could hope for.

Mark walked to the other side of the street, sinking into a tight alleyway between two buildings with a clear view of the payphone. He was fully prepared to run out there if anyone chose to disturb her before the ambulance got there. Thankfully this area was not frequented by anyone at them time of night, and the ambulance didn't take long. Mark watched them jump out and collect Emmory.

After the ambulance drove off Mark emerged from his hiding spot. Back in his car he let out a long sigh. The tension in his body left him as soon as he settled into his seat. A call would come in for him to go to the hospital to interview Emmory, but he figured he had a few hours to get some rest. They wouldn't bother him until she woke up and was lucid. So he made his way home to catch as many hours of sleep that he could.

So bright. Emmory groaned and tried to lift her arm to shield her eyes. There was an uncomfortable tug, halting her from the action. With only one eye in a squint she tried to see what was wrong with her arm. She saw that she was attached to an IV bag. Lifting her other arm she found it unencumbered and rubbed her eyes before trying to blink them open. Above her were fluorescent lights, the source of the brightness burning her eyes. A hospital? She was in a hospital?

"H-hello?" She felt a little stupid calling out, but the relief she felt when she heard the hurried footsteps come toward here was worth it.

"Oh! You're awake." The nurse came to her side immediately, pressing a hand to her forehead before she pulled out a flashlight. She checked Emmy's dilation quickly, apologizing when Emmy flinched away from the light. Her eyes had just started to adjust.

"Where am I?" Obviously a hospital, but which one? How far away from home was she? Emmy tried to sit up but the nurse pushed her back down.

"Careful, you have quite a few stitches. You're at The Angel of Mercy Hospital." She patted Emmy's hand. "You had been through something that is for sure, but someone had already started to treat you. Do you remember what happened to you?"

At first Emmy didn't. The previous night is stuck in a dense haze, like trying to remember a dream hours after waking up. Then images came to her in flashes, the shattered glass, the cage maze, the horrid pig visage.

Emmy's heart rate monitor started to beep wildly and her breath came in short pants. The nurse took her hand and gave it a squeeze of reassurance. "Jigsaw." She panted out. "I was in a Jigsaw trap."

The police were called. As soon as Emmy said the words the nurse's eyes went wide and she ran out of the room. To tell someone to call them, then she was back to comfort Emmy until she calmed down. There was only what felt like a few more minutes of peace before a couple of beat cops arrived to ask her questions. Most of which she couldn't really answer.

"Where were you when you were picked up?"

"I-I'm not really sure. Walking home from the bar I think? I only lived a couple of blocks away…"

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"Just that, walking home, then a horrible pig's face, then blackness."

"You didn't see who did this to you at any point?"

"No just the pig mask."

"Are you familiar with the area you were found in?"

"No, I don't even remember getting there. I made it out of the maze and then collapsed. Nothing but blackness again."

"No pig mask this time?"

"Just nothingness. I vaguely remember being lifted, but I was so out of it by that point."

"So they were strong enough to lift you?"

"Yeah I guess…"

The officer not asking the questions was writing furiously the whole time. At this point Emmy was desperate for them to just go away so that she could get some sleep. How could she be so tired when she'd been out for who knew how long? She very much just wanted to start trying to put this horrible event behind her. She knew it would be impossible, that this had changed her forever, but continuing to live in this horrible reality where she was a Jigsaw victim was agony.

The call finally came in. There was a Jigsaw survivor at the hospital. Hoffman said he'd be right there. And he was, throwing on a coat he was out the door and at the hospital in thirty minutes tops. Two beat cops had beaten him there, already questioning Emmory. He could tell she wasn't saying much.

"Emmory, isn't it?" Mark stood at her bedside, looking down at her lying there. Her dark red hair looked stark against the white of her pillow. It looked like her head was lying in a pool of blood, but her eyes still had a spark in them. Had that been there before the trap? He hadn't noticed. He'd grabbed her as she was stumbling home from her favorite bar. It had been far too easy for him to wrap his arms around her and jab the needle into her neck. By then her eyes had been glazed over. Out like a light.

"Yes." The confirmation brought him back to the present. Mark reached for the note pad one of the officers had been writing on, looking over the answers they'd already gathered. As he had thought there was nothing of substance. He handed the notepad back to the officer.

"I apologize for the interrogation. I know you need your rest." He put on his best smile. "But we need whatever information you can give us while it's still fresh." She didn't look terribly impressed. Emmory just nodded at him. "And you're one of the very lucky few to have survived."

Suddenly her eyes were searching his face, a frown pulling at her lips. Mark didn't know what to make of what he saw on her face.

"I don't feel lucky." She said, turning away from him to look down at her bandaged hands. Mark remembered how long it took to pull the slivers of glass out of her knuckles. He hadn't needed to do that. He could have let the hospital take care of that. But he'd done it. Held her hand in one of his while he carefully plucked out the shards with a pair of tweezers.

"Do you feel grateful?" He asked. "To be alive." The question was out of his mouth before he realized. Mark bit the inside of his lip. That had been too far. John's rhetoric was creeping further and further into him.

Emmory's brows furrowed up in the middle, and maybe her lower lip trembled. Hoffman couldn't be sure. "I guess…I didn't want to die. I never did."

Mark thought that would suffice. It wasn't the same groveling gratefulness Amanda had had for John at first, but Emmory was still freshly traumatized. It would probably sink in as she came to realize how close she'd actually come to dying.

Or maybe she wouldn't. But she'd survived Mark's test, and all she'd really been guilty of was drinking too much too often. Something Mark had struggled with himself. And sometimes he still partook, when the memories of seeing his sister's throat slashed were too much. He wondered, again, what it was that drove Emmory to drink.

"You can't remember anything else?"

"No, nothing. I already told them everything I know."

Mark nodded. This was good. Emmory was already turning away from him, her eyes half open. He dismissed the original two officers, then pulled out his business card which he set on her bedside table. "If you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to call."

Emmory nodded, looking absent, looking tired. He left her then, feeling somewhat relieved. This was his first one without John's supervision, and he wanted to prove to the old man he could handle it.

Now he'd get started finding those people in Mexico John had asked him to help locate, and Henry Kessler. He still didn't know what these people had done, but it had to be bad if John was calling him out of the blue. He'd get started in this, then check back in with Emmory after she's had time to regain her strength.

Emmy's eyes had grown heavier and heavier. It was so hard to keep talking. She was thankful the detective hadn't asked her any more questions. Not yet anyway. All she wanted to do was sleep, it almost hurt to try and keep pushing the words out.

But there had been something, and itching at the back of Emmy's mind, when he asked if she was grateful to be alive. What a strange question for a detective to ask. Maybe it was just because that was Jigsaw's signature. His survivors were meant to be grateful, and the police were taking notes on if that were true or not. It was still weird.

There was also something else. As her eyes fell closed and she watched Detective Hoffman walk out of her hospital room. Was it the shape of his shoulders? She was fading too fast to focus on the thought. Soon sleep had fully taken her and it was gone.

@grxmreaperx

[hoffmansnightmare]

Keep Away From the Edge

Chapter 4

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Emmy Hodges

Trauma, hint of torture, hint of depression. Nothing too crazy in this one boys.

You can read part one here, part two here, and part 3 here

You can also read it here! Keep Away From The Edge

"You two are persistent." Emmy closed the door to her car, staring at the redhead and her cameraman. They were the only two left on her lawn, and they had been the only ones left for some time. The rest had given up, moved on to other stories. But not these two. They were still there every evening. The two of them at least seemed to give up on trying her in the morning. Emmy could finally leave for work in peace. 

"We just really want to talk to you." The woman said, her eyes lighting up. This was the first time Emmy had actually spoken to them.

"Aren't there other, more interesting stories?" Emmy asked, pulling her house key out.

"We focus on the Jigsaw cases. And you're the latest survivor." She said, daring to take a step closer.

Emmy huffed. She wasn't the only one though. "What about that other guy that just went missing? Henry something?"

"He's still missing." The camera guy finally spoke up, lowering his equipment from his shoulder. "So he's a dead end."

"Look, we're not big time or anything. We have a website and a series of videos we post. It would mean everything to us if you just spoke to us briefly." The redhead explained, clasping her hands in front of her. 

Emmy looked her up and down. The woman really did look desperate. And they had always been nicer than the other reporters. "Who are you guys?"

"I'm Nancy Howard." The redhead, Nancy, said, then pointed to her companion. "And this is Curtis."

Curtis gave Emmy a polite nod. He kept the camera lowered at his side.

Was she actually considering this? It looked like she was. It was possible that actually talking about her ordeal, saying it out loud, would be like getting it off of her chest. Maybe it would help her come to terms with what had happened to her. Or she should probably get a therapist.

This was more convenient. And cheaper. "Alright." Emmy said, unlocking her front door. "I'll talk to you for a bit." 

Nancy looked like she could have screamed with delight, her smile was so wide Emmy thought it must hurt. "Perfect! We won't overstay our welcome, we promise!"

"Hhhmm." Emmy hummed. She led them inside and gestured to her living room. "Make yourselves comfortable. I'll make some coffee." 

Emmy brought out a tray with 3 mugs, cream and sugar included, which she set down on the coffee table. Hopefully this coffee tasted better than what she had brewed when Detective Hoffman had visited. She hadn’t missed his wince at the taste, even if he was too polite to say anything. She felt more clear headed with each day. Sometimes it was still hard, she'd be sunk back into the memory of being trapped, and work was still stressful, but she didn’t feel as lost anymore. 

“So what are you wanting from me?” Emmy asked, taking one of the mugs and sitting on the recliner, across from the pair on the couch. 

“Well, just…anything you’d be willing to tell us really.” Nancy said. “There are so few jigsaw survivors. Right now you are one of…” Nancy leaned over to Curtis to confer with him. “Three?” She still didn’t sound sure. “Amanda Young is the only one to come forward, and the other is unnamed.” 

“I can do my best, I suppose.” Emmy said, her voice letting out her weariness.

“Do you mind if we record this?” Nancy asked. It was very polite of her, as Emmy just assumed that they would, or else why bother with the camera?

“Go ahead.”

Curtis set up the camera on a tripod, angling it so that it got both Emmy and Nancy in the shot. He stayed behind the camera, and gave a thumbs up once it was recording.

“I am here, in the home of Jigsaw survivor, Emmory Hodges, who has graciously let us in to ask her about her harrowing experience escaping the infamous killer’s test.” Nancy spoke clearly and confidently, facing the camera. Emmy found herself surprised the other woman wasn’t a professional news anchor.

Nancy turned to Emmy then, smiling at her. Emmy tried to smile back, but could feel it twitching around the corners. “When you’re ready, if you could tell us what happened. What it was like?” Her face grew serious as she asked and she picked up a notebook and pen out of her purse. She was poised, waiting patiently for Emmy to start. 

Emmy glanced up at the camera, then back to Nancy quickly. She just had to get the words out. She want to be a writer, perhaps this would be good story telling practice.

"As each day passes I remember less and less of what happened to me." Emmy said, looking down into her mug of coffee. She didn't know how to explain it. The first night at the hospital she was sure she would remember each sharp detail, but now all she could recall was how dark the room was around her, the only light being the grimy yellow lamps that illuminated the cage. She could recall the bars of the maze, but not the shape of it she had mapped out in her head while she crawled. "The first memory is pain. I ached and stung all over, and when I tried to get away from it, it only made it worse." She took a sip, really to just collect her thoughts.

"When I realized what was happening, I knew I just had to get through it. His traps are winnable, as long as you follow the rules. Panic is your worst enemy, so I didn't let myself feel it." Emmy described how she got herself out of there, how her only hope was to keep crawling around that metal maze. "The relief was so great, when I collapsed outside of that door. I know I will never feel such euphoria again. To be faced with death head on, only to meet it, and then conquer it." She shook her head. "There will be nothing like it."

Nancy leaned forward. She'd been writing furiously, even though they were filming. Now she asked; "They say he does this to test people's will to live. Do you feel like it has made you want to live more than you did before?"

Emmy shrugged her shoulders. "Honestly, having felt such great relief, only to be returned to my life just as it was before. It almost feels worse in a way. But I never wanted to die. Of course I wanted, and still want to live." She took another sip of her coffee. "I just wish I could find the vibrancy for life that he apparently wants me to feel. It's just hard sometimes." 

Nancy was back to scribbling, nodding along with Emmy's words. “And how have you been coping with what happened? I imagine it must be difficult.”

Emmy nodded. “It is. It felt strange to have to just get on with my life. Going back to work felt absurd. Something like this feels like it changes the world around you, but it really doesn't.” Emmy shrugged. “But continuing to live is what helps. Dwelling on it doesn't do me any good.” Did she really believe that? Emmy didn’t think so. Continuing to live felt strange, almost wrong, at least the way she was living. Just going on about her life as if it didn’t happen.

But she didn’t know how to live like it did happen. She had no idea how to be the woman that survived a Jigsaw test, so she just said what sounded right. 

Nancy smiled at her. It was genuine, not a show for the camera, and Emmy smiled back at her. “Well Emmy, you're very strong for having gone through something so terrible, and gone back to living your life. I hope you find meaning in all of this.” Nancy reached forward and put her hand over one of Emmy's.

“Thank you.” Was all she could say in return.

Leaning back Nancy made a cut motion with her hand. Curtis fiddled with the camera, then came to rejoin them on the sofa. The three of them finished their coffees, making idle chit chat, then Nancy slapped her knees and stood up.

“We won't keep you any longer.” She said, putting her notepad back into her bag. “Thank you so much for this, Ms. Hodges. We should have your interview up on our website within the next few days if you want to see it.”

Emmy smiled politely, but doubted she would. It was hard enough sitting there and recounting what had happened to her. “Happy to help.”

When they were gone she closed the door with a sigh, feeling suddenly boneless and exhausted.

The next morning her phone rang. Emmy stared at it for several minutes, not recognizing the caller ID. Who the hell was calling her? When she finally answered an unfamiliar female voice was on the other end. 

“Ms. Hodges?”

“Uh…yes?”

“Ms. Hodges, I'm Detective Kerry. I was hoping we could get you into the station to ask you a few questions. Just to check in with you.”

“Detective Kerry? I thought Detective Hoffman was taking care of my case?” Emmy asked, her brows furrowing up in confusion.

“Oh, well we're actually a task force who specialize on the Jigsaw cases.”

“Well…can it wait until this Saturday? I can't take time off of work right now.”

“Saturday would be just fine!” She sounded excited now. “Do you need a ride in?”

“No, I can drive myself.” Emmy said, jotting down a reminder.

“Great! I'll see you this Saturday.” And the detective hung up.

Emmy frowned at her phone for a moment, then dialed Hoffman's number.

“Hoffman.” Her heart leapt at the sound of his voice, making her swallow. Embarrassing.

“Detective Kerry called me.” Emmy said, not even bothering to introduce herself.

There was a clearly frustrated noise on the other end of the line, something like a growl. “Dammit. I knew I shouldn't have let her out of my sight this morning.”

“She wants to ask me questions, but I'm not sure I'll be any help. I don't remember anything new.” Emmy wondered where the detective was if not at the precinct. Surely he didn't answer phone calls at crime scenes.

“I know…just answer her questions as best you can and you'll be out of there in no time. When are you going in?”

“This Saturday.”

“I’ll make sure I’m there.” 

Emmy wasn’t sure why that suddenly reassured her. Maybe it was just because Mark already knew her story and what she had to say. 

“You haven’t come by again.” Emmy found herself saying. It just slipped out of its own volition. As soon as the words were out she wished she could suck them back in.

It was quiet on the other end of the line for so long Emmy considered hanging up and pretending this never happened. Hoffman would be weirded out and avoid her and she could go about her business. 

“I’ll stop by tomorrow night.” He whispered this for some reason. It was odd, but Emmy was flushed with relief. 

“Okay.” 

Mark hung up the phone, trying to think of an excuse to give John for walking away so briskly. A partial truth was probably the best policy, so when he made his way to the old man’s cluttered desk he said; “Sorry, Kerry called Emmory and Emmory called to let me know.” 

John looked up from the schematics he had been sketching at. The two of them were alone for once. John had sent Amanda on some errand, probably to check on some potential subject. John had been preparing one of his old properties, a run down old house. “She’s keeping you informed?” 

Mark shrugged, sitting across from John. “I think she was just confused. I had been the only detective she’s spoken with so far.” 

John nodded and Mark was relieved that it had been believable enough. The older man went back to the schematic he had been working on. “You haven't said much about her. You're still checking up on her?”

Mark's entire body stiffened. “Yes, there isn't anything to report. She goes about her business. Work then home.” That was true, but Mark left out that it was like she was a ghost, floating between her daily routines as if she had died in that test, yet hadn't realized it. She didn't go anywhere during the weekend. Her car never left the driveway. She did any shopping after work. On the nights she was late Mark made sure to check the bar. She was never there. The test seemed to have shocked her into sobriety, but where was that spark of life John was always going on about? She was on autopilot, A spirit reliving their days.

The silence was tense. Mark could practically feel that John had more he wanted to ask, but was examining Mark's reaction to talking about it. It set Mark on edge, his back stiff, movements robotic as he fiddled with the blades that were set in the openings of a glass box. 

“I think I would like to speak with her.” John said it casually, almost flippantly. As if it couldn't have severe consequences to them or Emmory if it didn't go well. 

Mark opened his mouth, his mind racing to find some excuse, some reason she wasn't ready to meet him. He was saved from this when the elevator started grinding down. Amanda had returned. John's eyes moved from Mark to directly behind him so that he could watch Amanda descend. 

She emerged from the cage of the elevator, a large box in her arms. It was deposited in a pile of similar boxes. When Mark was able to get a clear look at Amanda's face he saw that it was streaked with tear tracks that she wasn't able to swipe away when her arms laden with the box. As soon as she saw him looking she was quick to clear them from her face. Mark's eyes flicked to John to see what the older man might be thinking of the sight.

Concern deepened the lines around his mouth and his eyes followed Amanda's movements closely. “Is that the last of it?” He asked, his voice gentle. 

Amanda kicked the box she had just set down, causing the sound of delicate glass tinkling to erupt. “I hope so, there has To be thousands of syringes here. If it isn't enough we'll have to fill that pit with something else.” 

A snarky comment bubbled up the back of Hoffman's throat. Amanda was staring him down as if she expected it. However it was in Mark's best interest not to rock the boat, so he just turned back to his own project. 

John wouldn't let him be silent for long. “How about your fellow detective? How is Matthews doing?”

Mark scoffed, not wanting to show any relief at the change of subject Amanda had brought with her. “He's skulking about, drinking more than ever, chain smoking. His son keeps getting into more and more trouble. Eric is trying to keep his head down and himself behind the desk, with Internal Affairs breathing down his neck he can't do much else.”

John wheeled himself over, the wheelchair he was sitting in creaking. Amanda took the opportunity to escape to her makeshift room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. John either didn't notice or pretended not to as he inspected Mark's handy work, pushing at one of the blades fitted into the glass box. “Perfect. We're almost ready for our next game to begin. I think we need to put a little more strain on detective Matthews.” He reached across the desk to grab a file he'd prepared and handed it to Hoffman.

“This is a friend of his. I'm sure you're familiar with him.” 

Mark opened the file to see that it was a man named Michael. Mark was indeed familiar with him. He wasn't sure of Michael's last name, as Eric was closer with him, But he knew he was an informant that Eric used to work with quite a bit. Along with Michael's profile there were also schematics.

“A venus fly trap?” Mark asked, one of his brows raising. 

“I thought it was rather clever.” John had a small, very satisfied smirk on his face.

Mark huffed and closed the folder. “Sure.” 

Emmy quickly regretted inviting Hoffman over. She had no idea what to do with him. She thought briefly about making him dinner, but the image of the detective sitting at her kitchen island eating her sub par cooking made her want to laugh herself off of a bridge. She was being dramatic, but she had no idea how to entertain guests. She had thought about getting a six pack of beer, had even gone to the closest store, but as soon as her fingers had brushed one of the bottles she was flooded with the sound of the glass shards crunching beneath her knees. Sharp edges cut deep into her skin. The urge to drink was not stronger than the sickening memory. She'd whipped her hand away so quickly she'd nearly wacked some poor guy in the face. 

Now she was pacing around her living room fretting. Should she put on some music? She usually had the TV playing for some background noise, but maybe that would be too disruptive. 

She had the remote in her hand to turn it off, trying to think of what music to listen to, when her time was up and the dreaded knock was at her door. Shit she'd lost track of time. “Hold on!” She called, tossing the remote down into the couch. She took in a deep breath, tugging at her shirt nervously. 

Feeling like she had herself together she went to open the door. Hoffman stood there, a patient smile on his face. 

Emmy’s heart was so far up her throat she could barely get out a meek; “Hello, Detective.” and she stepped to the side to let him in. 

“Why don’t you call me Mark.” Hoffman said as he stepped into her home. “No need to be so formal.”

Emmy had quickly forgotten how deep his voice was until this very moment. Was that what had her chest buzzing? Or was it the nerves? “Okay, would you like something to drink? Water, coffee, tea?” She took his jacket from him after he shrugged it off and hung it on her coat rack, then gestured for him to make himself comfortable on the couch. 

“Tea would be nice.” Hoffman said, doing just as Emmy had directed him to, sitting down on the couch and turning his attention to the TV. Commercials were running at the moment. 

Emmy sang the ch-ch-ch-chia along with the television as she walked into the kitchen. By now she could probably recite the entire thing from memory. “You want lemon? Honey?” 

“Both. You ever have one of these things?” 

Emmy turned around to glance at the commercial. The horrid Scooby Chia Pet grew plant hair before her eyes. “Ah, no. They always seemed so gimmicky to me…and a little creepy.” She squinted at the TV, then turned back to her kettle. “What about you?” 

“Nah, don’t have much of a green thumb. Tried to keep plants before, but never had any success.” 

A memory came to her then, an infomercial with an older woman gasping about white sponges that you could paint with. Emmy had begged and begged her mother for them. She had never been artistically inclined before, but the woman's enthusiasm and joy at the simple techniques was infectious. Emmy simply had to experience that for herself. For Christmas one year her mother had finally relented and gotten them for her. Emmy had proceeded to fill up sketchbook after sketchbook. Little paintings were strewn all over the house. Emmy had painted with them until every sponge was a muddy brown color, not a speck of white to be seen, and the colors ran together, no longer vibrant. She had tried to beg her mom for more, but this time she had been firm, and Emmy was forced to move onto something new.

“I was a sucker for those rainbow sponges.”

“Really?” 

Emmy didn't turn to look at him, maybe a little nervous for what she would see in his face. “Yeah. I used them until they were useless.”

Placing the kettle onto a tray along with a couple of mugs and plenty of honey and lemon Emmy made her way back into the living room just in time for Wheel of Fortune to start. She poured them each a cup, letting Hoffman add to his as he liked. 

Hoffman leaned forward to spoon honey into his mug. “Oh, so you're a writer and an artist?” His smile at her was loose and lopsided. It was such an easy expression on him, one he used many times. 

She had to turn her face away from him. Looking directly into his face was suddenly too much. Thankfully the Wheel of Fortune theme drew Hoffman’s attention from her and back to the tv. 

“You any good at this game?” He asked, easing back into her couch as if it were the one in his own living room. Emmy felt herself relaxing back as well. She didn't know what it was about that moment, why she had been so on edge, and she wasn't exactly sure what it was she had been feeling. Her face was uncomfortably warm.

“I'm not sure…I think so? It's kind of easy once they start buying all the vowels.” 

Hoffman smiled at her. It was softer this time and made Emmy's shoulders relax. “Let's see who guesses first then. I bet you're better than you think.”

Emmy nodded, wondering if she would ever get over the way his voice sounded. It reverberated down to her core and bounced around the cavity of her chest. She felt like a freak for fixating on it, but she couldn't help it. She'd never heard anything like it before. Not in person anyway.

The first puzzle was up and the category was On The Map. Emmy let out an embarrassed giggle. “Uh oh. I was never very good at geography.”

“Sounds like this one is mine then.” Hoffman said with a grin. His arm was relaxed along the back of the couch. If Emmy just leaned over she'd be right against his side. 

Emmy swallowed, keeping her eyes on the tv. It was only a two word phrase, but sometimes those were harder for her. The first contestant spun the wheel and guessed T then immediately bought a vowel; O. The T went to the end of the first word and there were three O's. Emmy huffed. She was totally lost. “Maybe the first word is port?”

“Hmmmm. I think it's Fort Novosel.” Mark said, taking a sip of his tea. 

Mark turned out to be right. The contestants went through nearly all of the consonants until someone finally guessed V. 

“You are good at this.” Emmy smiled. She'd get the next one.

And she did. The next category was characters. A contestant guessed T again and bought U. Another guessed R then H and Emmy blurted out “King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.”

Mark slapped his thigh And laughed when a contestant solved it not long after. “So you were being modest earlier!

Emmy's heart beat hard in her chest and her face grew warm with pleasure at the praise. “I got lucky that time.” She said, hoping he didn't notice the color in her cheeks.

They ended Up being tied by the end of the show, both being stumped by the bonus puzzle at the end. Once it was over Emmy turned off the tv. Hoffman set down his empty cup, rolling his neck and shoulders with a yawn.

“Suppose I should get out of your hair.” He said. He moved to get up on his feet and Emmy stood with him. 

“I really appreciate you coming.” It was out of her before she could think about it. Hoffman kept his face neutral except for a small smile. “It's just…it feels weird being around anyone else.” She left out that she only had one friend anyway. Didn't need to embarrass herself further.

Hoffman got his jacket off of her coat rack and shrugged himself into it. “It's a bit unorthodox, but you survivors are so rare.” He turned to her. There was a smile on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was a strange look, like he had something on his mind that he didn't want to say out loud. “Making sure you're handling everything just seems right. It's unfortunate you don't have more of a support system but-” his eyes darkened and he looked lost within himself for a moment before continuing. “Jigsaw seems to choose them that way.”

Emmy wrapped her arms around herself. “I guess people who have them don't need to go through that.” 

That dark look was still in his eyes when he replied. “You would think.”

“Yeah.” She whispered, looking down at the floor. “You would.”

They stood there for a few more moments, mulling that over, the Hoffman shifted and Emmy looked up, rubbing Her upper arms and forcing a smile onto her face. “Sorry. I shouldn't keep you any longer.”

His face lightened, “I’d been meaning to ask.” He gestured toward Emmy’s bookshelf. “Could I borrow the first Misery book?” 

Emmy turned to look at her collection, then back at the detective with raised eyebrows. “You want to read a bodice ripper romance?” 

“I’d like to give it a try. You like it so much, it must be good.” 

Emmy’s cheeks grew warm at that, even though she got the impression he was just saying that and didn’t actually mean it. He had to know they were trashy fun books, nothing to take seriously. Still she went over to her bookshelf to pull out Misery. Hoffman smiled as she handed it to him “Take good care of it.” She warned. 

“Of course.” He said. A glint flashed through his eyes. “Next time I come over we can talk about it.” 

A giggle wanted out of Emmy’s throat, but she swallowed it down, forcing it back into her chest. It felt foolish, childish even. She wasn’t some teen in highschool, not to mention it felt out of place in someone who had gone through what she had. Looking at him, feeling what she was feeling as he looked back, had her out of sorts, misplaced, as if she wasn’t meant to be there. It was wrong somehow, to feel anything. 

“I’d like that.” Was what she could manage.

Hoffman looked her face over like he was trying to read her. Could he see through her? Did he hear what was going through her head? When Emmy looked back at him all she could see was his face, his blue eyes, dark hair carefully combed, a smile on his full lips that was nowhere close to crinkling the corner of his eyes. She would not begin to guess at what he could be thinking, and she didn’t want to.

Mark cracked that book as soon as he got home, laying across his couch and the tv on low in the background. It was junk food alright, nothing to be thought about, just enjoyed. Mark could tell that Paul Sheldon had known what he was doing when he’d written this. It was written to make money, not say something. Mark would have to try some of the man’s other books, see what he could really do. He wondered which one Emmory might recommend, which one she’d pull from her bookshelf and hand to him. He’d have to ask her when he saw her again. Or after he finished the Misery series. As trashy as it was he was still turning the pages.

[hoffmansnightmare]

Keep Away From The Edge

Chapter 2

Read Part one here: Part 1

Pairing: Mark Hoffman X Emmy Hodges

Recovering, Hint of Panic Attack, Crying, Not Comfort, Drinking, Nightmares

(You can also read it here! Keep Away From The Edge)

Emmy only stayed at the hospital for another day before they decided she was well enough to head home.

Well enough was of course relative. Emmy wasn't sure she'd ever be well enough again, but she wasn't in any danger of dying from her wounds. They'd monitored her to make sure she didn't spike a fever, and released her with scripts for painkillers and an antibiotic. 

"If you start to feel like you have a fever, please come back." Her nurse, Betty, had explained. Betty handed her the clothes she had arrived in, which had been washed as thoroughly as they could be, but still had slashes from the glass. Emmy winced at the sight of them.

"Is there anything else I can wear out of here?" She asked. The idea of putting the clothes she had suffered in back on made her skin crawl. These garments were fated for a fire when she got home, most likely. "Also…did you find a tape recorder with my things?" Emmy didn't know why she was worried about that thing in particular. The memory of sticking it in her back pocket was already becoming hazy. 

"I think we may have some sweat pants and t-shirts we can send you home in." Betty looked uneasy at her second question. "I'm not sure about the tape recorder. I would guess that the police probably took anything like that as evidence."

Emmy thought about the detective's business card that still sat on the bedside table. She imagined herself calling him up, demanding to have her tape recorder back. It was hers. She'd earned it. "My wallet and cell phone are gone too?"

Betty just shrugged, looking very apologetic. "I didn't see anything besides your clothes." 

Emmy drew in a long, labored breath. "Can you still see about those clothes?"

Betty gave her a small smile and a nod, leaving her to find something for her to wear. Emmy was grateful, but soon how she was even going to make it home crossed her mind. She lived across town, and with no wallet she couldn't get a taxi. She had no family left and the few friends she had were states away. She had one friend that did live close by, but Emmy also didn't feel like she had the strength to explain what had happened to her again…not yet anyway.

Her eyes wandered over to the business card again. 'Detective Mark Hoffman' in bold black letters above his phone and fax number. Surely he was far too busy to humor Emmy's woes. Maybe she'd just see if one of the nurses could give her just enough for bus fair. Then she thought about being crammed in a tight space with strangers, unfamiliar faces, any of which could be the person who had taken her. 

Her hand yanked the room phone off the receiver and she was dialing his number before she could think any further about it. By the third ring she was starting to get cold feet, her hand on the receiver getting tense, ready to slam it down after another unanswered ring.

"Detective Hoffman." 

Great he'd answered and now she had no idea what she was even going to say. What had she even needed in the first place? Her wallet?

"Hello?" 

"H-hi." Emmy forced the word out. "It-it's Emmory, Emmory Hodges?"

"Yes." Hoffman's voice pitched up in recognition. "Did you remember something?"

"W-well not exactly."

Mark listened to her plight. "You don't have any family who can help you out?" Of course Mark knew she didn't, but asking was a part of the script, part of the act he had to keep up as the detective who hadn't been following her around for weeks. He knew her routine very well, and it wasn't very exciting. It looked much like his had, before John. Work, bar, home. Only to be repeated day after day. Both of her parents had passed away, and there were no siblings that he knew of. And she certainly didn't spend time with friends. At least not often.

"No, and without my wallet I can't get a cab." Emmory said. 

Mark looked over at her possessions he had taken when he'd grabbed her. Just a cellphone and wallet. He'd added the tape recorder she'd put in her pocket before dropping her off. Just three lonely items sitting on a cluttered desk in the crowded warehouse he was currently using as a home base. Mark checked his watch for the time. He should probably head into the station soon anyway.

"I can swing by the hospital, and I think I can return your wallet and cell to you."

"That would be great." Emmory's voice brightened. Just a little. "Then I could pay a cab. I don't mean to be a bother."

Hoffman smiled at that. He wasn't exactly sure why. 

"O-oh there was one other thing." She sounded unsure again. "There was a tape recorder in my back pocket. Did the police retrieve it? If so…I would like it back too."

"You want your test tape back?" Now Mark was truly confused. 

"Y-yeah. I made it all the way through with it in my back pocket and I…I just want it."

Mark chewed the inside of his lip. On one hand he didn't see much harm in returning it to her. He could wipe it for all prints, and it was one John had prerecorded. But what she wanted with it was a mystery, and Mark didn't like mysteries.

"I'll see what I can do." He answered. He heard a whoosh of air on the other line.

"O-okay. I'll see you soon?" 

"Yes." Mark was already standing and grabbing his coat. "I'll be there soon." She hung up and Hoffman snapped his cell closed. He stood over her things, cell, wallet, and tape recorder, still debating on whether just giving her the thing was a problem or not. Then he had to stand there and consider why he was even humoring the request. He should just tell her he couldn't get that particular thing out of evidence. She'd believe it.

He pulled on his leather gloves and shoved all three items into his coat pockets. 

At the hospital she was waiting for him at the nurses station just outside her room, which was currently being turned down and sanitized for the next patient. Emmory was wearing a shirt that looked to be two sizes too big, and a pair of sweatpants that were synced around her waist. They looked like they were as big as the shirt. In her left hand was a plastic bag with what looked like her old clothes.

Her eyes landed on him as soon as he exited the elevator. They almost pinned him still in the spot. They were such an intense shade of corn flower blue, a little unsettling if he was honest. Mark kept his feet moving, procuring her wallet and phone from his pocket. For now he left the tape recorder where it was, not exactly keen on revealing it in front of all the nurses there. She grinned as he handed them to her, opening her wallet to make sure everything was still there. 

"Wow, they didn't take anything." Relief was obvious in her voice. Next she tried the phone, but the battery had long since died. She put both things in the pocket of her much too big sweatpants. "Thank you again…and the other thing?"

Of course she'd ask. Mark tilted his head toward the elevator. "Let me walk you out." She followed without further comment, looking absent again. When the elevator doors closed he produced the tape recorder. "Here, but it's our little secret." 

She took it with wide, almost reverent eyes. He told himself he was giving it to her to gain more of her trust. The more she trusted him the easier his life would be down the line. Her thumb hovered over the play button, and Mark put a hand over it. 

"Maybe don't listen to it. Not so soon after anyway." Was she trying to traumatize herself further? Thankfully she listened to him, putting it with her phone and wallet. The rest of their ride down was silent.

On the ground floor the elevator doors opened up to pure chaos. In the short time it took him to get here and their elevator ride down, the press had learned Emmory was being discharged today, and were not swarming the front doors. Emmory stopped dead, watching the reporters shout at her through the doors. Apparently the hospital staff had shut off the automatic sensors and locked the doors. 

"Oh…" Emmory said, her hand fisting itself into her oversized shirt. "How am I going to get a cab?"

She wasn't, not without going through that throng. The two of them were far enough back that the crowd hadn't noticed them, and Emmory was already taking a step back. 

"We go back to plan A." Mark said simply, tapping her elbow. "I take you home. Come on. I parked in the parking garage. We can go out the back way."

She looked up at him with those wide blue eyes again. "Okay." 

Escaping the press was relatively easy. At least it seemed that way to Emmy. She supposed the detective was probably used to maneuvers like this. Emmy tried to covertly take the man in properly from his passenger seat, being fully conscious for the first time in days.

Objectively he was handsome. The first thing that had stood out to her was his eyes, blue like hers, but riddled with emotions she could not even begin to decipher. Then his lips, they were so full it seemed like a crime. His hair was a dark brown and combed carefully. Clean shaven face and a build that was just…solid. He wasn't exceptionally tall, but he was…well thick. He looked like her might be a little soft in some areas, the way older men sometimes were.

"So, where am I taking you?"

Emmy started sharply. Right, he needed to know where she lived. "I'm just outside of the city. 1428 Summers Ave." She gave him directions on how to get to her place, although once she said the street name Hoffman had nodded. He probably knew every street name in a ten mile radius of the city. 

There was still something, at the back of her mind, bugging her. Like an itch she just couldn't reach. 

"You seem to be handling everything very well." Hoffman said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh…well…" truth be told she hadn't really let herself stop to think about it. She'd either been sleeping or trying to figure out how she was going to get home. "It hasn't, I guess, occurred to me yet?"

Hoffman was quiet for several moments, then he nodded. "It could still be shock. Hasn't sunk in yet." They were out of the city now. Her stop wasn't very far from here. 

Emmy tried to think about that. It wouldn't do her any good to ignore it. Was it just that she was so thankful to be alive? She didn't really think so. Yes she was happy she didn't die, but now she was going to be covered in scars, and probably have some bad nightmares to boot. Would she just go about like it didn't happen? Why hadn't she cried yet? Emmy thought the not crying thing was probably the weirdest part. Then again she'd heard stories of emotions so great they were beyond tears. Maybe that's what she was experiencing?

"Hey, you get lost in there?" They were stopped at a red light, and Hoffman had taken the opportunity to look at her, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at her face, which was pointing down to her lap.

She blinked slowly, coming back to the present painfully. Her throat was closing and she suddenly couldn't be home soon enough. She turned her head to the window, swallowing hard. "I'm fine."

He left her alone for the rest of the ride. When he pulled up in front of her house Emmy turned back to him. "Thank you. You really saved me."

Hoffman smiled and something flickered in his eyes. "Hey, it wasn't any trouble." 

Emmy tried to smile at him as she left the car. It felt off, and she hoped she wasn't actually grimacing at him. Once she closed the door behind her everything hit her like a wave crashing over her. Her back fell against the door and she slid down until she was holding her knees and shaking. It was then, when she was finally all alone for the first time in a few days, that the tears came. They rolled down her face fat and hot. Now Emmy could really feel the ache all over her body, how the deeper cuts hurt.

A sob bubbled out of her chest, which started a torrent of more sobbing. She sat there, on the floor with her back to her front door, and cried for what felt like hours. She cried until she just couldn't anymore. She was still heaving sobs, but her cheeks had long dried. Eventually she got too tired to even make noise, so she subsided to whimpers, then silence. Just sat there with her chin on her knees, staring at the hard wood floor of her living room.

How was she meant to just keep going after what had happened to her? The point of the test was to teach her to appreciate being alive, but now all she could think about was how she was going to go about things as usual when she had nearly been another deceased victim of the Jigsaw killer. Now she was one of his lucky survivors. She was supposed to just put that all behind her? In the moment that seemed impossible. Like she'd never be able to move on. Logically she knew she eventually would, probably with plenty of nightmares, and the scars to remind her every day, but down the road it really would become just a memory.

Being back in her home just threw into sharp relief how wrong it felt. To be back here, safe in her house, when only a few days ago she may never have seen it again. It was beyond her comprehension. And her job…oh God she'd have to go back to work. That alone suddenly seemed like a monumental hill to climb. Did her boss even know what had happened to her? She hadn't called him yet, but she'd have to go back to work eventually. Trauma didn't make the bills go away. Emmy sniffed at that. It felt cruel that the earth kept on spinning.

Her ass really started to hurt from sitting on the hardwood floor, and her back was getting stiff, so she got back to her feet. She walked into the kitchen, which was just a step out of the living room in an open floor plan. Her phone charger was on the kitchen island so she plugged her phone in and set it down there to charge. She took the tape recorder out too, setting it next to her phone. It still had her dried blood on it. She hadn't noticed that before. She went back to retrieve the plastic bag she had been holding that held her old clothes. She chucked it into the trash on her way to her office.

Her office was down the hall off of the living room. Really she just wanted to go into her bedroom and collapse on the bed, pretend she didn't have to actually exist for one more day, but she thought it would be better to check in sooner rather than later, and she was sure her email was full to bursting by now. Mainly she wanted to email her boss and make sure she did indeed still have a job. That would really just be the cherry on top, having to job hunt after everything. Her email was full, most of it was spam and chain emails. Some were from her boss, wondering where she was, and worried. Emmy sent a way too brief email explaining what had happened and letting him know she'd be back again on Monday. She hadn't realized what day it was until she sat down. Thursday. For some reason the fact that the Jigsaw killer took her in the middle of the week really stuck with her.

Wonder if he has a 9 to 5 schedule.

She received an email back within a few minutes. It was the middle of the day and he was probably sitting right at his desk. Her heart thumped opening the email, expecting him to say that she'd been terminated. But no, he was relieved she was alive, if not okay, and that she could take more time if she needed to. Emmy replied back her thanks, but that she'd be in on Monday. She thought returning back to routine is what they always said you should do. Keep yourself busy and all that.

Now all she had to do was turn on her phone and see who had tried to contact her.

The precinct was abuzz as it always was. Kerry cornered him as soon as he walked through the door to ask him about the latest survivor.

"Did she have anything new?" 

Mark could have rolled his eyes. "You read the notes. She saw as little as the others."

Kerry followed him all the way to his office, filled with way too much energy. "I want to bring her back in. After recovering she may remember more details.

Real irritation flared in Mark's chest this time and he rounded on her, his hand gripping the door handle. "Jesus, Kerry, give the woman a few days at least. She's going to have enough trouble adjusting." 

He watched as shame flickered through her eyes. Mark wanted to sneer openly in her face. You forgot she was human for a moment there didn't you? All you could think about was that she lived through what you are studying. He could have sympathized with Kerry at one point, not so much now. Maybe some of that was his own fault. The work he did with John seeping unto his very marrow. Had he once just wanted to put bad guys away? He thought so. Now he was beholden to a dying old man who swore there was a better way.

"We can give her a week, but I do think it's important we question her again. It's standard."

It was. People tended to remember details after a period of time. Not that Mark thought Emmory would magically remember anything important. Well he knew she wouldn't. His only reply was a grunt as he opened his office door. A clear sign that this conversation was over. Mark sat down in his chair with a groan. He had plenty to do, or pretend to do. That day he had the request John made of him to fulfill, and he had a lot of work ahead of him.

Mark worked well into the evening, eventually checking his watch and seeing it had gotten quite late. He’d made some good headway. He’d call John and update him once he got out to his car. He wanted to drive by Emmory’s place, just to check in. Not that he expected he’d see much, but it was worth a look to see if she were home, or back at her favorite bar.

All was quiet at the Hodges House. The lights were out, and the car was in the driveway, which didn’t mean much. The little hole in the wall Emmory frequented was only a couple of blocks away, and he knew she was prone to walking there. They couldn’t take your keys if you didn’t drive.

So Hoffman made his way to the bar. It was a small place with a weird name, Lavender Tavern Syndrome. It was a step above a dive bar, and seemed to be video game themed. There were arcade cabinets along one wall and a few of the tables themselves were arcade machines, with a screen under the glass tabletop. Hoffman wondered if this place was Emmory’s favorite because of the theme, or because it was so close. He also thought they’d probably do better business deeper into the city, but they seemed to be doing well enough. There was no sign of Emmory here either, so hopefully she was at home in bed.

Mark ordered a drink, not wanting to look more suspicious than he already did in his cheap suit. The bartender was very welcoming, taking his drink order with a smile and producing it quickly. Definitely a far cry from the bars Mark had been used to in his heavy drinking days. He’d finish his one drink, then head home for the night. Maybe he’d swing by in the morning to see if there was any change. He didn’t think Emmory would be open to joining them, he wasn’t sure if she had the fortitude…

And maybe he didn’t want her to be. John’s cult didn’t need to grow any bigger. Mark could guess that John would eventually want to talk to Emmory, see how she took his ‘rehabilitation’, but Mark would leave that up to his discretion when he returned from Mexico. Mark wasn’t ready to out himself to her anytime soon.

Emmy tossed and turned in her bed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. The nightmares had come, memories of broken glass and how hot her blood had felt oozing out of a fresh cut. Shards grinding against the bones in her knuckles. In her nightmares she could have sworn there were still pieces inside of her, burrowing deeper under her skin.

Then, at the very end, when she got to the light at the end of the tunnel, a voice. It was deep, resonating in her chest.

Congratulations. You made it.

@grxmreaperx

[hoffmansnightmare]

Keep Away From the Edge

Chapter 3

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Emmy Hodges

Trauma, hint of torture, hint of depression. Nothing too crazy in this one boys.

You can read part one here and part two here

You can also read it here! Keep Away From the Edge

The Media had found her. It was immediate. Emmy went to sleep on Thursday night, then Friday morning reporters with notebooks and camera men at their backs were clambering on her front lawn. Emmy took one look out her bay window, shook her head, then closed the curtain. There was no way. 

She stayed in her house for the rest of the weekend. She ate a lot of ramen noodles, when she could eat. There were still random crying fits, and naps because she wasn’t getting the best sleep at night with the nightmares still haunting her (and the voice, always there at the end). Come Monday they were still there, and Emmy had to go to work. She considered calling in, saying it was a mistake to think she could come back. Then she considered the alternative, staying in this empty house another day, walking from room to room like a ghost trying to find its purpose. 

So she threw on some clothes that had actually been washed and grabbed her car keys. The crowd was on her as soon as she opened the door, cameras in her face, asking her the same question the cops had. Emmy pushed past them, head down, not saying a word. She almost closed the door on one guy's camera and sent him the nastiest glare she could manage when he yelled at her. She pulled out, determined to run anyone over if they were dumb enough to stand in her way. Thankfully no one was. As she drove away one pair caught her eye, maybe it was the shock of red hair, curlier and more orange, unlike Emmy’s deep mahogany red. Or maybe it was the fact that they looked a little shabbier than the others. The camera the man was holding was smaller than the big budget ones the news people had. 

Emmy didn’t dwell on it too long, hitting the gas and getting out of there. They’d probably be there when she got back too. She didn’t even notice the unmarked police car parked down the street from her house as she drove by it.

The office fell deadly quiet as soon as Emmy was through the door. She could feel every set of eyes on her as a physical weight as she made her way to her desk. Almost worse was that the entire thing was covered in flowers, some in vases already while others were gorgeous bouquets. Her throat grew tight. Dead center on her desk was a first edition copy of Misery's Quest, the first in the Misery Chastain series by Paul Sheldon, Emmy's absolute favorite author.

The gifts were beyond thoughtful. Emmy cleared enough of the flowers so that she'd be able to work, but she was interrupted before she could even sit down.

"Welcome back!" It was her boss, a man named Jeremy Henson. He was older than her, although not by much, later 30's or early 40's. Emmy had never asked his age. He approached her now with a sheepish smile on his face. "You were very missed."

"I see that." Emmy looked pointedly at the mass of flowers surrounding her desk. "And this is too much," she said, placing her hand on the book. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. She didn't deserve all this.

"Don't worry, the books from me, and I found it in a thrift place of all things! They had no idea what they had. Trust me I didn't break my bank." Jeremy said with a playful wink. 

Emmy smiled her first genuine smile in what felt like an eternity. He knew she didn't like people spending a lot of money on her. She hoped he was telling the truth about thrifting in. 

"You even kind of look like her." He said, tapping the cover.

Emmy's cheeks grew warm. "Yeah, some of my friends even call me Misery. They like to joke that I only started reading them because I looked like the main character."

Jeremy grinned at her. "And did you?"

"No." Emmy shook her head, but she was still smiling. "I'd liked all of Paul Sheldon's previous stuff, so I just picked it up." She leafed through the pages, breathing in the smell of the pages as it wafted up. "It's just a happy coincidence."

Jeremy nodded, then leaned in so he could whisper. "Are you sure you're alright? I can't imagine what you're going through."

"I'm fine. Really I need to be here. I was going crazy at home with nothing to do." Emmy said, forcing more conviction into her voice than she really felt.

Jeremy looked her up and down, a small frown pulling at the corner of his lips. "Alright, but please, if you need to leave, just go. You have plenty of PTO to use. Don't push yourself."

Emmy smiled again, sinking into her chair. "Thank you for worrying about me, but I'll be fine. I promise."

He finally smiled back at her, then excused himself so that she could actually start working. 

Mark watched Emmory leave for work, stoutly ignoring the press as they clambered for her attention. He ducked down as her car passed his, then he waited a few seconds before starting his car up and following her. He'd been checking in on her all weekend, but it looked like she never left the house. Mark would check in on her in the morning, then at night on his way home. He'd become a regular at Lavender Tavern Syndrome too, stopping to make sure she still hadn't relapsed. He sat for as long as it took to finish one drink, then headed home. 

It wasn't until Monday that she did anything, and Mark assumed she was headed to work. Sure enough he followed her to a gray, unassuming office building. She was part of accounts receivable for some big company. He couldn't remember the name off of the top of his head, but he was pretty sure it was a third party logistics company. It was all in her file, which he'd studied religiously before catching her, but now it was mostly old information he didn't need. Now he was mostly just checking in to see how she was holding up, taking notes for John whenever he returned.

Which should be soon. Mark had found everyone John had asked him to, except for one. Parker Sears was far too elusive. The man knew how to stay hidden, undetectable. He told John he'd have to find another way to get to him. John hadn't seemed too worried about it, the old man had only asked him about Henry.

"Got him nailed down." Mark had told him. "I can get him as soon as you're back."

"Perfect." Was all John had said before hanging up.

Mark didn't bother parking at the office building, driving past it. He didn't need Emmory noticing that he was following her. Hebwanted her to trust him after all. They hadn't spoken since he dropped her off, but Mark thought they'd be seeing eachother soon if Kerry got her way and pulled Emmory into the station for more questioning. That was fine. Kerry wasn't going to get much more out of her than they already had. 

For now he went to the precinct and pretended to do his job. His hands were tied for the most part until John came back. John hadn't asked about Emmory yet, and probably wouldn't until he was done with whatever he had planned. That was fine with Mark. He was perfectly content to keep an eye on her without John and Amanda badgering him in each ear. So far she was doing just fine. Mark found it pretty admirable that she was trying to go about her normal life so soon, just like she was picking up right where she left off, save for the drunk nights out. There was still time for her to relapse. Plenty of it. She was still in the honeymoon phase of having made it out alive. How long until that faded? 

Mark was back on her street that night, waiting for her to come home, around 6 she drove back into her driveway, just to be greeted by the mass of reporters all clambering for her to say something, anything, about her ordeal. Just like this morning she ducked her head and rushed inside. He waited a while longer to see if she left? Then started his car back up and headed home himself when nothing changed.

Wednesday morning John called him to let him know they were on their way back. They'd be home early Thursday morning. Wednesday night Mark was walking up to Emmory's front door. She'd been home for maybe an hour, and the press had just dispersed. Mark wasn't sure what his goal was with this visit, he just found he wanted to see how she was doing up close. He told himself he was only checking in on her so he'd have more to report to John when he inevitably asked about her. In the back of his mind, though, he knew he wanted to talk to her. He had no idea what she was like as a person, only as a test subject.

Emmory opened the door with a deep scowl on her face, probably expecting one of the reporters to have mustered up enough audacity to knock on her door. When she registered it was him her eyebrows turned up in confusion.

"Detective Hoffman?"

"Sorry for the intrusion, Ms. Hodges. I just wanted to check in with you and see how you were doing?" He gave her his most charming smile. One he used to use all the time when he was a beat cop. It wasn't very genuine, and Emmory didn't look impressed. Her eyes were staring into him, almost through him. 

"I'm doing about as well as I can be." It was very much a non-answer. "I don't really have anything else if that's what you're here for."

"No, I simply wanted to make a friendly visit. It's not in the job description, but you survivors are so rare." He widened his smile, showing his teeth. "The department worries. You know?"

She seemed to consider this, then stepped back, turning to the side. "Why don't you come in? I think I have some coffee to make…" 

Mark did just that, stepping past her doorstep like a vampire that had been invited inside. Emmory hurried into the kitchen and started opening up cupboards, eventually finding a tin of coffee. 

Mark ambled his way toward the kitchen, taking in her home as he did. It was modestly furnished, a couch facing a TV with a coffee table in front of it, very standard stuff. Some house plants added color to the space. Or they had at one point. Most had long since started turning brown. What caught his eye the most was a large bookshelf stuffed to the brim with books. On the top shelf, proudly displayed, were the Misery books, all neatly placed in order. Mark dragged his finger along the spine reading Misery's Triumph. He dragged it out carefully to see a woman that looked strikingly like Emmory. It looked like a bodice ripper romance. If the way the heroine was being held by the man on the cover was anything to go by.

"You must really like to read." He called over to Emmory, carefully replacing the book back into its place.

Emmory looked up at him from the coffee machine she'd been fighting. "Oh." Her cheeks colored a rosy pink. "Yeah. I'm a big Paul Sheldon fan."

Mark took in the other books and saw that not only did Paul Sheldon write the Misery books, but he probably had written half of Emmory's collection. "The guy writes a lot."

The sound of the coffee maker actually starting almost drowned her next words out. "Well he really started writing more after he went through this horrible incident."

Mark moved to join Emmory in the kitchen. She looked normal, not exactly happy, but keeping herself together. It could all be internal of course, but most of her bandages were off, the many smaller cuts healing well, and the deeper lacerations looked pink around the edges. They'd leave scars, but it was all fading on her skin already. "What happened to him?"

"No one knows the full story but him." Emmory got out two mugs. "But we do know a fan of his found him after he wrecked his car in Colorado during a snowstorm. He'd broken both of his legs horribly. She'd bandaged him up, had apparently been a nurse for several years, then she held him hostage for several months." She moved over to the book shelf and pulled out Misery's Return. "Apparently she forced him to write this book because she didn't like how the last book ended."

Mark took it from her. The same woman of course decorated the front cover, but in this one, instead of swooning with a man, she stood straight, covered in bees from head to toe with only her eyes visible. In the background there was the face of a woman idol carved out of a mountain. 

"It's one of his best." Emmory continued, "but I feel horrible that he had to write it while being held hostage."

Mark handed her the book back. "He never wrote about his experience."

Emmory slid the book back into its place, shaking her head. "No. I don't think he could. I think after he got out he tried to escape the memories as much as he could. That's why he wrote so much…or still writes. He loses himself in his stories."

She turned away from the bookshelf, looking lost all of a sudden. It was like she'd sunken into her own memories, probably reliving her own horrible experience in that moment.

"Hey, I think the coffee is done brewing." He said, trying to gently bring her back to the present.

Emmory gave a little start. "Oh right." She hurried to go grab the pot, filling both mugs. "Do you like sugar? Cream?" She checked the fridge. "Oh uh…sorry I don't have any cream…that's good anyway."

Mark got a glimpse of the barren fridge before she closed it, going back to her cupboards, which all looked equally empty. Her spice cabinet was stocked enough, and the sugar was there in a clear container. She let out a relieved noise and brought him both the sugar and the mug full of coffee, setting them on the kitchen island. Mark sat on the stool in front of his mug. "Thank you" and he spooned some sugar into his cup. Usually he drank it black, but she'd looked so panicked looking for it.

"Of course." She retrieved her own mug and joined him at the island, sitting on the stool opposite of him.

Mark took a sip of the coffee. It tasted burnt and the sweetness from the sugar didn't help any. Emmory held hers in her hands, eyes empty again, staring down into the countertop. She didn't attempt to break the ensuing silence, probably wasn't present enough to do so. He should know what to say to her, how to talk to her as a victim of a horrible crime. He'd been a cop for so long. So many horrible things happened to so many perfectly good people. But looking at her, knowing he was the one who had done it to her…Mark found he was at a loss.

His eyes drifted to the rest of her kitchen, the empty cupboards and barren fridge. "You need to go to the store."

Emmory came back, blinking her eyes, her mind turning back on. "Yes…I'd needed to go before-" She stopped, swallowed, "I haven't had the energy. I'd have to fight the reporters all over again."

Not to mention she was probably afraid of being surrounded by so many strangers. "They're gone now." He said. "Let me take you."

Emmory stared at him for several seconds. "Take me to the store?" She asked. When he nodded in return she set her still full mug down. "Oh no. You have much more important things to do, I'm sure."

"I'm off duty. Unless I get a call." And he wouldn't get one. John wasn't due back until the morning, and Mark had busied himself with Emmory. "It's been quiet. So I have time. You need to eat." 

"I don't know…"

Mark stood, rattling his keys in his pocket pointedly. "Now I'm insisting. Look I won't pay for them if that bothers you, but I can at least go with you. Moral support."

She stood with him automatically, still looking unsure. “It’s so late.”

Mark held up his keys. “Come on, you take much longer and I’ll cook dinner too.” 

That got her moving. She was a bright red as she grabbed her jacket, “but I’m no one-”

“Don’t say that.” Mark rounded on her, turning away from her front door. “That isn’t true-”

“I meant I’m no one to you.” Emmy insisted, meeting his eyes. That had him turning back to the door. He couldn’t stand being in the direct line of her gaze. The blue threatened to suck him in. 

“Look, stop arguing with me. I offered, don’t make me contemplate how much free time I have anymore alright?” Right, make it sound like he had nothing better to do. It distanced himself from her, but the fact that he was still doing this for her would stick in her mind. 

She shopped quickly, staying away from anything fresh and picking out prepackaged meals. When he suggested she get something that didn’t require the microwave she was hesitant. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but Mark knew she was considering whether or not she’d actually cook anything. He didn’t push her too far, eating anything was better than nothing. He pushed the cart for her, which he could tell was driving her nuts. It made him smile to see her squirm every time he denied her trying to take the cart from him. 

Mark wondered if she had always hated people doing things for her, or if this was a new development. He also realized he was busying his mind with puzzling her out instead of examining why exactly he was doing this. Knocking on her door was bad enough. Now he was…what? Playing house with her?

No, he was just making sure she ate. He told himself John had practically adopted Amanda. Mark was just making sure his test survivor had food in her house. Mark hadn't been watching her long, but he was pretty sure she wasn't cut out for what they were doing. He didn't want her to become and apprentice. There was a hope in him that she would heal, move on, live as full of a life as she was capable.

On the drive back to her place Mark asked her what she did for fun. Or how she filled her days.

"Oh…mostly I work. During the week I don't have much free time." Emmory kept her eyes looking out of the window. She avoided looking him in the eyes as much as he did her, it seemed. "I used to play a lot of video games. I still do. People say it's for children. But I like them."

Mark thought that explained her choice of bar. She was lucky to have one like that so close to home. "Anything else."

"Hmm" She said. "It's kind of embarrassing…but I try to write sometimes."

“Like Paul Sheldon?” Mark smiled, mostly to himself as she was still turned away from him. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye to see that her cheeks were pink again.

“K-kind of.” She squirmed a little in her seat, folding her arms over her chest. “I mostly write short stories, but just for myself. I’ve never done anything with them.”

“Are they good?” Mark asked, more of a tease. She looked at him then, brows furrowed down. There was a lightness to the expression though. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never had anyone read them. Let alone someone who knows if it’d be good.”

“Maybe I could read one. See what it’s like.”

Emmory turned a bright shade of red. “No way!.” 

Mark laughed at that, a hearty one from his belly. It shocked him. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt mirth like that. 

Once they returned to her home he helped her put the groceries away, and when that was done Mark found himself running out of excuses not to leave. He could tell Emmory was getting tired as well. She hadn’t eaten yet, but he was probably pushing his luck if he did actually try to feed her. She’d probably chase him out with a broom. 

So, with everything put away, he excused himself. 

“It was nice having you.” Emmory said as she walked him to her door.

Mark puffed out air through his nose. “You don’t have to be so polite.” 

She smiled at him. It wasn’t as empty as her expressions had been before, which filled Mark with hope. “No, really. It was nice.”

“Should I stop by again another time?” Mark asked with a raise of his brow and a small smile. He was teasing her, but she nodded.

“I’d like that.”

Detective Hoffman visiting had been weird, it was somehow refreshing. In the week that Emmy had been home she hadn’t spoken with anyone. Her friends had called her, but explaining what had happened, and then listening to them express how sorry they were that it had happened to her, was exhausting. Her one local friend, a woman named Holly that she had met through a previous job, had offered to come over multiple times. All of which Emmy had declined. She was quite close with Holly, but she knew Holly wouldn’t know how to act around her, or how to even talk to her now. Emmy knew Holly would try to act normally for her sake, but there was no normal…not yet anyway.

Hoffman already knew exactly what had happened to her, and had plenty of experience being around and talking to people like her. She found him easy to exist with, and genuinely hoped he would come back around. She knew he must be swamped, being a homicide detective in a city plagued by the Jigsaw Killer, but he’d made time for her once…

By Friday Emmy noticed the crowd of reporters was thinning. They were getting bored with her. Soon she might actually have peace when she left for work. Work itself could be better. Most of her day was spent trying to stay focused. Emmy still wasn't getting much sleep, the nightmare ever present, and probably not going anywhere any time soon. She was behind on her work. Her email inbox was filled with annoyed clients and exasperated colleagues. No one in her office knew what happened to her and Emmy refused to tell them, worried it would come off as an excuse.

Every evening, once she was finally home from a long day at work, she'd stand in the doorway of her office, thinking if she just sat down, she could write. It had been ages since she'd written anything, long before she'd even been captured. She used to love to write, and had once wanted to be a writer. Maybe not as good as Paul Sheldon, but the idea of having her own book published had always been a dream of hers. When she'd told Hoffman she wrote some, it reminded her how much she missed it. 

She always ended up walking away and to the couch to watch mindless TV, or she would crack open one of her books. Her first edition copy of Misery's Quest got a special place on her bookshelf, and she had pulled out her other copy to reread. 

Facing Saturday was the most daunting task, having nothing to fill her day with was surprisingly intimidating. She stayed up late Friday night, wanting to avoid the nightmares for as long as possible, and slept in as slate as she could stand. Emmy couldn't stay in bed all day, however, and dragged herself from out of the covers. The last, lingering, fog of the nightmare was beginning to slip away. The voice she always heard fading from her mind. 

Emmy made herself coffee and toast to the background noise of the press on her lawn. She had to force the toast down, but wanted to try to actually start eating. With mug in hand she went to stand in the door of her office again. There was the whole day ahead of her, plenty of time to write at least a little. Just do it. Emmy made her feet move to her desk, sat her butt in the chair, and turned on her computer.

Emmy had never written seriously. Mostly she just wrote whatever came to mind, and had never expanded any of her ideas into larger narratives. At best she’d done short stories that then just sat in her machine, never to see the light of day. She considered trying to write a romance, like the Misery novels, but she was so unsure of her writing ability. Emmy had been writing since she was a preteen, filling notebook after notebook. Once she became an adult, moved out, and had to start supporting herself, the energy to keep writing simply slipped between her fingers. Sometimes she still managed to type up a few paragraphs, however she missed the frenzy she used to write in when she had no other responsibilities aside from her school work.

Slowly her fingers started tapping keys. She wasn’t trying for anything specifically. Just a stream of conscience, to write something, anything. Eventually Emmy lost herself in her writing, letting herself fall into it and just keep her fingers moving across the keys.

“You all set?” Mark asked John as the older man slid into his passenger seat. John had placed something in his back seat. It looked to be the device that John had planned for Henry. 

“Yes.” John said as he settled in. “You already have him?”

“He’s sleeping in our favorite bathroom as we speak.” Mark checked his watch. “He should be out for a while longer. No need to rush.” 

John nodded. “You must have enjoyed the quiet while we were away.”

The old man was joking and Mark snorted. “It was a real treat.”

John chuckled then asked; “How did your first test alone go?”

Mark had really been hoping John would have forgotten, or would be too preoccupied to ask. For some reason he felt uneasy discussing Emmory with him. He shouldn’t. She was just another of their subjects, but he wanted to keep her away from this, from what they did. “It went fine.”

John leaned forward so that he could see Mark’s eyes, which he was keeping firmly on the road ahead of him. “How did she do?”

“Passed.” Mark pulled in a large breath. “She did really well. No panic, straight into survival.” He glanced at John, giving him the eye contact Mark was certain he wanted. “You would have been proud.”

John leaned back against his seat. “Good, and you’ve checked on her since then?” 

“Yes.” Mark gripped the steering wheel tighter. ��I’ve been keeping tabs on her. She’s doing fine.” 

The conversation died there and Mark was relieved John hadn’t asked to speak to her. Mark had already had to yank the phone out of Kerry’s hand multiple times, trying to buy Emmory just a little more time before his fellow detective started hounding her for everything she knew. He didn’t need John sticking his nose in too. 

Mark parked in front of the warehouse. It was the dead of night, no light around save the one directly above the heavy metal door that served as their entrance. “Well, let’s see if Henry has what it takes.”