[AN: I have redone this chapter. There are no major changes to the plot or characters.]

I forced my eyes open, only to take in no more than darkness. I was sitting, and when I tried to lift my arms, I found they were tied down to my chair. When the television flashed on, I didn't look right away. My eyes painfully adjusted to the light and then focused on the table directly across from me, all kinds of instruments laid out across it. I likened it to a dentist's table.

I was hurt I thought; my body ached. I was afraid.

In my confusion, I could only remember, ironically, reading the newspaper's front page story about a series of victims caught and tortured by the now infamous, Jigsaw Killer.

But that television was on, and I turned my cramped neck to watch it.

"Hello Rivielle." A morbidly painted puppet spoke to me in an unfamiliar rasp. A chill built in the small of my back and raced up my spine.

"For three years, you've been a call girl, a street walker. Giving yourself off to strangers for money, inflicting pain on the men's families, who wonder where their husbands and fathers are at those late hours. But now it is your turn to worry. I have placed several devices on the table before you, but unlike those before you, I will not let you in on the game just yet. Part of your suffering will be the wait. I will leave you there, to ponder helplessly, what is in store for you."

"No!" I hoarsely screamed at the television as it flickered off, leaving me in the nothing again. Tears then dampened my face, and I struggled hysterically against my binds. Things went on like this for what seemed like hours, I continued to shriek into the darkness.

Ages passed. Finally, I heard footsteps and my heart jumped in anxiety and increasing terror. The door opened, revealing some cloaked person by the light of the outside.

They went over to the table, their hands glided over the instruments of pain, picked one up. I couldn't tell what exactly. He turned to me. I was wailing helplessly.

"Please..." I begged. They approached me. I shut my eyes, bracing myself for pain.

Unexpectedly, I felt hands touching me gently, a palm pressing against my jaw and pushing my head back so it was supported by the chair. Now assuming he was a man by his build, I felt him running his hand up my leg and rest on my thigh carefully. I was baffled by their tender contact, the mildness of their assault. And most perplexing of all, they began to undo the binds.

This couldn't be the Jigsaw killer.

He was reported to never help his subjects out of their tests. They were to help themselves. He undid everything until I was able to stand again. I stood, sputtering wild 'thank yous', running past him towards the door and into the light, not looking back once.

So, I was free, but why?

-

I didn't make it home for hours, I couldn't because my shift definitely wasn't over yet, and what was the sense in going to the police if nothing happened? What am I going to say? "I was working the street when a guy kidnapped me and barely groped me before letting me go." They would probably arrest me for hooking.

But I came home that night to a not so empty house. My living room light was already on.

Oh God oh God Oh God

When I came to the room, I found an older man, early fifties, sitting casually on my sofa.

I dropped the bag I was holding, and ran for the door. But I was too late. It wasn't going to open, someone had rigged it not to open from the inside without a key.

I screamed, turning to go for the phone but I heard him speak.

"There's no dial tone. You might as well come here." I stopped cold. He was still sitting on the couch, looking up at me.

"What are you doing in my house!? Who are you!?" I now saw the cut phone line.

"I'm the help you've long sought." He informed me casually.

"Weren't you the one who...who put me-" I tried to find the words, I was looking around the room for something, anything I could use to defend myself. My eyes rested on the drawer of the table that supported a lamp. There was a handgun inside it.

"Your previous trap was a failure. I'm here because I want you to win."

He folded his hands. "I want to play a game."

"I don't!"

"Play by the rules and we both win."

"What…" I inched closer to the dresser drawer. "what do I have to do?"

"The rules are simple; all you have to do is sit here and talk to me. If you can do that long enough then you will succeed. Think of this as an interview. We haven't been properly introduced. My name is John Kramer. And if you pay attention to the media, you'll know me as the 'Jigsaw Killer'." He chuckled.

I stared at him blankly until I finally became calm enough to sit; I sat on the other side of him, an armchair.

"You sit here and talk to me for one hour. And then I'll remove the lock on your door." All seriousness laid in his tone.

I didn't have to think, I sat numbly on the chair opposite him. We stared at each other gravely, until he spoke.

"How did you feel Rivielle, when you sat in the dark for those three hours?"

"Three hours?" I was stunned. I could feel his unrelenting stare. "Uh…I…" I began to tremble with unease.

He saw my discomfort. "I assure you, you can be honest with me. Frankly, I wouldn't hurt you. Though…it still seems you don't trust me, your eyes have been glued to the drawer over there. Useless to do so, as I found the gun hours ago."

I looked down, feeling defeated. I swore under my breath.

"I sort of knew you would, I just hoped otherwise. It's not a crime…"

At first I couldn't move. I was a little stunned, but I eventually got up and went to the kitchen, feeling at ease.

-

An hour passed as John told me of his past. His childhood, which was quite serene considering the way his life had turned. His, younger years, a few of them spent in the Marines where he honed his own survival instinct. And finally, his marriage to Jill. I envied the long happy years she had with John, contrasting immensely to my 'easy come, easy go relationships'.

I hadn't realized it until later, but I hadn't had a proper conversation with a man in three years.

Somewhere in the house a timer went off, and true to his word, John calmly stopped in the middle of his sentence, and got up to shake my hand.

"Game over." He said.

He departed, unlocking the door with his key and leaving me, breathless and shaken.

I didn't call the police, I saw no need to. He didn't harm me.

In fact,

He helped me.