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“Amanda.”
John’s voice is frail yet commanding, drawing Amanda’s attention toward her mentor. He approaches the kitchen island, then carefully lays out the pieces of his latest creation.
“Before you are the components for a perfect sandwich. Bacon, lettuce, and your favorite kind of cheese. All the pieces have been assembled—with one notable exception. Hoffman elected to pick up two different kinds of bread from the supermarket, leaving the fate of your sandwich to hang in the balance.”
Amanda’s gaze softens. She’s pretty sure her exact words were Sit back and relax, none of which he’s taken to heart. “You don’t have to cook on your day off.”
“Wheat or rye, Amanda. Make your choice.”
Amanda sighs. “Whole wheat?”
“The very same.”
“Wheat, then.”
John assembles her sandwich, and then one for himself. There’s a third for Hoffman, though she pretends not to see it. If she closes her eyes, she can pretend he wasn’t invited. And Dr. Gordon never bothers showing up even when he is invited.
If Amanda’s being honest, she prefers it that way. They’re all Jigsaw’s apprentices, sure, but she’s the apprentice. The one to carry on his legacy, the one he confides in. The last thing she needs is two scumbag weirdoes trying to take that away from her.
Amanda sees what he’s packing a second later, snatching it out of the picnic basket. “And don’t even look at your murder sketchbook.” She holds it up. “That’s what ‘day off’ means.”
John gives her a long-suffering look, but he says nothing. As much as Amanda wishes he’d take these days for himself, every day off is a favor for her. Otherwise it’s wasted time, a resource becoming more precious with each passing day.
She leaves his sketchbook on the coffee table, in front of the couch where he spends far too many restless nights. This is what he’ll return to when she lets him go for the night, tired, hurting, and all too ready to return to the task at hand. She thinks she can live with that.
The two of them head out for the nearest park. The autumn breeze has given way to the winter chill, and the resulting crowd is thin. Only a select few, moms with their kids and a group of bored teenagers looking to while away their Saturday.
They pick their spot, spread out their blanket. In the more active days of summer and autumn, they’d have a crop to pick from. Look at that one, Amanda, John would say. See how he walks? See how he speaks to his wife? See how he fritters away his life? If you look for them long enough, you can find them at a glance. See as I see, Amanda, and soon it will come naturally.
Personally, Amanda thinks it’s a load of bullshit. She’d pick at random. That guy’s a loser, that one’s a creep. Snap a photo and do some digging later. Nine out of ten times it was worth pursuing. Maybe unappreciated life was an epidemic. Or maybe they cast their net so wide that even the innocent fish can’t escape.
They leave a spot for Hoffman, but it’s looking less and less likely he’ll show up. He’s not answering Amanda’s texts, but that’s nothing new. He leaves her on read for everything, including John’s seizures. Maybe it’s better that way, too.
She likes the picture she and John make together. Cross your eyes, and the background falls out of focus. Just an old man and his daughter having a picnic together, basking in their dwindling days. Of outdoor days, of life—it all looked the same to the outside observer.
Sometimes she wishes that it didn’t come with everything else, that their meager time together wasn’t divided between engineering traps. But it bonds them, she knows, more than anything normal ever could.
He’s preparing them to take on his legacy, he’s trusting them with something so precious to him, and that strengthens their bond more than anything she can think of. A piece of himself so personal, only a handful of his closest confidants were chosen. She can’t turn that away. Not when he so badly needs her to be strong.
Besides, they have important work to do.