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The man laying on Lawrence’s couch was dead. He had to be. The blood that leaked from his shoulder stained the fabric and was spreading to the carpet. It covered his arms and face and splattered on his shirt. His hair was matted and sweaty and his clothes were ragged. One leg seemed to have ended just below the knee. A cigarette sat between his smiling lips.
Lawrence stood, staring at the body. The corpse lifted his hand to his mouth, taking the cigarette and blowing smoke at Lawrence through a smug grin. It was dead, and it wasn’t there, and Lawrence was seeing things. Lawrence turned the light on and off five times, closed his eyes and counted to ten, even tried going back to sleep. No matter what he did, he could hear the heavy breathing from the couch and the occasional cough. He could smell the cigarette smoke that flooded his nose. He just needed to go to bed and the thing would be gone by morning.
But it wasn’t a surprise to Lawrance when it was still there when he woke up. He knew he needed to take care of it, real or not. After a long day of work and doing virtually nothing the entire time, he made his way home. He ate dinner like it was nothing- like the smoke wasn’t making him choke every time he breathed. Alison and Diana had gone the whole day without commenting on the body or the smoke. It both assured Lawrance and scared him.
Once they had both gone to sleep, Lawrence waited. He waited for a few hours, staring at the passing minutes. It took him that long to build up the courage to get up and talk to the thing.
He gripped his cane far tighter than needed as he approached the body. It was still smoking, the blood not any drier than before. He was splayed across the couch, leaving no room for Lawrance to sit down beside him. He let himself sink into the armchair, still gripping his cane.
He started with the first question that came to mind.
“Who are you?”
The body paused, taking the cigarette and putting it out on the couch. He slowly turned his head to the other’s voice, facial expression unchanging. It was the first time Lawrance had gotten to actually see the man’s face. It was relaxed, as though he were unaware of the blood and lack of leg. His eyes were dark, and Lawrence swore he had seen them before.
Whatever Lawrance had eaten last rose through his throat and splattered onto his lap. His shoulders heaved with heavy breaths and he tried to control his emotions. He needed to be rational– it couldn’t be Adam. Adam was dead and long gone. They hadn’t found his body, and there was no way he had made it out of that bathroom.
The corpse laughed, the sound of it so familiar and warm that Lawrance threw up again. The puddle of vomit grew deeper on his lap, soaking through his suit and pooling between his thighs. Tears sat in the corners of his eyes, warm when they spilled down his face. His mouth had a terrible mix of vomit and salted tears that had found their way in.
“Does that answer your question?” The body asked, propping himself up on his elbows. He glanced at Lawrence, who looked up from his lap with a hateful glance. Lawrence leaned on his cane as he stood, some of the vomit splattering onto the tile floor. His lips were pursed in a tight frown, and his eyebrows sewn together in a glare.
Lawrence walked as quickly as he could to his bathroom. It didn’t have a door, and he easily slid his way over the sink. He quickly turned on the faucet and tried washing whatever he could off of his face. The cold water stung his skin, keeping him rooted in his body. He cupped the water in his hands and washed out his mouth, which helped him stand the taste a little better.
He heard The Body lean on the doorframe, a slight dripping following him.
“You’re not him.” It was more of a question than a statement. Adam shrugged.
“I could be.”
“But you’re not.”
Adam grinned with a bloodsoaked mouth.
“You’re the one imagining this.”
Lawrence was turned slightly, staring at him with his lips pulled into a tight line. Adam’s words looped in his head for a moment before he turned back to the sink. The man that stood in the mirror had matted hair and sagging eyebags. His lips were pulled in what looked to be a permanent frown. Behind him, Adam was stumbling closer- even with half his leg gone.
“What difference would it make?”
A clammy hand settled on Lawrance’s shoulder, and he immediately flinched away from it. Adam kept his hand on Lawrence. He looked back at him, eyebrows knitted into a glare.
“It makes all the difference!” His voice rose into a yell and he smacked Adam’s hand away from him.
Adam paused, staring at Lawrence with wide eyes that vaguely resembled a lost dog. The hurt in his eyes was quickly washed away by anger. He glared and stepped back, one hand still touching the doorframe.
Lawrence wanted to reach out for Adam– and he almost did– to apologize.
“You really didn’t come back, huh?”
And suddenly it really did feel like the real Adam. The real Adam who probably spent days crying out for someone to save him- for Lawrance to save him.
After becoming an apprentice, Jigsaw hadn’t told Lawrance where the bathroom was. The old man had died knowing where Adam was, and never told him. Even Amanda knew and she didn’t tell him. How long was he alive? How close was it? Was Lawrance walking right next to him without knowing?
“I tried.” Lawrance whispered. And he really had. He had spent hours wandering each warehouse, examining each trap, trying to find any clue where Adam was. He leaned back on the sink and covered his face. He couldn’t look back up at Adam. His eyes stung, and he felt everything collapse around him.
“I really tried.” He sobbed, sinking down to his knees and falling further from there. The cold bathroom tile was pressed against his thin shirt. He curled his fingers on the floor as though trying to grab it.
Adam stood, staring down at him. The two stayed where they were for almost the whole night. For Lawrence it felt like it wouldn't end. For Adam it didn’t,