The Value of a Life

Less than an hour had passed when Mark came back. Susan heard his footsteps coming down what sounded like a flight of stairs, then walking across a floor that may have been carpeted, for it made muted footfalls as he made his way to her room. She carefully tucked the gun between her legs, and as small as it was, it was perfectly hidden. She heard the familiar turn of a key and fumbled quickly to make sure the safety was still on before he came in. It was, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
She looked up at him as he came through the door and walked towards her bed, the medication in hand. She started to groan and squirm.
“Calm down, Susan, it’s for your own good, sweetheart,” he cooed.
“No, please,” she sobbed, squeezing herself tighter, the cold metal of the small handgun pressing into her inner thighs. He looked at her as if thinking.
“What’s wrong, Susie, you look like you’re hurting, is it your head?” he asked, kneeling down next to her.
“It’s just, I have to use the bathroom,” she cried softly, as pitifully as she could. “I’ve been lying here all this time.” He suddenly looked very sorry, very guilty.
“Oh, Susie, I’m so sorry,” he lifted her up in his arms, and she made sure she kept her legs pressed together hard so as not to reveal the gun to him. “I’m sorry baby,” he said, sounding as if he himself was on the brink of a breakdown.
I was the first time in days, maybe even longer, since she had been out of the dark room where they had kept her drugged and asleep. Tears of relief for seeing something other than darkness and drugged, blurred images flooded her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. The bathroom was not far from her dungeon and he put her down on the toilet.
“I can handle it from here,” she said, worried that he would try to assist her further.
“Okay, I’ll be outside,” he said, walking out the door and closing it behind him. She did use the bathroom, relieved to find that when she was finished, that she could still stand and walk. Her legs were sore from being in the bed for so long with out use, but standing up straight felt good, very good. She took the gun in her hands and flicked the safety off. She wasn’t quite sure what she intended to do with the weapon, all she knew was that it made her feel safe and relieved. Now, perhaps she had a little more control over her life and what was happening to her, rather than being at the mercy of the Jigsaw killer and his master puppeteer act he had imposed upon her beloved husband. She wanted to weep more for what Mark had become, how he had forever altered their lives because of this, but she knew there was no time. She took the gun from its position, hugged against her body like the lifeline that it was and pointed it out in front of her. No turning back, this is it, she thought to herself. And with that thought, she called to her husband.
“I’m finished, Mark,” she called. She heard the shuffle of feet and the turn of the door knob.
“Are you feeling-“Mark stopped dead in his sentence when he saw the impossible glimmer of the metal object in her hands. His gun. How the fuck could she have gotten-, and again, he was cut off in his thoughts as he had been his spoken words. His blood ran cold with adrenaline. His jacket, in her room, he hadn’t even thought of taking the gun out. And now, here it was, shining at him sarcastically in the dark basement bathroom, in the hands of his very rightly pissed off wife, whom he had been keeping drugged and asleep for the last ten days in the dark and gloomy basement room in John Kramer’s house. He swallowed and found that his mouth had gone completely dry.
“Yes, Mark, I’m feeling much, much better,” she sneered, slowly walking toward him. It didn’t take a seasoned cop like him to see that the safety on the gun was off. He also knew that it was loaded. He had dumbly left it that way, thinking that the high doses of morphine they had been administering to her would keep her knocked out and unaware enough to even get up out of the bed, let alone fumble around and find his gun. It had been a huge mistake on his part.
“Susan, please,” he said, backing away from her as she walked out of the bathroom. She suddenly felt very strong and aware, and it felt good to have the power back.
She forced him out of the room with the gun pointed at him. Sweat began trickling down his temples and he was very nervous with adrenaline.
“I want some answers,” she sneered. That was when John came down the stairs and came upon what was happening. He looked at her, then at Mark, then back to her. Jumpy as she was, Susan turned to look at him, the end of the gun pointing at him. Mark looked to John as well, and he didn’t seem phased, though he did put his hands up when Susan pointed the gun at him. “Now, I want to know why, Mark.” She demanded.


Mark turned his gaze back to his wife, and to him, she looked like a stranger. The dark circles under her eyes, the weight loss from lack of food while she was drugged, the nervous, near neurotic look in her eyes. She didn’t look like Susan. Not his Susan anyway. It made him wonder if he looked like a stranger to her as well.
“I said why?” she said, this time with more force, raising her voice more.
“Please Susan,” John said, trying to quiet her.
“No, fuck you, you monster, what have you done to him?! He was a good man, a cop, a hero, and you’ve turned him into a monster like you. Why?” she felt the tears welling in her eyes and making her voice quiver. It felt like a dream to her, like a terrible nightmare that she couldn’t shake off, couldn’t wake up from.
“Maybe you should ask yourself that question, Susan.” John said to her. She looked back and forth between John and Mark.
“What does he mean?” she asked her husband. Mark looked up at her, not sure where to begin. “Answer me!” she cried.
“Maybe it was because you were committing suicide, slowly and surely,” John said.
“Shut up, I’m not talking to you,” she snapped.
“Maybe it’s because you were crawling up inside yourself and dying because of what happened to your little girl.” He continued, ignoring her commands that he stop talking.
“Don’t talk about her, she’s gone and she’s none of your concern anyways,” she said angrily.
“Oh but she is, Susan. She’s the reason Mark is here, indirectly,” he replied.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she snapped again.
“You were crawled up in bed dying of depression. Your husband saw it and in spite of the fact that you were shutting him out completely, even though he lost a child as well, he did something about it. And if I recall correctly, it made you happy, relieved you,” he said. Susan narrowed her eyes at him, the realization setting in on her. She turned to Mark.
“You killed that man?” she asked in a quiet, shocked voice. Mark looked at her and felt such shame.
“Yes,” he answered, speaking for the first time since she pulled out the gun.
“But I thought,” she stopped herself, then turned back to John. “How long has this been going on?” she asked suspiciously.
“Only since then,” he said simply. “And it pleased you, as I understand. But I couldn’t rightly let his good deed go unpunished.” She felt her stomach roll.
“I don’t understand how I didn’t-“
“We all keep our secrets, don’t we Susan?” he asked.
“What?” she looked confused.
“We all keep secrets, even from the ones we most love. Like when the hardworking husband is away, things happen to his wife. Some of her own accord, some against her will.” He said. Her blood ran cold. “Why don’t you tell Mark some of your secrets?”
“Susan?” Mark said. Her eyes fell to the ground.
“He doesn’t know about the baby, about the abortion.” John said. Susan felt tears well in her eyes. “About how you were too weak to carry another child, especially knowing that it was not of the man you love.” She felt her body begin to shiver all over, became aware that she was only wearing a tank top, her bra and her panties.
“Susan, what is he talking about?” Mark asked. She knew he was thinking she’d had an affair, and now, she wished she had, that she had left him then, that she had went ahead and died when they let that bastard go. “Another baby, did you cheat on me?” he asked, his voice still soft, but shocked. She shook her head.
“No,” she sobbed, tears falling down her cheeks. Even with the gun in her hands, her sense of control over the situation was rapidly decreasing.
“No, she didn’t cheat, Mark-“
“No, no please. Why? Why are you doing this?” she sobbed.
“Sometimes, when husbands are gone long hours from their weakened, frail wives, things happen to them, things out of their control and beyond their consent.” John said, and it became clear.
“You were raped?” he asked. She shook her head, again and again. “How could you not tell me? I’m your husband.”
“You weren’t there! You just left me, just like now, it was easier to run off to work than to deal with me! I was all alone!” she cried.
“You were raped and you never reported it?” he asked, sounding disbelieving.
“I didn’t want to report it! I never wanted to talk about it ever! I just wanted it to go away,” she broke, her body convulsing with her sobs.
“Susan, when? How?” he asked.
“Why don’t you tell him, Susan, get it off your chest?” John said.
“No, no no no,” she cried, visibly shaking.
“Tell him how you went for a walk because you were feeling ok that day. Tell him how he snuck up on you, overpowered you because you were so weak. He had a knife, but didn’t need it. Tell him how you went back to your house and did everything wrong, tell him why you were really depressed, Susan.” John said.
She pulled the gun back into her arms, looking at it, but not taking her finger off the trigger. The sight of his disturbed, hurt wife looking at the gun in such a way that it was her lifeline, her way out, her salvation, made him regret everything.
“Susan, please, give me the gun,” he said, holding out his hand, but she didn’t give it up.
“You’re stupid, you know? Why would you leave this out. It was only a matter of time before I found it. Now I just can’t decide who I would rather kill, you, him, or me.” She said. He looked confused.
“That’s not my gun,” he said.
“Sure it is, it was in your jacket in that dungeon you were keeping me in,” she said.
“I didn’t leave my,” Mark stopped, turning to John. “You did this, this is the game.” He said.
“Game?” she asked. She then laughed. “Game, it’s all a game, that’s your motto. Playing God with people’s lives. You think you can control me, when I could so easily turn it on you and blow you away?” she said. She then held up the gun to her temple. Mark jumped.
“No, Susan, don’t,” he pleaded, truly afraid he was about to witness his wife’s suicide. “Susan, I love you. We can get through this. I promise, it’ll be hard, but we can. Please don’t do this.”
“But I don’t wanna be here. I don’t want this,” she sobbed softly. Another rush of tears ran down her cheeks. “I love you Mark.” She said. His eyes widened, and it was the last thing she saw. She pulled the trigger, and everything went black and silent.
“No!” Mark cried out, catching her before she fell to the floor. The entry wound, as well as the exit were both pouring blood. Brain and skin tissue covered the wall where he dare not look. He cradled her against him, sobbing for her. “Susan, no, no, Susie, please, please,” he cried, holding her. Her blood ran out on his shirt, covering his arms and hands. It was warm, and it made him ache.
John watched, and for the first time, was shocked by the outcome. He had expected her to comply, at least for a while. Jill came down and covered her mouth, both sickened and saddened. Mark looked up at them, angry, his wife’s blood smeared on his face, hands, and shirt.