Her.

Why did it have to be her?

Amanda rattled the contraption in front of her, wrenching at a wingnut with more force than necessary. Notepages fluttered from the side of the workbench, caught in her irritable wake. Usually, tinkering with the traps was her place of relative quiet amongst the chaos. It cleared her head. Not today, though. Today it was spoiled and the state of her mind reflected that disappointment. The familiar sting of resentment lashed at her until she shook. She picked up a wrench, more out of habit than intent, glaring down at her hands as if willing them to stabilise. The collar was complete and she took grim satisfaction, at least, in the thought of where it would come to rest.

Amanda felt that this woman being here, in Amanda’s space, in Amanda’s head - was all part of another test. What else could it possibly be? Keep her alive… to save somebody else. That was what he asked – needed – her to do. It certainly was a test, of her patience if nothing else. Amanda couldn’t name many people worth keeping alive. Some days, she could barely count herself. On other days she was already dead, a maudlin ghoul still managing to find ways to bleed.

The woman beside her in the wheelchair – Lynn – could have been mistaken for dead, were it not for the restraints. Head tilted back, long hair fanned out as though combed through by a mortician’s fingers, she did not move. She was unconscious – Amanda’s handiwork – wrists and ankles tied tightly with rope to the wheelchair she rested in. Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes casting shadows. Her skin was flawless. A delicate bronze, somehow retaining the appearance of being touched by soft sunlight even under the harsh cast of the fluorescents. In the struggle, one of her top buttons had been torn off and Amanda followed the disheveled curve of the fabric. Nothing indecent was on display - no, this bitch was too perfect for that - but her eye trailed the length of her exposed neck until she could reach no further. A sneer curved at her lip.

Why did she have to be pretty?

Amanda’s stare burned like bile. She could have applied a little too much pressure when bringing her in, could have held her neck and twisted - could have made any number of things look like an accident. Her eyes roved once more over the pulse in Lynn’s neck, throbbing, and then over to the tools on her workbench. Her breath quickened, a slight lightheadedness as the urge to resolve her problems with the bite of cold metal reared, pushing, insisting. She closed her eyes, head bowing under the pressure of it all. Running her fingers through her hair, she dug her nails into her scalp, willing it to pass.

No. She had to save John. He had saved her… hadn’t he?

Yes.

She felt it in her bones, but felt otherwise in the deep scars that she’d forged down to meet them. The contradiction, the unknowing, tore her apart. Often, she felt the jaws of the reverse bear trap around her head, persistent. Some nights it felt like she’d never escaped it, her timer still ticking. Any second she would feel it, her head tearing itself to an irreparable bloody mess. John floated to the surface of her consciousness like a bloated corpse. He could read her without even looking; terrible, perfect, omniscient. She flinched, torn between cradling his death-marked face or pushing him away, back under, not to die but rather to live a little longer in her tormented thoughts.

When she opened her eyes, it wasn’t John that faced her. Lynn was staring blearily back. For a moment, she didn’t even try to scream. The two glanced sidelong at one another, not allies, not enemies. Something else. Something… other. Lynn could have been waking up from a nap, at first. The look on her face as she regarded Amanda was nothing more than gentle confusion. Amanda couldn’t resist looking back, meeting her gaze in this morbid moment of peace. Her thumb worried at the side of the tool, fidgeting with it as she waited and observed. Slowly, the dazed sheen in Lynn’s dark eyes was replaced, bleaching with a vignette of creeping dread as those heavy lashes lifted. Her rosy lips parted in a small oh! of voiceless surprise. For a second, Amanda’s breath caught in her throat.

Amanda took a step forward, wrench still in hand. Lynn began to scream, though the after-effects of unconsciousness tempered it significantly. It came out more like a shrill gurgle, a primal sound of fear. The sound switched Amanda in an instant, features smoothing to a callous mask of indifference. This shit again. “Wh-…” Lynn’s voice croaked, tongue still heavy. “Who are you? What’s this!?” Lynn’s eyes widened as her head began swiveling as far as the restraints allowed. She let out a low whine upon seeing the ropes and hooks on the wall and the woman standing before her with flat dead eyes.

“Shut. Up.” Amanda hissed, making sudden strides to ensure of this. It was so much worse when they spoke. She gripped the tool harder than necessary – white-knuckled – words issuing through gritted teeth. It took everything in her not to clamp a hand over the woman’s mouth and nose, letting her fall back into unconsciousness. John would disapprove. His face peered back up from below, watching. Quietly, she forced herself to focus on breathing – in, hold, out…

He chose her because she’s perfect… What is it that makes her so great? Is it her brain? Her heart?

Unconsciously, Amanda was leaning in closer, free hand reaching out. She felt compelled to analyse this woman, to take her apart piece by piece until she truly understood what it was that she was missing. “What are you doing!?” Lynn was afraid. It was evident in the waver of her voice, in the way her eyes were wide open, unblinking, drinking in as much as she could of her surroundings. Of course she was afraid. They always were. It was when the fear gave way to stubbornness that it bothered Amanda. Fear was fine, Amanda’s life was consumed by fear. It did not give her pause to imagine another having to come face to face with it. Especially when it came to this cookie-cutter doctor with her faultless life.
Let her fucking feel it.

As her cold hand snaked around Lynn’s jaw, feeling the fragility, she recalled Adam. He hadn’t even seen her coming. They never did, she took pride in it. It was almost impressive how long he held on. The way he Just. Wouldn’t. Die. That’s how Jigsaw would see it. She kept her thoughts along those lines to avoid remembering how his breath clogged desperately in his throat as she pressed the plastic flush to his nose, how she felt his life escape quite literally into her hands, how she turned him into garbage, the slick way that vomit slid down his neck as she let him fall face-down onto the tile.

It was a mercy killing -

I couldn’t sleep for a fucking week -

Coming back to herself, she swore she could hear him choking again, unable even to beg for his life. Hands shaking, she pressed harder. She didn’t want to hear or see his stubbornness - his ‘will to live’ - it didn’t interest her. It never did. Let them be afraid, let them all feel that impotent fear as they realise there isn’t a way out, there’s never a fucking way out -

Lynn managed to writhe just enough to jerk Amanda back to reality. Flexing her hand, Amanda gave her head a slight shake as she stepped back from the bound woman. Her short nails, paint chipped and gnawed, had left angry red crescents in Lynn’s neck. Lynn, who was staring up at the woman before her in evident horror. Quietly, she spoke, voice hoarse. “What.. is this? What are you doing here?” Her eyes met Amanda’s for a moment, searching for something – anything – that would make the situation comprehensible. She was a doctor; her livelihood was logic, stability, understanding. There was none of that to be found here. The woman before her seemed on the verge of a breakdown and every word Lynn uttered appeared to force her closer to the precipice. “Explain!”

“It doesn’t matter! It’s nothing to do with you!” Amanda was close to shouting now, pale face flushing, voice cracking as she tried to bite back the panic creeping in. “None of this is!” She was close to Lynn’s face again, looming above the other woman like a creature possessed. “You’re only here because – because he asked for you!” This close, Amanda could see the distinction between iris and pupil, could smell the frightened prickling of sweat and the way she tried to angle her body away, to curl in on herself. An attempt at dissociation, though she could tell that Lynn couldn’t quite get there. No, she’d be present for all of what was to come. That’s good. She needs to be clear-headed. She needs to be present for him… She knew that was how he would want her to think, how she should think but she couldn’t help being jealous to tears of this woman that could stare panic in the face and remain lucid.

Amanda was white-hot with it all, lightheaded with contradictions that threatened to tear her apart. Her only use was to bring this perfect woman into their imperfect world, in the hopes that he could be helped. Saved. Her trembling knees hitting the ground, knife in hand. A fallen body. A timer. A haze – not as much as there should’ve been – from the drug lingering in her bloodstream. Soreness between her teeth. The timer. Lukewarm gore under her fingernails, scrabbling, tearing at walls of slick viscera as the key slipped through her grasp. Sickness, such hellish sickness. The timer. The timer! She pulled at her jaw, pulled so hard she could tear her own head off if only she tried hard enough – if she just tried hard enough to be saved –

Lynn’s eyes moved minutely to follow a strand of hair that had fallen from the agitated woman’s ponytail, inches from her face. The air itself trembled, hesitant. All was silent but for Amanda’s ragged breathing, heated, close enough for Lynn to feel against the sheen coating her temple. The true horror of the scenario was sinking in, deep, settling heavy in her marrow. She was here, in an undisclosed location, inches from a madwoman and had been asked for… but by whom? She blinked once, hard. Not a single plan was forthcoming and she felt an unfamiliar useless sting at the back of her eyes.

Lynn was radiant even when dampened by the promise of tears and screeching like a hare caught in barbed wire. The thought made Amanda want to scream until her throat bled.

Put her in a trap and be done with it! Why do I have to do this? Why me?

Striding to her desk, blindly, she threw down the wrench and pulled out her hunting knife. This action seemed to reactivate Lynn’s survival instinct, escalating it to a new level as she began to fight against her bonds afresh. “No! Stop! What is going on!?” Amanda ignored her at first, bending momentarily to click the brake on the wheelchair. Amanda leaned back over her, the loose strand of hair tickling Lynn’s nose. She was so close. Lynn was thrashing in her seat, throwing herself from side to side in a futile attempt to loosen the ties. Stricken by sudden inspiration, she thrust her head forwards in a pointed attack. Amanda’s reflexes were astonishing, dodging the headbutt with a disbelieving bark of amusement. Bracing for pain, Lynn reeled back open-mouthed when it didn’t connect, a deft hand pressing her back to the chair with ease.

“It. Doesn’t. Matter. Don’t you get it?” Amanda tried to speak smugly, to cherish the moment of control, but her expression was wide-eyed and the self-satisfied grin she’d plastered on was peeling at the edges. Lynn was beneath her, frustrated and tired, the side-effects of the drug still leaving her sluggish despite the surge of adrenaline. Slowly, deliberately, Amanda began to crawl up Lynn’s body, all knees and elbows. Lynn grunted in discomfort as the woman got situated, thick-soled boots stepping carelessly on her toes as her free scrabbling hand clutched at a roped wrist. She didn’t give much care as to where the knife was, and it flashed close to Lynn multiple times as she moved. “Guess not.” Amanda smiled, dangerously. “Guess you’re not so smart after all.”

“Stop, you fucking freak!” Lynn hissed, the insult seeming only to spur on the woman atop her, causing her to let out a stunned laugh. Her free hand reached to unbutton Lynn’s shirt, exposing her neckline right down to the tank top she had underneath. Amanda was fully atop her now, turning the knife theatrically in the sickly light. The gleam of the blade hurt Lynn’s eyes as it glinted, filling her blood with lead. It was all so inevitable. Lynn was all but immobilised, entirely at the mercy of this woman who didn’t seem to have any to spare. There was but a moment, not hesitation but deliberation, before Amanda took the blade and placed it right between her collarbones. She jumped at its kiss, flinching up into the hands of her captor, skin tingling in morbid anticipation.

Amanda smiled down, cold as the knife-edge, as her own little game began.

It was an odd sensation – not alien but odd. Amanda’s own skin came up in goosebumps as she drew the blade along its dreadful course. Murky images of herself, businesslike, sitting alone on her dirty cot. Sometimes sobbing – howling – sometimes merely staring at the peeling wall, pulling cut after cut from her thigh before wiping the knife haphazardly against her trouser leg. She felt sure that traces of her own blood lingered on that keen edge, that some part of her sickness was transferring to this woman with each centimetre it travelled of her skin.

A quiet voice whispered beneath her, drifting into Amanda’s head like a doubting thought straight from her subconscious. “Won’t whoever… asked for me… be upset that you’re doing this?” In the past, it might have been the case that this comment would send Amanda into a screaming rage. She would end it here and now – plunge her knife into the jugular of anybody that implied she didn’t know what it was that John asked of her. He gave her her life. She owed him everything. Now, however… Well. Did she know what he asked? Sickness rose in her again, undefined and terrible. She settled for twisting Lynn’s hair around her fist, balling it tight before pulling her head back harshly to expose her throat.

“Don’t you fucking talk like you know him. You don’t know shit.” Her response, while full of vitriol, was quieter than intended. It escaped like another thought from her unconscious mind, probing and uncomfortable. Who was it intended for? Amanda let the blade trail, as though unintentionally, down past Lynn’s collarbones. Lynn swallowed nervously, throat bobbing. A crimson flower bloomed where blood trickled to meet the pale fabric of her blouse. Drawing downwards, she left a vertical cut not unlike that of an autopsy, a stark red line in that unblemished skin. It felt good to mark her, to make her real. The wound was shallow but the image alone meant everything. A dead woman walking. She would revisit this in memory for days to come, let it live behind her eyelids as she drifted in between sleep and wakefulness. Another memory, another ghost to keep her company in those long hours where she wasn’t sure if John would make it through the night.

He can’t be pissed at me if I don’t do any real damage.

When the metal met the fabric of Lynn’s thin pink vest, she hesitated for a second before proceeding. Letting go of the fistful of hair, she looked the other woman dead in the eye as her head bounced back against the headrest. Admiring the way Lynn looked beneath her, a small grin played at Amanda’s lips as she made a show of contemplating her next move. “Hope this isn’t your best…” She prodded at the vest, but Lynn couldn’t help feeling it was a personal slight and scowled in return. Mouth set in a hard line, she refused to grant her a response beyond her disgust. The stubbornness spurred Amanda to cut through the fabric, straight down, paring it messily open. When she met the resistance of the front of Lynn’s bra, she gave a harsh swipe, cutting through with ease.

Her pallor lessened slightly, giving way to a reddened tinge that spread violently across the bridge of her nose as she drank in the sight below. Sharply, she looked away. Expecting Lynn to do the same, she flinched when she brought herself to look back. Fabric fell on either side of her chest, enough flesh bared to tie Amanda’s tongue in knots. Lynn’s face was set in a hard expression, eyes stony. For Amanda, it was difficult to read. Something about it went beyond ‘furious, yet afraid’ but that was all she could pick out. All she’d been conditioned to recognise. Lynn’s skin was soft, she found as she grazed it with the side of her hand. Her mouth went dry, mocking words turned to ash as static fizzed in her head. She pulled her hand back as though burnt. It still burns. Still unsure where to look, her eyes darted around, refusing to settle on her half-bared chest other than to focus on the path of the knife. Lynn exhaled, shaky but stoic. She looked like one of those statues she’d seen on TV, wistful, eyes staring sightlessly to the middle distance, enigmatic and unreal.

Lynn didn’t so much as hiss in pain as Amanda trailed down further, thigh muscles tensing against her lap as she maneuvered above her. With Amanda so close, Lynn could feel how powerful she was. To look at, she was wiry and twitchy. Quite pretty, she conceded, but with rough edges. To feel, however… she could feel the flex of Amanda’s arm as it rested against her own, the grip of her thighs between Amanda’s as they squeezed around her. Each touch was a reminder that the pain at her chest was real, splitting and spreading through her nerve endings as she clenched her teeth and begged herself not to make a sound of weakness.

She paused over where Lynn’s heart would be, slowly angling until the knife was almost completely vertical, blood beading at its tip as she pressed it in just hard enough to hurt. She could hold Lynn Denlon’s heart in her hands, if she so wished. Could carve her open without grace, surely having to wrest the knife from bone whenever it got stuck before delving right back in. Hopefully she would scream, blood staining her lips a pretty scarlet as it flowed up, through the back of her throat, across her tongue. And if she dared to have a taste? It would undoubtedly be soft, warm, inviting – dizzyingly better than licking her own blood from that same blade… and so much sweeter.

She was getting ahead of herself. What would any of that be without some build-up?

First, she would dig her ragged nails into each side of the cut, ever-so-gently teasing the edges until she panted and begged. Lynn arched beneath her and Amanda’s breath hitched, lost in fantasy. “Please…” The thrumming in her head drowned out the context, leaving only the urgency of her plea. Blood trickled onto Amanda’s hand, her head deliriously elsewhere. Precisely, slowly, she would begin to pull until Lynn’s flesh curled upwards into her teasing touch, exposing more of that lurid crimson. The further she pushed, the more damage she caused, the more her satisfaction grew. Sticky fingers, warm, explored as the woman between her thighs cried in perfect cadence.

Then would come the knife. Her hunting blade, purpose-built to finish the job her fingers started. Lynn’s crying would be thicker now, heavier, a string of snot trailing to her bloodied lip as the skin of her chest was peeled in two with almost unbelievable ease. So quick, a life ruined in an instant. Two wings, sprouting on the inverse, all wrong but no less awe-inspiring. The whites of her eyes, rolling in her skull like Amanda’s own, complemented the stark peek of bone beneath gore. The sight would be truly dazzling, angelic, urging Amanda to run her hand along Lynn’s exposed breastbone, slick and hot. With quivering fingertips, she would feel the pulse of that precious heart, still safely locked in its cage.

The sight of the bared muscle trembling would turn her feral, she just knew it, and she had just the key to its release. Plunging the blade in as deep as she could, she would wiggle the blade until she heard the sternum crack. Lynn’s heart would skitter, beating at its bars, a frightened songbird that didn’t crave escape as much as it longed for somewhere else – anywhere – The knife would get stuck, forcing Amanda to brace a foot against Lynn’s abdomen to wrest it out. Blood dripped to the armrests, the concrete. A different tool would surely be more effective, but Amanda would neither know nor care. Lynn would know, actually – she might even ask her. “Say, doc, what do you reckon? Is this the right tool for the job?”

Lynn’s mouth would open, wordless, as a glut of blood spilled wetly into her lap. Retching, she wouldn’t even feel the saliva trailing down her chin. “Hmm?” Plunging the knife back in as hard as she could, Amanda would admire her handiwork. “You know what I think? I think this works. I think if something works, then it doesn’t have to be anything more special than that.” She looked Lynn in the face. Her grip was tightening. “I can make it work.” With a horrendous ripping that seemed loud enough to wake the dead – perhaps even John – she would tear open that cavity, hands braced on each wing of her ribcage to pull it apart like a wishbone.

Once Lynn was nice and open for her, Amanda could push herself in deep, forgoing the knife for her bare hands. She would penetrate that toughened flesh at Lynn’s core with butcher’s fingers while her heart pulsed tightly around them. One, first. Then two. Wet, pulsing, red-hot, Lynn’s lips falling open in a silent scream. How many could she fit before it all fell apart? Would it eventually splatter outwards or merely be crushed under the pressure? Would Amanda chew bits of it out from under her nails, days later, when Lynn was nothing more than an inconsequential red smear in some backroom? Her own heart fluttered at the thought.

Amanda’s chest was pounding hard now, pulse thundering in her ears as she drank in the view of the shuddering woman under her. As her eyes flicked across the doctor’s features, lapping up the desperate way her nails clawed at Amanda’s wrist, lifeblood squirting up her arm in thick pulses – Lynn’s ribcage snapped closed like a venus flytrap. Blinking hard – once, twice – reality swam back into view and the red haze dissipated. Lynn was intact... for the most part. Her wings were non-existent. The abrupt comedown from the vision had left Amanda shivering, feverish, sick. She braced herself on Lynn’s chest, clumsily, leaning in close. So warm.

“Could have… your heart. If I wanted it.” Amanda said, breathless, . Could you? They both pretended that they hadn’t heard the near-imperceptible tremor in her voice. Hesitant. She pushed the tip of the blade in a little deeper, but her fingers twitched around the handle. Blood trickled down Lynn’s chest. Amanda tilted her head, staring Lynn in the face, as though daring her to cry. Her own eyes burned. Surely, the woman beneath her could feel the trembling of her thighs.

“Sure. I’ve heard that one before.” Lynn quirked a brow. A strange look seemed to overcome her. “A couple of times, actually…” She wasn’t conceding, nor was she fighting back. Each feature was now arranged in a very specific mask but even that couldn’t prevent emotion seeping through, at various weak points. Her eyes were growing dark, doomed. The way her lip quivered couldn’t really be called a smile. It was the quiet hangman’s confidence as they approached the gallows, staring through the noose into the eyes of the reaper.

Amanda recoiled from her expression. All of a sudden, it reminded her of the Lynn she had lay in wait for at the hospital. A woman in control. Dr Lynn Denlon. Distressed, constantly stretched too thin, but confident. That darkness in her eyes… That had been there at the hospital, too. This wasn’t fear, nor was it stubbornness. It wasn’t merely an emotion that could be distilled from watching any Jigsaw victim under pressure. It was far more akin to the void Amanda stared into every time she had to look in a mirror. An emptiness that, no matter what is poured into it, remains such an aching vacuum that it begins consuming you instead.

Was she, too, more ghoul than person? Did it gnaw at her, or had she learned early to coexist with the abyss? If Lynn’s hands weren’t tied, Amanda wondered whether she would reach up and place those neatly manicured hands around her neck. Would it be a threat or a promise when she dug her nails in? Would she use her expert medical knowledge to recall the perfect way to make it hurt, extend Amanda’s suffering? Would she squeeze without mercy until Amanda choked and sobbed, falling tearstained and unconscious into her lap? What then? Would she bring her back to life – save her – or would she take the knife and be the one to claim her heart? Amanda felt suddenly sure, with a violent shiver, that it would be the latter. Her grip on the knife slackened.

Would Lynn take pleasure in it?

God, he was right. She really is –

Amanda caught the thought before it had a chance to bloom into anything worth contemplating and strangled it until it died. She pushed it back under with all the rest, kicking it to make sure it stayed down, knowing that it would haunt her tenfold for doing so. The healing hands of a bloodied angel could surely bring her to the light – but as she faded away they would only be the same dull tubes overhead, flickering their constant taunt.

There was no escape.

The trembling of Lynn’s lip had subsided, just slightly, and Amanda couldn’t help but notice the way she bit it for a second. A neat bead of blood pearled on the tender flesh. Their eyes met again. She could… easily… She clenched her jaw, holding the precarious moment between her teeth.

No escape…

Sharing breath with Lynn was making her delirious. Truths that went unspoken, even in her head, wavered.

“Amanda…?” A weak voice from the next room drifted in and jolted Amanda with sudden force. The moment fell, shattering to pieces. John. Shit. He needed her. She sprang off Lynn’s lap immediately and moved to the workbench on legs that weren’t quite steady, ignoring how cold her body felt without the warmth of the other woman. Seeming to think better of something, she returned briefly to Lynn and began quickly buttoning her blouse. It was rumpled from where she had knelt on it, but it would do. He won’t notice.

Sticking the knife in its makeshift sheath at her hip, Amanda picked up the shotgun collar with both hands and brought it to her captive. “No crying…” she taunted, more to taste the addictive thrill of teasing the doctor than to give her a real threat. Lynn’s eyes widened at the sight of the terrible contraption but she knew better than to try fighting with her again. The ties were too tight and the woman in front of her was too wired to reason with. She also knew far better than to cry. That awful hunting knife hung at her side, ready for immediate use. She had no doubt that, if pressed even slightly, Amanda would use it. She seemed... unstable. Lynn hoped fervently that speaking with whoever had requested her would bring clarity.

As if reading her mind, Amanda spoke into their silence. “You’ll get your explanation in a moment. He should be there for that bit.” Amanda’s tone failed to hide her pride, that small hope of recognition for her actions. Lynn met her eye, tired but fierce, as she bent to clasp the contraption around her neck. It hung heavily, like betrayal. She couldn’t fail to notice the little smile on Amanda’s lips as she said the word ‘he’ and wondered what sort of deranged partnership she was caught between. The way Amanda spoke of him was the way one might speak of a deity, as though the pronoun should be capitalised.

“Amanda…?” The voice issued once more, followed by a wet cough. “Where is she…?” Amanda felt momentarily warm that she was the one he searched for upon waking, that he could rely on her to do as he required. It wasn’t until she heard him speak again that it dawned on her. “Did you do as I asked?” Jealousy flared for a moment, fuelling her as she flipped back to doing what was needed. Of course. He was eager to see Lynn. Her eyes darkened, consumed a little further by that starving emptiness. Making sure her mask was well and truly settled, she slid back into her mode where she got shit done. There was no more room for anything else. Taking the brakes off, she prepared to move Lynn towards her fate. Amanda averted her gaze to the doorway, thinking only of the task at hand.

“Are you gonna behave?” Amanda forced a smirk and gave Lynn’s hair a condescending pat, too hard to be affectionate. She felt like things were slowly getting back to normal. She was in control. Lynn shifted uncomfortably as the collar rested against her weeping cuts. Despite her blouse being rebuttoned, blood seeped through where the fabric rested against her chest, more crimson blooms forming where it stuck around her heart. Amanda was brightly confident that John wouldn’t even notice. Lynn’s perfectly-brushed hair had fallen out of place a little, twisting into sweaty strands that hung about her face. Her chest area appeared strangely lumpy, a byproduct of the way that Amanda had sliced through the supportive clothing beneath and left it in hanging pieces. Amanda’s smile grew wider as she appraised the doctor, canines appearing unnaturally sharp in the flickering fluorescents.

Yes, perfect.

“Let’s go.” Amanda straightened up, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair and kicking off from the ground with the sudden whimsy of a small child, letting the toes of her combat boots drag along the concrete.