Graham listened intently to every broken word, the static hindering the crisp sounds to a sullied noise. In his office, he would have played that loathsome tape over and over until the words engraved themselves onto every inch of his skull, but he was not at all behind the safety of his desk. In that dank, dark room, he was trapped like a rat in a cage.
Three hours. Three fucking hours.
Blue oculars shot to the ticking clock on the wall, its hands indicating the countdown to his doom. Heart racing, panic rose in his chest, collecting sweat on his palms and quivering the bones beneath his flesh.
For months, Graham had closely followed the victims of the infamous Jigsaw. His murders formulated in a similar pattern: the tape, the trap, the escape. None had survived the ordeal. Yet, Graham… Graham was different. Within those walls, he was more than a mere man, but rather a man who had peeled back the killer and divulged in his thoughts. Each victim was a purpose and each murder held its bitter irony.
Swallowing, Graham immediately knew the vice the ‘Jigsaw’ killer chose.
'There is a solution to this puzzle- an answer which cannot be found at the bottom of a bottle…or can it?'
Staggering to his feet, the investigator slipped the tape recorder into his pocket, eyes searching the small space for his task. His gaze fell upon a bottle, filled into the rim with ice. Near the door,he cautiously snatched it up, wary of the potential explosion the frame could summon. Cold permeated his flesh, striking his nerves and producing a hiss through clenched teeth.
At the bottom, a shadow through the thick layers of ice caught the man’s attention. The key for his escape.
Knuckles tapped against the glass as he thought of smashing the damn thing. Efficient? Perhaps, but it would do little good with the stressful time limit hanging above. He needed to melt it.
Exploration was not long before he stumbled upon an outline along one of the walls. A metallic barrier vanished upon the push of a button, triggering the burst of a roaring fire within the confines of the furnace. A glance from the bottle to the licking flames dropping his heart to the acidic pits of his stomach.
Graham knew what he had to do.
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