I lowered my gun. The closet was partially open. Hearing the voices coming closer, I moved and pushed the closet open.

Crumpled naked on the floor and shivering was the sixth body.

She was alive, all balled up in a fetal position.

I knelt down. The kid looked up at me. She didn’t seem afraid. Her face was stark white with blue lips and yellowed eyes.

They hadn’t preserved the head very well.

“Are you Jenny?” I whispered.

The patchwork woman shook her head. “Jenny’s dead. I’m Trisha. Are you here to help me?”

I nodded, glancing quickly over her body; a web of thick cord holding patches of flesh in place. “I’m going to try,” I said.

Outside the door, I could hear that they were right there, whispering a plan to each other.

I looked at the kid. “Don’t worry about what I’m about to say, okay? Understand?”

Jigsaw Trisha nodded.

I turned toward the door. “All right Bennington, Burns! I’ve got a gun and I’ve got the girl!”

There was no reply. I put my hand out to Trisha. She took it and I helped her to her feet. Each part had a slightly different tint to it. I grabbed a robe out of the closet and wrapped her in it. She nodded and looked at me doe-eyed, like a suffering animal waiting to die.

“Come on, we’re going to get out of here,” I whispered.

And I meant it.

The door flew open. The crazy fucks bum-rushed me, and it worked! They caught me completely off-guard. I was helping the kid, the room was small, and they crashed into me, both of them, and dragged me to the floor. My gun dropped out of my hand. The bald guy, Burns, pummeled my face while the other man, Bennington I assumed, kicked me in the stomach.

I was down for the count. I had no air and the speed only made it worse.

They had me pinned and each of them had guns. They were old men, but the guy I guessed was Bennington was big and burly. He leaned into my face.

“Who are you? Who sent you?” he spat.

I didn’t say a word. I just looked at them. God I fucking wanted to kill them.

He repeated his question. I stayed quiet.

Bennington pounded his fist into the side of my face. It felt like a hammer.

I dug a hunk of torn cheek out of my bleeding mouth and spit the glob right into Bennington’s face. It stuck on his forehead like a spitball until he wiped it away.

Behind them, Trisha was bending down.

The other guy, Burns, slugged me across the face with the butt of his gun and was about to do it again when his head sort of exploded. One second he had a face, the next it was a red pile of goop.