Chapter 34 — The Final Treatment
Early the next morning, Ethan actually left the apartment with Sheldon and Leonard for once.
After Leslie left the night before, Sheldon had been muttering nonstop about her "lack of consideration." She'd casually corrected an error on his whiteboard — and that single act had emotionally devastated him.
He'd been ranting to Ethan for a full ten minutes and still hadn't stopped.
Ethan's brain felt like it was vibrating. Finally he cut in, "Sheldon, I understand how you feel. This situation is like… you were about to commit suicide and someone saved you."
"What?!" Sheldon stopped dead. "First, I would never commit suicide. Second, if I did, logically I would choose a location where police response time is statistically inefficient."
"Okay, okay," Ethan said, raising his hands. "Let's say it's someone else. If a person is about to kill themselves and the police arrive, deep down, do you think they want to be saved or shot?"
Sheldon frowned. "…I suppose most would want to be saved."
"So?"
"So what?" Sheldon said. "You're saying Leslie was the 'police'? She acted against my wishes but in my best interest?"
"Yes."
Sheldon thought for two seconds. "But she was still inconsiderate."
"In a free country, the police are never considerate," Ethan concluded.
Great. Babysitting first thing in the morning. Ethan grabbed his things.
Leonard, already waiting outside, was yelling down the hall,
"Sheldon! Sheldon!! We really have to go — now!!"
Sheldon and Ethan stepped out.
As Sheldon locked the door, he said, "Leonard, for someone who recently engaged in sexual intercourse, you are remarkably tense."
Penny was in the hallway with a laundry basket, apparently just finishing a chat with Leonard.
"Well, we'll talk later," Penny said. "But I'm really happy for you, Leonard. Bye, guys."
"Thanks," Leonard said.
"Bye~"
The moment Penny left, Leonard went straight into overanalysis mode. "What did she mean by 'happy for me'? Is that good? Or—"
Why can't there ever be a peaceful morning? Ethan was already regretting leaving with these two.
"Ethan?" Leonard looked at him like a lifeline. "What do you think?"
"I think I should start charging consultation fees," Ethan said, rubbing his temple. "Leonard, if Penny and I had spent last night together, would you be happy?"
"Of course not!"
"Why? Penny and I are both your friends. Shouldn't you be happy for both of us?"
"I — I should be… but I like her! If I saw you two— ohhh…"
Realization finally hit his face.
Ethan sighed. "Exactly."
Three seconds later…
Leonard: "So when she said she was happy for me… was she sincere or—"
"I've got something to do," Ethan cut in, already jogging down the stairs, fleeing the conversational black hole that was this morning.
---
Afternoon — Rayne Clinic
Ethan stayed busy all morning. After grabbing a quick lunch, he returned to the clinic.
Compared to the morning rush, the place at 2 p.m. felt almost abandoned.
Sunlight slanted between buildings, leaving a pale glow across the Rayne Clinic sign.
Ethan leaned back in his chair. Mary had called earlier — her afternoon shift fell through; she'd come in tonight instead.
He didn't mind. Most of their patients came after dark anyway. People without insurance usually worked during the day. Nighttime was when they could seek treatment.
If Mary wanted, she could handle the evening alone. Ethan sometimes stayed late, but more often he went home.
Quiet rooms made him sleepy. Staring at the empty waiting area, fatigue crept in. He suddenly craved Max's cupcakes — soft, a little sweet, perfect for filling the dull stretch of the afternoon.
Ding—
The bell chimed.
A familiar figure stepped inside.
John Kramer.
Still in a dark coat. Steady stride. His complexion was far healthier now, the gray shadows beneath his eyes mostly gone. The bandage on the back of his head remained, but he no longer looked sick — more like a man wearing a prop.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Rayne."
"Mr. Kramer." Ethan stood, studying him. "You look well."
"The hospital doctors said the same." John handed him a thick report. "Markers down. Margins clearer. Signs of metastasis receding."
"They think the earlier diagnosis may have been wrong. Re-evaluation first, then maybe surgery, maybe conservative treatment."
A faint mockery edged his voice. "They now estimate I could live five more years if surgery succeeds."
Ethan flipped through the scans. The dark mass had retreated again — the cancer timeline appeared rolled back at least six months. But shadow still lingered.
"Based on the previous response," Ethan assessed, "one final treatment should do it."
"I agree." John removed his coat and glanced around the modest room — sterile lights, cold steel counters, and the sign outside: Healing Beyond Medicine.
He smiled. "I'm starting to believe that slogan."
"Lie down," Ethan said, gloving up.
"The process will be like before, except slower. You'll need to stay here awhile."
Spacing the treatments. Not burning through everything at once.
"Understood."
---
Ethan worked differently this time.
One spell. Pause. Let the energy settle.
Repeat.
No more draining himself dry.
Ten-minute intervals.
The results were obvious — no dizziness, no cold sweat, no near-collapse.
"Done," Ethan said at last.
John opened his eyes, sat up, rotated his neck.
"How do you feel?"
"It's like the static in my head finally shut off."
His gaze was clear. "No pain. No pressure. Even the dark edges in my vision are gone."
Ethan nodded carefully. "Still get imaging done. Let the scans confirm."
"Of course."
John lingered while putting on his coat.
"Doctor… a few questions."
"Go ahead."
"You knew who I was from the start."
"Yes. The news called you the Jigsaw killer."
"I never used that name." A pause. "Why didn't you call the police?"
"I'm a doctor. Not a cop. Until you harm me or mine, you're just a patient."
John watched him quietly.
"You said before you don't judge. Yet you do choose. You treat those who want to live."
"I assess possibility, not worth," Ethan said. "No will to live means no treatment success."
John nodded slowly.
"So we're alike. We both select those who still fight for life."
Ethan didn't answer.
"My subjects live if they fight hard enough."
Ethan replied calmly, "You don't kill. You engineer situations where they kill themselves."
"All decisions are theirs," John said. "I offer rebirth."
"You offer torture."
"Awakening," John corrected. "Only when life hangs by a thread do people see what matters."
He spoke of survivors who now cherished mornings, meals, dreams.
"Doctors treat bodies. I treat souls."
"You call breaking bodies 'healing souls'?"
"Pain is the path."
He studied Ethan.
"I thought you might be my successor. But now I have time again."
"I invite you to witness what true awakening looks like."
"I refuse," Ethan said firmly.
They held eye contact.
At the door, John paused.
"You healed my body, doctor. But some souls… you cannot reach."
The bell chimed as he left.
Ethan stared after him.
"...Nutjob."