Where do I go? What do I do? Jesse's heart is racing faster than his car, which is speeding down the abandoned road. As high as he is on life, right now, he feels even more hopeless than when his mother kicked him out of his house. Jesse has nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no way to start his life over again. He's going to live the rest of his days on the run: the escaped convict, Jesse Bruce Pinkman, former partner of the great Heisenberg.

Unless...

Jesse slams on the brakes, thrust forward from the inertia.

Where do you go if you want to escape someone?

A sly grin spread across his face.

The last place they'd ever look for you.

Jesse reoriented himself, jerked the car into gear, and sped out into the black night.

Marie jumped at the shriek of the kettle boiling away on the stove. Disturbed by the inhuman, yet tortured sound it made, she immediately shut off the flame and the kettle's raw voice trickled away into nothingness. Marie reached blindly into a cabinet to pull out a mug, her vision cloudy in the dimly-lit, midnight kitchen. When she pulled out the mug, Marie screamed and dropped it, shattering into several large shards on the tile floor. The bold letters imprinted on it burned in her vision, even when she closed her eyes.

DEA DEA DEA DEA

DEAD

Rigid from shock, Marie leaned against the counter and slid down to the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and sunk her face into her soft, purple robe. And she sobbed, vulnerable and childlike. She hugged her legs close, desperate for some kind of warmth around her, to fend off the loneliness that had been smothering her for months. Her cries echoed through the empty house, with no ears to hear them.

I haven't looked at that mug since… Marie couldn't even finished her thought, as recalling the memory of that day brought to her body new, vigorous sobs.

She indulged herself, losing track of time. How long have I been crying down here? she asked herself, standing up slowly and stiffly due to her sleeping muscles. Marie wiped her eyes on her sleeve and opened the cabinet to find a new mug. She poured the water in, steeped her tea bag, and added exactly 4 Splenda packets, which she had meticulously arranged on the countertop. She was careful not to step on any shattered ceramic as she walked into the living room.

Her toes wriggled around in the plush comfort of the purple shag rug as she sat, bringing the tea to her lips. Marie immediately recoiled at its taste. Tepid, she frowned, setting the mug down on a coaster. Guess I had been crying for a while.

12:01, the clock reads. I've got to get up in seven hours, Marie thought resignedly. She hadn't been getting much sleep recently. Nor for the past six and a half months.

Guess I better go to sleep, she resolved. Or try, at least. Marie stood slowly, shuffling through her cold, desolate, and purple house. She padded softly into her bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack, and eased into bed. Her violet sheets looked black in the midnight shadows.

Marie tenderly slid under her comforter, wrapping herself up in its embrace. Her tense muscles relaxed at the warm touch, making her eyelids heavier. Under the sultry spell of sleep, Marie unknowingly turned over in the bed, facing the side where Hank used to sleep.

She was washed with what felt like a rush of cool air, raising goosebumbs all over her body. She drew the covers in closer to ward off the feeling, but it's too late; it had already permeated her whole being.

The other side of the bed was completely untouched: not a single wrinkle in the sheets or pillow. In fact, the entire side of the room hadn't been disturbed at all. There was a faint coating of dust over everything that was Hank's: his dresser, his nightstand, his lamp. Marie couldn't even bring herself to clean the side of the room.

God, what I wouldn't give for just another second of Hank's presence, Marie thought, consumed by grief. Even another one of his lectures about his precious 'minerals.' Tears welled up in Marie's eyes, leaving salty trails down her cheek and dotting her pillow. But he's gone now, and there's nothing to do but lament over what could've been done.

12:27, the clock reads. Damn, I've really got to go to sleep already. Marie settled once more in her bed, fluffing her pillows and pulling up the covers. Suddenly, a twig snapped right outside the bedroom window, and Marie shot up in her bed. Her whole body was tense, her brain locked in a heightened, fight-or-flight state. She froze, not even daring to breathe. There was someone outside.

With extreme caution, Marie inched out of bed, moving deliberately slow in order to stay quiet. She dropped down to her knees, reached under the bed, and pulled out the knife she had been keeping there since Hank's murder. There was dust on it as well, but Marie didn't even notice as she held it at the ready.

Horrified, Marie recalled the conversation she had with Skyler. He's back. Walt's back. In Albuquerque.

Heisenberg.

Now he's coming to kill me, just like he killed Hank!

By this point, Marie could hardly contain herself. She was shaking, barely able to keep a grip on the massive knife. Stepping stiff with fear, yet delicately, Marie snuck out of the bedroom and into the hallway, hugging the walls and staring intently at the floor for any shadows moving across it. Her vision was poor, as everything was so dark she could only make out fuzzy, dark shapes.

BANG! Marie shrieked, then recovered herself after she stumbled into a small table in the hallway. Frightened at having given up her location, Marie dodges into the nearby bathroom and wedged herself behind the door. With mounting terror, Marie turned around in the pitch darkness to check behind the shower curtain, taking cues from all the slasher movies she had watched with her husband.

Nobody. Breathing a much needed, albeit silent, sigh of relief, Marie allowed herself a few seconds to calm down, before readying her knife and emerging from the bathroom. She continued down the hallway, setting down her feet like she was walking in a mine field. Her heartbeat was in her throat, pounding so hard she was sure whatever intruder there was could hear it. She drops to all fours in order to crawl unseen by the door when

BANG BANG BANG! Three deafening, paralyzing knocks on the door and Marie collapsed on the ground, shrieking. She felt like she was about to lose consciousness, this has got to be a dream, please, don't let me die, when whoever is at the door rings the doorbell.

Marie stopped shrieking and paused, confused. The hell kind of axe murderer or drug lord rings the doorbell? Marie still didn't feel safe, but at this point she was more perplexed than terrified, and slowly opened the door, standing partially behind it, holding her knife at the ready.

What she saw rendered her unconscious.

"Mrs. Schrader?" Jesse Pinkman timidly asked the woman lying unconscious on the foyer floor.