The wail of far-off sirens, the taste of salty tears streaming down his face, the rush of adrenaline surging through his body as he grips the steering wheel as hard as his emaciated arms can…
Jesse is free.
LEGACY
Jesse wakes with a start, his chest heaving, beads of sweat lining his forehead. He sits up in bed for a few seconds to regain his bearings and to shake away the horrors of the clinging memory. He feels shaky, disconnected. The darkness of his bedroom swims around Jesse, surrounding him like black velvet. He's thankful for the comforting cover of the thick blackness. Looking over at the clock, he sees it reads 5:00. Too late to go back to sleep, Jesse thinks. Might as well get up.
Jesse swings his legs over the side of the bed, pausing to take a deep breath. He is about to stand up when the woman who was sleeping next to him stirs. She shifts and gives a little groan.
"What time is it?" she mumbles, her voice groggy with sleep. Jesse reaches over to brush her bangs out of her face. For a moment, a smile flickers across his lips. There is a pang in his chest as he is reminded of Jane, and the smile is gone.
"It's five, honey," Jesse whispers. "Go back to sleep." With that, Jesse stands and trudges out of the room. Carefully and silently closing the bedroom door behind him, he slowly steps down the staircase. He walks by a series of pictures with him and the woman: dates, their engagement, buying their house, their wedding. My whole life, played out in front of me, Jesse thinks. A wave of guilt strikes his heart as he remembers his previous life. That doesn't matter anymore. Phoebe doesn't know, and she won't ever find out. But how long could Jesse keep his terrible past a secret?
The house is silent, aside from the soft padding of Jesse's feet on the hardwood floor. Outside, a few notes of birdsong pierce the thin, early morning air. A few strands of sunrise streak across the walls, tinting the wall bright orange. Everything else is washed in a deep blue color. Everything seems to be standing still, like the Earth is holding its breath.
Suddenly, a shadow flashes across the light streaking through the family room. Jesse turns fast as a whip, his senses sharpened from the months he spent as a meth-slave. Heart pounding, Jesse shoots to the window to interpret the threat. His heartbeat is in his throat now, fingers jittering, ready to defend Phoebe and himself. Then, out of the corner of his eye, the shadow again. Jesse feels his face redden as he realizes what this "threat" was: a goldfinch. He wipes his forehead and continues to the kitchen. God, I could sure use some coffee.
It isn't long before the rich, earthy scent of strong coffee is floating through the kitchen. Jesse inhales deeply and bends down over the counter, resting his head on his arms. Waiting for his coffee to finish brewing, he runs his hands under the faucet and splashes icy water on his face. It feels amazing. Leaning over the sink, Jesse stares out the window at the quiet street. I must be the only one awake. There was no activity out there. In a city like St. Louis, there's always gotta be something going on.
The coffee pot beeps, prompting Jesse to pour himself a large, steaming mug. The drink courses through him, filling Jesse with a newfound energy, surging through his veins and out of his fingertips. He feels rejuvenated, powerful, almost like… like...
NO. Jesse slams his mug down forcefully, ending the reminiscence before it could continue, then feels embarrassed at the idea of having woken up his wife. Jesse has a new life, new family, everything that happened before then is history. I shouldn't even be thinking about it anymore. A lump catches in his throat as Jesse remembers Jane, Andrea, Brock, hell, even Wendy. What ever happened to Brock. Jesse shakes his head. Doesn't matter. Brock's got a new life now, too.
The clock on the stove now reads 5:17. Phoebe will be getting up soon. I should make her breakfast. Jesse opens the fridge, recoiling at the blast of cold air, and takes out eggs, milk, and butter. Unbeknownst to everyone he knew, Jesse has always been a natural cook. He lets the irony of that statement sink in, before clearing his throat and getting the Bisquick out of the pantry. Then a true smile appears on his face; Phoebe, the smartest woman I know, who deserves the best of everything, loves crappy box mix pancakes. He shrugs this off and prepares the recipe he memorized as a teenager.
The pancakes are sizzling in the pan by 5:30, when a raucous alarm clock sounds upstairs and, moments later, Phoebe strides lightly down the stairs. Her hair is tangled and there is a little smudged makeup under her left eye. But to Jesse, she looks as beautiful as the day he married her.
"Oh, sweetie," she gasps. "You didn't have to make breakfast!" She bounces over to Jesse and moves to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. As she leans into him, though, Jesse turns his head to give Phoebe a powerful, amorous kiss. She is taken by surprise, but throws her arms around him anyway. "Easy, tiger," she says flirtatiously. "Our anniversary was last month." She walks to the counter, and takes a seat as Jesse fetches syrup and pours her coffee just the way she likes it: black, 3 teaspoons of sugar.
"You have a bad dream last night?" she asks around a mouthful of pancakes. "You were tossing and turning a lot."
Jesse stares right into her deep, hazel eyes. He feels like there is a hole opening up in his chest as he says, "No, not that I can recall." He kicks himself for lying to Phoebe. She doesn't deserve to be lied to.
She seems to buy it, though, and continues to make conversation. "This is so nice that you did all this, really. Who doesn't love hot pancakes and hot coffee ready for them in the morning?"
"Hey, how about hot husband?" Jesse jokes. Phoebe produces a wide-mouthed smile and lightly punches Jesse on the arm. She giggles and reaches over to sneak a piece of Jesse's pancake.
"That's what you get for that, mister!" Now they're both giggling. Ah, the joys of married life. Do we still count as newlyweds? It's been a year, Jesse wonders. Yeah, a year and you still haven't told her anything, Jesse's conscience reminds him. Phoebe had been told absolutely nothing about Jesse's former life, not his drug use, his murders, his slavery. Instead, she had been told the story he fabricated on the bus ride to his new life that Saul's guy had set up for him. Ethan Hawthorne, who knew nothing about his birth parents, had been adopted by a couple here in St. Louis, Mark and Rosemary, who had both died in the car crash that left Ethan with the scars that still faintly lined his face, right before he was going to start college. That's where Ethan's story merged with Jesse's. He used the remaining funds of his hidden cash to go to college, eventually earning his master's in psychology. He got a job as an addiction counselor, met a beautiful woman named Phoebe, and married her. With a huge sum from Phoebe's parents, they bought this amazing house right here in St. Louis. Now here he was, one year later, living the American Dream. Living a lie.
It all seemed liked such a blur. And it had been. Jesse and Phoebe's love was a whirlwind one, and they were engaged by the time Jesse had even finished college. By then, Phoebe was close to finishing her residency as a pediatric neurosurgeon. They spent nights at restaurants, watching movies at her house, and even going out for donuts one morning after Phoebe's night shift. Time felt so slow when they were together, almost as if their moments were suspended somehow, even though they had only been together for a little over 3 years.
"Earth to Ethan," Phoebe says, abruptly pulling Jesse out of his flashbacks. "I said 'Breakfast was lovely, but I gotta get ready.'" She gives him another quick kiss, then leaves the kitchen and walks back upstairs. Jesse doesn't follow her up the stairs; he does the dishes instead. He doesn't have to be at the clinic until 9:00 and it's only 6:15. The mindless scrubbing of dishes helps clear his mind. Outside the window, their peaceful corner of St. Louis is waking up. Men in boxers drag out garbage cans, women in pajamas walk their dogs down the sidewalk. Such a perfect scene. It almost reminds him of his aunt's neighborhood, back in Albuquerque.
Domesticity has changed me, Jesse muses. To Phoebe, to my neighbors, to everyone, I'm just Ethan Hawthorne.
He stands in the kitchen, looking out the window, thinking, even though his mind feels empty. Finally, he heads towards the stairs so he can get ready for work. In doing so, he practically runs into Phoebe.
"I'm headed out," she says with a smile.
"Okay, baby. Have a great day," Jesse replies, giving her a hug and a kiss as walks around him and down the stairs. She grabs her purse and her lab coat hanging by the front door. As she shuts it behind her, she calls, "Love you!"
"I love you," Jesse calls back, but he is unsure if she heard him.
He heads upstairs into the bathroom, steps into the shower, and lets the steaming water relax his tense muscles. It washes away his discomfort over his dream last night, leaving him feeling refreshed. He towels off, shaves, brushes his teeth, combs his hair, and before he knows it, he's ready for work. He buttons up his dark purple shirt, grabs his keys and briefcase, and heads out the door.
On his way to work, Jesse listens to Fleetwood Mac. Whenever he hears the song Don't Stop, he feels complete, like that was the one song that he was meant to hear in his life. The kicking drums, lively guitar, and overall optimism never cease to bring a smile to his face. Not to mention that it was Jesse and Phoebe's first dance at their wedding. Jesse sings along with the band.
Don't stop thinking about tomorrow
Don't stop, it'll soon be here
It'll be better than before
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone
The last line catches in Jesse's throat. He doesn't have time to reflect on the personal meaning though, because he's at work. New Life Addiction Counselors. Why does my life have to be filled with these constant reminders of what I've been through? It's like the universe does nothing but make me feel guilty for the mistakes I made 10 years ago! Jesse picks up his briefcase and locks his car, heading into the building.
The door gives its familiar ding as it opens. Ella, the secretary greets Jesse.
"Morning, Ethan," she says from behind her usual cup of tea. "You're a little early today."
Jesse looks at his watch. Oh, I am. "Why not? Got nothing better to do."
"Good thing, though. You've got a 9:00 appointment, a 14-year old boy. New client. Made the appointment last night. Sounds bad." Ella takes a sip of her tea.
"I'll work my magic," Jesse says, tapping his fingers on his desk and continuing to his office. He sets his briefcase on the floor and takes out all the materials he'd need for a new client: pen and paper, release of information contracts, confidentiality forms… After getting everything ready, he looks at the picture on his desk. It's one of him and Phoebe, embracing on the beach on Hawaii, both wearing leis. He's wearing a blue bathing suit, she's wearing a red bikini and a grass skirt. That was their honeymoon, the perfect beach vacation. He remembers it well, also remembering that he wished it could've lasted forever.
The phone rings loudly, rudely tearing Jesse from his memory. Jesse clicks the button to put it on speaker.
"You're 9:00 is here. He's in the room, ready for you," Ella says on the other side of the line.
"Thanks," Jesse says. He gathers his things and heads into his therapy room. Ella must have just lit a candle, because the calming scent of lavender hangs in the air. The walls are a neutral beige, the carpet is soft and springy, and there are scenic nature paintings all over the walls. Seeing nature was something that really helped Jesse when he was in rehab, and he hopes that it helps his patients too.
The boy is standing, back to Jesse, facing a picture of a nighttime scene that hangs on the wall behind the patients' couch. His hair is dark and messy, his body full but not overweight. His skin darker than Jesse's and he has a piercing in his left ear. Jesse also notices a tattoo on the boy's right arm, not unlike his own.
"Hello, my name is Ethan Hawthorne," Jesse introduces himself. Yet another person I've lied to, he thinks. "What's your na-" Jesse is cut off as the boy turns around. The very breath leaves Jesse's body and he wants to scream, to cry, something. There is a deep, deep sadness and horror building up inside him as he realizes who this client is.
Brock.