The box was so perfect, so showing of his daylong labor. He lifted the supple wood up and took a deep breath, its deep, musky scent filling his nostrils. Tools lay scattered around him in the dimly lit studio. The second on the clock slowly ticked back towards the twelve, and nine o'clock dawned upon him. He smiled, knowing that he could do at least one thing right. Knowing that he was not completely worthless. And this box was proof.
He screamed at the top of his lungs, breathing in the free air. Tears upon tears poured down his cheeks as he let loose deep sobs of happiness. Happiness that he had convinced himself would never come. Happiness that had seemed impossible to gain back after five months down in the pit. His foot pressed down on the accelerator as he shot through the black night. He didn't stop to look back. He didn't spare a thought for the man who lay back at the headquarters, most likely dead. He just flew.
Hours- or was it minutes? - went by, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that he needed to get away from this godforsaken town, state, country, world. There was nothing left for him here. But there was something emerging, some light shedding on his poor and tortured soul as he drove, drove away from the life he once knew.
He had no money. He had no phone. He had no one. What he did have was fingerprints, fingerprints all over the lab he had just fled from. What he did have was a face full of scars, reminders of the days that would haunt him for the rest of his life. What he did have were eyes that had seen too much, hands that had done sickening deeds. But he swore to God that despite all this, things were going to change. He was going to become a new man.
The car engine sputtered, as the old thing couldn't take the intense speed that he had been forcing upon it. He slowed down gradually, pulling to the side of the road. There must've been a few good miles between him and the police now.
He sat still for a moment, staring into the blackness ahead of him. Who was he kidding? There was no plausible way that he could pull this off. He would get caught. He would go to jail. He would serve the time and accept the consequences of all those things, all those things he caused in the past two years. All those deaths, all those lives ruined, all the lies, all the cheats, all the groveling, and all the pain.
Jesse Pinkman was a broken man, and a broken man cannot run forever.