Jesse squirms in the front bucket seats of Todd's unregistered Ford pickup as he tries to remove the cloth binds holding his hands together behind his back. As he watches Todd get out of the car, and walk towards Andrea's front door, he lets out a silent scream; one that gets muffled by the white rag tied tightly around his head, that's stuffed in his mouth. 'ANDREA!' he screams internally; a flood of tears begins to stream down his face as the veins in his temples begin to pulse. He watches to confrontation as Todd knocks confidently on her door, and she proceeds to let him in.
"No," he tries to shout as Todd's uncle Jack hits Jesse with the end of his pistol, and his head begins to pound. He can barely think or see. Now what was just a clear vision of Andrea becomes a series of blurs and shadows as Todd places himself in front of the window so Jack has a good view. He leaves the door open, and Jesse can vaguely see the inside of the apartment he bought for Andrea with his cut from Walt. Jesse waits patiently; his vision starts to return when he hears them… The shots.
Bang-bang-bang.
Jesse sees the lights from the bullet firing light up Andrea's living room, hears the echoes of screams, and closes his eyes as a high-pitch ringing takes over his brain. I've lost them; this is all my fault.
Andrea grabs the hot handle from the misshapen ceramic mug Brock made for her in art class two years ago, continues to stir the chocolate mix until the chunks disappear, and makes her way back into the living room. She sits down on the brown, fake velvet couch that sits in the middle of the room right in front of the TV; crosses her legs on the table, she slouches into the couch next to Brock.
"Do you want me to read you a book or something, Brock?" she asks hopefully. Without even looking away from his video game, as she watches him shoot down an enemy on Call of Duty, Brock shakes his head and continues to move his fingers quickly across the controller. "You've been playing that game all night, baby; maybe it's time for a break."
"No, mom, I gotta beat Jesse's score," he murmurs. With memories of the three of them playing all together, Andrea smirks in his direction, runs her hand quickly through his short brown hair, takes a sip of the steaming hot chocolate, and grabs a random magazine that was left on the table. Uninterested in celebrity gossip, she flips through aimlessly, smelling all the free perfume samples half-heartedly. Placing her cup to her left on the arm of the couch, she is about to get up when headlights come streaming through the window. It's almost 11 o'clock, who would be here now?' she asks herself. She hasn't heard from Jesse in weeks, so it couldn't be him. 'What if…" she thinks? Last time he was here, he was acting crazy, but this couldn't really be what he thought; could it?
"Andrea!" Jesse bangs on the door frantically until she opens it a crack, with the apartment chain still locked.
"What is it Jesse? Brock isn't here now; you'll have to come back later."
"This isn't about Brock; we need to talk, its important."
"Hold on…" she sighs. She shuts the door, pulls the chain out of its holder, and opens the door as she stands in the doorway. Jesse, seems in a panic, grabs her shoulders and pushes her out-of-the-way as he lets himself in. He instantly slams the door shut; still facing the door he locks the dead-bolt, the doorknob, and the apartment chain simultaneously. Before even saying another word, Jesse's bloodshot eyes dart out the window from side to side before yanking her white curtains shut. "Jesse, what is going on?! Is everything okay?"
"I think I'm in trouble, yo. And that means you could be too. Its Walt, I don't know what he's up to, getting himself all kinds of fuck-"
"Hey!" she stops him mid-sentence, "Brock, baby, can you take your game upstairs? Jesse and I need to talk for a minute." Waiting for him to shut off the game and shuffle upstairs, Andrea turns around and hits Jesse open palm on the right cheek. "How dare you come in here after months, scare the shit out of me and Brock, and then start talking about your drug business, Jesse, what the hell is wrong with you?!"
"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important, Drea," Jesse says as he grabs her hand and squeezes tight. There's a look in his eyes she only saw when he was still using: scared.
"Are you using again, Jesse? Is that's what's wrong; cause if so we can get you help it's not—"he cuts her off.
"Goddamit, yo, that's not it. I told you it is Walt! He's... he's gone mad. He's in with some fucked up people. Like really fucked up, and they're threatening me. And—and y-you." He stutters as his face flinches from even having to bring it up.
"Me? Why me? How do they even know who I am, Jesse?"
"I don't know, that's why I'm here." He hands her a white cloth that has something heavy wrapped in it. As she opens the folds of the white dishrag, she instantly recognizes the barrel of a handgun, and shoves it into Jesse's chest.
"What are you doing with this?! Where did you get it and why is it here. I don't want any part of this, Jesse. I need you to leave."
"You don't understand. They're coming for me, and they probably know I'm here, which means they're going to come for you too." Andrea feels herself getting light-headed, and beings to stumble towards the couch. Grabbing her right elbow, Jesse shoves the gun back into his oversized sweatshirt pocket and leads her over to the couch to help her sit down. She feels sick, it's like she's going to puke up all the hot chocolate that is now warming her stomach along with the throw up building in her throat.
"Wha—what do I… what do I do, Jesse? What about Brock? Should I move? Should I go somewhere else?"
"I wish that would work," he replies slowly, with remorse building in his eyes. "They'll find you, Andrea. To get to me, they will find you."
"So what exactly do you expect me to do with this? What if Brock finds it?" she says as she glances towards the bulge coming from his sweatshirt.
"Hide it; find the best place you have, and hide it. I mean, I doubt you'll need it, but I couldn't live with myself if something else happened to Brock on my account..." Jesse says, instantly regretting it.
"What do you mean 'on your account Jesse?" she says as her face grows instantly red with anger. The sickness, when Brock was dying in the hospital, it wasn't Jesse was it? It couldn't be; he loves Brock, he would never do anything.
"Well..." he stumbles on his words, "you know what I mean." Jesse's eyes instantly begin to tear as he leaves the couch, turns his body so his back is facing Andrea, and she sees him wipe his eyes with the baggy sleeve of his oversized shirt.
"I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean to bring it up, I understand." Andrea gets up, stands behind Jesse, and wraps her arms around his waist. She can feel his bony hips protruding from inside his XL clothing, and feels how skinny he's gotten. Something is wrong. After wiping his eyes, Andrea feels Jesse's clammy hands tightly grasp hers, and they stand there for a minute in silence. He sniffles, removes his hands from hers, and turns around; with his piercing blue eyes meeting hers, he speaks again.
"You have to be safe, Andrea. It's all I care about; I care about you and Brock, nothing else. I can't have you pay for Walt's or my problems. Take this. Please. I'm begging you. Use it, or not, but you have to keep it." He hands Andrea the wrapped up gun, leaves a lingering kiss on her forehead, and quickly unlocks the door. As Jesse leaves the doorway, he turns his head over his left shoulder, and gives Andrea one last look; a look so distraught, it gives Andrea the chills as he gently closes the door. Now scared out of her mind, she rushes over to the door and re-locks everything. Turning around, she presses her back against the her solid wooden door, and grabs her head in her hands; sliding down with her back scratching against the door, she squats on the floor and begins to sob.
Peeling the white, cotton curtains away from the window frame, Andrea watches the old Ford pickup turn its lights off as they put the truck into park. Three men sit in the vehicle, and she sees their heads move from side to side, conversing with each other before the right hand passenger slides himself out of the door, and on the cement sidewalk across the street. The tall man looks around the neighborhood to make sure no one is around, and she only sees his red hair shining in the moonlight above the roof of the truck.
"Oh my, God. Fuck!" she gasps as she pulls the curtain as shut as they can be. She pushes her back against the window frame to the left, and feels her heart beating through her chest.
"Brock! Baby, mommy's going to clean, I need you to stay upstairs!" she yells up the stairs to her right. Half listening, Brock comes half way down the short, wooden stairs, and stops abruptly as he sees his mother's face. "Stay upstairs, do you understand me?!" She's screaming now.
"Okay, mom, sorry," he says somberly; he thinks he's in trouble. Being a normal, curious twelve-year-old, Brock goes to the top of the stairs and watches his mother as she frantically paces around the living room. He watches Andrea nearly sprint into the kitchen; she grabs a wrinkled, khaki Whole Foods grocery bag and takes out a bulky item covered in a white rag. Hands trembling, he watches his mother carelessly drop the plastic bag on the fake wooden floor, and she takes peels away the cloth; it's a gun. He knows it's a handgun from Call of Duty, he remembers unlocking it from Level 4. Brock instantly begins to get nervous; why does she need a gun? He runs to his room, grabs his favorite blanket, and returns to his spot at the edge of the hallway and the stairs.
The doorbell rings. "Holy fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck," he hears his mother repeating as she finds herself hidden behind the couch in the living room.
Andrea places the black handgun on the glass table, takes three deep breaths, and makes her way over to the front door.
He knows she's not paying attention. Believing that his experience with the video game would make him a better shooter than his mom, he quietly sneaks down the stairs. He knows how to be quiet, just like he does when he wants a late night snack, and hides himself behind the TV. He stares at the gun, and he knows it's from Jesse; he gave it to them for protection, and Brock grabs it off the table, and crawls on the floor behind the couch where his mother was just hiding.
"Careful, Brock... Careful, Brock," he whispers to himself as he sat with his back against the couch towards the door. He feels the adrenaline that pulses through his entire body, and he can feel the gun that now shakes violently in his small hands. "Mom?" he blurts out.
"Brock, baby!" she's shocked, "I told you to stay upstairs." Her voice trembles as she places her tanned hand on the silver doorknob. "Stay right there, be careful." They both know what's going to happen, and it's nothing good. Andrea cracks the door open it reminds her of the day Jesse came with the gun and she sees a six-foot tall ginger standing at her doorway with an overexerted smile.
"Ca-can I help you?" she stumbles on her words. 'You're giving yourself away already, Andrea. Keep it cool.'
"Hi there, ma'am, my name's Todd. I'm a friend of Jesse's. Can we talk for a minute?"
"It's really late. What do you need; is Jesse in trouble or something?"
"You could say that," he says calmly, "he seems to have gotten himself in a little trouble."
"Yeah, what kind of trouble is it? I talked to him the other day, he seemed to be fine." She stands there, trying to be confident, but she hears that her voice shakes with every word.
"Maybe I can come in… we can talk for a minute."
"Uh, yeah sure... if Jesse's in trouble, I guess that's okay." She's being sly. She can't mess it up now. Closing the door, she looks back at Brock, and sees his small brown eyes peeking over the edge of the couch. She nods in his direction, and she sees him readjust himself so the gun rests on the arm of the brown couch. 'He's so young; too young.' She thinks to herself as she takes her time to unlock all the locks on the door. The wooden door creaks open, and without an invitation, Todd enters the living room; keeping his back towards the door the whole time, he slides his way over towards the windows so his driver can still see his shadow on the curtains.
As Todd enters the door, Brock re-hides himself behind the couch, and waits for the right moment.
"Do you wanna sit down," he says as he motions his hand towards the couch.
"No. That's okay." Keeping the front of her body faced towards him, she backs up towards the table in the middle of the living room, making sure that Brock doesn't miss the shot completely. The door's still open; she sees Todd continuously glance towards the old Ford truck parked across the street. "So, what's the deal? Tell me what's wrong with Jesse."
"Well..." he begins to pace around her in a circle like a lion that stalks his prey, "he made a deal with us that he didn't exactly hold up his end of the bargain on."
"I don't understand. What does that have to do with me?"
"A lot, actually. See here, you were the bargaining chip." Andrea's heart stops. She's in shock; every part of her body is paralyzed as Todd reaches behind his back, and pulls out a Colt 45 from his pants. Instantly, Andrea begins to sob with fear and her mind races with images of Jesse and Brock. 'This is it, it's all over now.' She closes her eyes and falls to her knees in front of him; with tears rolling down her face she instantly begins to plead at his feet.
Todd feels guilty now as he begins to think of Andrea's son. 'Where is he?' A quick thought passes through his brain. Pushing Andrea off of his feet, Todd turns his back on her and looks towards the truck with Uncle Jack and Jesse parked across the street. One split second is all it takes.
"Mommy?!" Brock yells in distraught voice; he points the gun towards Todd's back with both hands holding it in front of him.
"Brock, baby, hide!" Andrea shrieks in response. Before she has time to finish the words, Brock holds the gun and pulls the trigger back. The shots fire.
Bang-bang-bang.
Todd's body instantly becomes stiff, as a red stain begins to form on the back of his white t-shirt. Within ten seconds, Todd's body grows limp and falls on the floor as he lands face down on to the front stoop. Still in shock, Andrea struggles to get herself off of the floor, grabs the gun from Brock and throws it on the ground next to Todd, and picks up her son; she strives to pick him up without falling over, and sprints towards the back door near where their car is parked.
Her hands shake as she attempts to fit the car key into ignition, and Brock, with blood spattered on his face, sits in the front seat emotionless. 'He's ruined; my baby is ruined.' With all the thoughts that run through her brain, this one is the worst.
"Is it over now, Mommy?" he says with no inflection in his tone of voice.
"No, Brock." She says with pain in her voice, "I don't know if it'll be over."