Chapter One
"It's getting to the point
Where I'm no fun anymore
I am sorry…"
- "Suite Judy Blue Eyes", Crosby Stills Nash & Young
"How much longer?"
"A year, at most."
The words echo in his head, but the emotional reaction he feels he should have isn't there; instead, he feels something like relief. Four years is much longer than he had thought he would have originally.
But unlike that time, and unlike that perfect moment when he wishes he would have died, Skyler has left, is gone, and so are his children. Walt is alone.
There is no one to go to in his time of dying.
It's grounding, to a man who's spent the last couple years declaring to himself that he doesn't need a damn person at all. If Skyler wants to go, let her – she never understood a goddamn thing after he changed, stopped taking her crap, if she wants to run off to… Arizona or Colorado or wherever it had been, then let her.
But now, it's that brief moment when Walt needs someone to be there. When the doctor inquires, "Is there anyone you'd like to call? To have with you?"
He says no, curtly, and walks out.
Well, there is one person. Someone Walt has not seen in three years. Someone who lives… well, Walt doesn't know.
He's reluctant to even find out. Given all that Walt has done, maybe he deserves to die alone.
But selfishness and desperation win out.
He opens his laptop and places it on the table in the middle of his condo. Maybe Jesse has completely fallen off the face of the Earth since taking off with Andrea. Since after Gus, since after the calls on his voicemail asking to meet… after finally agreeing and being told that Andrea gave him an ultimatum. No more of this; a new life.
Maybe Jesse has vanished… but Walt types the name anyway.
Jesse's social networking profiles pop up, but none of them have been updated for years.
Finally, a few pages in, there's a webpage hosted by Temple University. He clicks it, and there's a photograph of a class of smiling students.
"Dr. Tamis' Comic Book Writing Class", the caption reads, followed by a left-to-right listing of names. Jesse is front and center, flanked by two curly-haired, red-headed girls.
So, Temple. That's in Philadelphia.
He types in, "Jesse Pinkman, Philadelphia, PA" on Spokeo, and quickly is granted an address and phone number.
He wants to call; doesn't want to drop in unannounced.
But if he calls, Jesse could hang up. Or, maybe it's someone else's home by now, and Jesse has moved on.
Or worse.
He quickly throws away that possibility… He'll just go – it's not like it will be a wasted trip if Jesse isn't there. Philadelphia is a wonderful city.
And if Jesse tells Walt to get the hell out, well, at least he got to see him one last time. To see whether Jesse is happy now.
Before he can rethink it, he purchases a ticket for the following day: 11AM. That will get him there before evening, and he's usually too worn out to do anything in the evenings.
He looks at the address on Mapquest and finds that it's in the south-central part of Philadelphia, off of 15th and Christian Streets. He books a hotel only five or six blocks above there, a classy affair, the Doubletree.
He might as well live it up.
Walt can see a fly embedded in the plane's overhead track lighting.
He wonders how it got there, how long it's been there. If any raucous passengers have gotten tired of looking at the fucking thing and jumped up and tried to smash the glass and rip it out.
The young Asian woman next to Walt keeps playing on her cell phone, and he bites back a warning that you're not supposed to use your airplane on flights – can't those damn things take down a plane? After all, that is why they have those goddamned airplane phones that charge you a fortune – if he was expected, he would be considering calling Jesse on that phone.
But he's not expected, nor is he missed. He hasn't told a soul where he's going; it's kind of liberating in a sense, like their crazy RV adventures with their thrill of the forbidden after fifty years on the straight-and-narrow, the eternally predictable.
When the plane lands in Philadelphia, he's a little dazzled by the array of lights; it reminds him of being back in California, of driving to LA and seeing the stacks and rows of buildings piled on top of one another, separated only by far too many palm trees.
More than anything, Walt is filled upon landing with a simple truth, and a simple phrase – Jesse is here. Jesse is here and I'm going to see him, one last time.