Jesse wasn't quite sure why he had come back to the house as the officer had ordered.
The man had dealt with a lot of hate directed at him; he'd dealt with that before Heisenberg. Ever since he had started wearing baggy clothes and associating with junkies like him in high school, he had suddenly become the scum of the Earth. Post-Heisenberg, he brought different kind of hate, though. There probably wasn't a soul on the Earth who wouldn't pray for his death if they knew what he had done. That night, he was finally going to give into their wishes.
He could hear the flick of his lighter as he ignited it, and he lit the cigarette that dangled from his mouth with the fire, the sole source of light for as far as he could see on the abandoned street. Pinkman knew that it was time for the beat cops with the night shift to patrol the area, so he refrained from turning on the porch light so as not to draw any attention. He seriously contemplated doing the deed while the officer was gone, surrounded by good memories on her old porch step; if only the damn kid hadn't taken his pills. He'd have to drive to get more, and anyways, he wanted to give the other man any sense of closure that he could offer. Jesse knew he owed him that.
"Get in the car."
In all of his experiences, those four words have never meant anything good.
"Yeah, okay."
He stamped on his cigarette and took the passenger's seat in the slightly battered Ford Taurus, not even bothering with the seatbelt. He waited for the car to start rolling so he could return to his nebulous thoughts as he watched bits of Albuquerque fly by through the window. The car didn't budge.
"Come on, Pinkman, you're with a police officer," Flynn growled, turning his head to the dirty mass in his passenger's seat, "At least pretend to be a law-abiding citizen. Put on your seatbelt." Jesse's mouth hung slightly open as he pulled the grey belt across his chest. The kid had the same condescending tone as his father did, and it was eerie that after all these years, another White was ordering him around and talking to him like he was an idiot. Maybe he was already in Hell.
Jesse's seatbelt clicked in the holder, and the engine revved as Flynn White turned the key in the ignition. Pinkman could barely distinguish the structures in the darkness outside the car window, but his blue eyes peered out anyway and became lost in thought. He hadn't seen ABQ in so long; after years of running and hiding he thought that he'd like some resolution in the town where he grew up. He was stupid to believe nothing would go wrong. If he hadn't come back, he could have been on the edge of life somewhere. He could have heard Jane and Andrea again, sweetly beckoning him to die.
Or he could have seen nothing but blackness. But even that was preferable to living.
The car slowed, rolling over a driveway of a typical suburban house. Like Mr. White's house, Jesse thought, but he quickly shoved from his mind the demon who'd haunted him for years. The wheels stopped rolling; coming to a gentle halt, and Jesse had forgotten that Flynn had been driving the entire time. The taller man stepped from the car, and Pinkman followed uncomfortably after.
Flynn held open the door for the other man, and Jesse was sure he was going to die. There was no way in hell that Heisenberg's son invited him into his home to have a rational conversation. Jesse stood in the clean house, reminded of the time when he had done the same in Mr. White's house when he was covered in blue toilet water. This time, though, his host had no reason not to despise him. As he found himself saying so many times over the years, he deserved whatever was going to happen.
"The guest room is in the back," Flynn said gently, catching Jesse totally off-guard, "Get some rest, Pinkman. You look exhausted."
The whole walk back to the spare bedroom, Jesse was gaping. He supposed the horrors would come in the morning.