Walt was lying on his back with a mound of keys piled atop his chest. He had successfully head-butted the key rack off the wall and was wriggling his hands around to grab the red key fob that could allow him one last victory. As his hands dripped sweat in anticipation of seizing it, Jack's dormant henchman was finally stirred from the recliner by the cacophony of it all. Walt knew it was an unavoidable consequence, and that now he needed to act fast.
"What in the Hell are you doin'?" the henchman called out as he emerged from his seat. He stalked a few steps toward Walt, and looked at him with dismayed, wide-eyes. "You are one sorry motherfucker, aren't you?" he continued as he leaned down to grab the key rack from Walt's stomach.
"I fell…I fell into the wall," Walt began to stammer out, hoping that the henchman would believe him. His fingers writhed through the mass of keys in search of his own. He threw aside rejects as he went.
"You need to get the fuck back over there. Against the wall. Can't be fucking all over here when Jack gets back." The henchman gingerly lifted the key rack from Walt, and stared back at him with a curious look. Shaking his head, he turned away and began an attempt to rehang the rack, dragging it up and down the wall trying to catch the nails already present. Relieved at the man's distraction, Walt looked to the ball of keys atop him. He saw the unmistakable point of his red key fob and grabbed it it tenderly. For only a few minutes longer Walt needed to cradle his keys, and as he waited he had a flicker of hope that Jack and the other missing men would reenter the clubhouse in time to be slaughtered. He began inching himself towards the back of the room as the lone henchman was focused on returning the fallen keys to the rack. Walt reached the back wall and lowered himself to his side in order to hide the keys from sight. Just as he settled, Frankie returned to the clubhouse breathlessly from jogging across the compound. He stood embracing the doorway of the entrance for a minute and asked, "You seen Todd in here? I can't find that boy any which way."
"He ain't in here. Just the old man banging into shit while I'm trying to watch my stories." Frankie and the henchman looked back to Walt who had managed to drape himself pathetically on the floor with a pained expression across his face, eyes barely open.
"What's his problem?" Frankie asked.
"I'm just…tired. I've been tied up for hours…and I- I need rest," Walt interjected in the raspiest voice he could find.
"Well you ain't going nowhere so get comfortable where you is," Frankie returned as he walked across the room towards the pool table. The other henchman had returned to his recliner to smoke a cigarette, and although Walt's head rested back on the floor, he watched out of the corner of his eyes, delighted to see the men dispersed. Now was the time to press the button. Todd and Kenny would hopefully be drawn out from Jesse's tomb by the shots, or hit by bullets through the walls. My god, he thought to himself; this is how it all ends. Walt closed his eyes as he clutched the red key fob with both hands against his chest, and a warmth spread over him. Skyler, Holly and Junior floated through his head; sweet images of breakfasts in early mornings' light interwove with the sensation of closeness with Skyler. In a tiny corner of his mind, a quiet thought began to swell. Jesse…that unfortunate, inept boy. As the warmth encompassed him, he held the idea of Jesse at peace somewhere in the ether of his thoughts. He was no man of faith, but journeying toward death had brought the comfort of a inexplicable belief: that the essence of a person was something beyond biology and chemistry. It wasn't logical, but he thought that the very being of someone, the unique energy of a person, must reside somewhere after death. Jesse's being was incorrigible and dark at its core, but his spirit trusting and hopeful when given the smallest ounce of encouragement. Walt smiled as he allowed himself to remember Jesse's energy and the feeling of being with him. Mark Twain's 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…' rattled through his mind. He took in a deep breath and opened his eyes momentarily. It was time to move forward regardless of the consequences. Walt pressed the button on the fob and rolled on to his stomach, smashing his head against the floor. He suddenly felt he couldn't get close enough to the floor to feel safe. He flattened himself as best he could as the M60 ripped to life. The sound of the rounds discharging was deafening, but Walt couldn't cover his ears. He couldn't see Frankie and the henchman become riddled with bullets to the point they were nearly sawn in half. The bullets tore through the room for a solid minute and Walt could hear ricochets. He knew it was possible he could be hit, and part of him wanted it.
The bullets had stopped discharging for a few minutes and silence hung in the air. Jesse had his back planted against the floor and still clutched the handgun tightly to his chest. His mind had enveloped him in safe pocket somewhere between the memory he rooted through to find the handgun, and the present. He didn't recognize the bullets as the discharge of the M60 by Walt; in fact his brain had pushed all traces of Walt out for the time being, and it felt bumpered in thick wool. Thoughts bounced around into one another but he couldn't grasp the entirety of one thought clearly. He knew where he was, but the flow of events had been ruptured. He felt a blank void when he tried to remember where he was before this room. How long had he been in this room and where was Kenny now? He tried to slow his breathing in order to focus his thoughts. Nothing was clear, but he had the overwhelming sense that there was an immediate threat to his life. After minutes of silence, Jesse sat up taking the gun into his right hand. He began scanning the room: was anyone else in here with him? Would Kenny come bursting through the door? He slowly stood up and pointed the gun around the room until he was satisfied he was alone. He felt sweaty and overheated, but also damp. He rubbed his head and his fingers felt wet. He began rubbing both hands against his legs, but every part of him appeared moist. He looked down to his hands and body, and froze. His hands and clothes were drenched in blood and were a deep shade of crimson. Was this real? He couldn't be sure. He shook his head from side to side and began patting his chest and arms to check for wounds with his exhalations quickening and becoming louder. He didn't feel any pain, and but couldn't be sure the blood wasn't his. With the gun still in hand, he moved to slowly shut off the room's light and open the door. Kenny could be out there, or any of Jack's men just hovering by the room chancing it for a turn. He shuddered, and shook off the thought. He would kill whomever crossed his path on the way out of this Hellhole. He looked down at his bloodied clothes again, and felt spurred to move forward.
As he slinked into the hallway, the smell of gunpowder became heavier. He could see a straight line of dozens of bullet holes across the wall to the right. His mind attempted to imagine a possible culprit for such a devastating shoot-out. Perhaps an enemy of the Aryan Brotherhood somehow made its way inside the compound. It seemed so unlikely, but surely these men created enemies wherever they went. As he continued down the hallway nearing the main room, he saw the swathes of blood running out of the room to the left. Both that metal door and this room were hauntingly familiar to him. A chill crawled up his spine and into his shoulders. Without considering it, Jesse walked to the door and quietly opened it, pointing his gun through the door. As the door opened he caught site of the bloody, grotesque bodies of Todd and Kenny piled on top of one another against the far wall. Kenny's intestines had spilled out of his abdomen and were draped on Todd and the floor. The amount of blood was enormous and left Jesse standing stunned as a flash erupted in his mind. The sensation of his hand in the hot, murky cavity of Kenny's abdomen as he stared into the man's eyes overtook him. He gasped, and grabbed for the door to keep himself upright. He killed them…he killed both of them, Jesse thought. He swallowed hard and dry as he trembled against the door. He knew he should be pleased they were dead, but the confusion was scaring him. He had no sense of time, nor place. He couldn't be sure what was in front of him was real, and it was beginning to make him feel ill. Stomach churning and nausea roiling, he was lightheaded and struggling to concentrate. Glimpses of memories jutting into and out of his mind seemed to play on a loop: Kenny with a gun against him on the bed, a hail of bullets whizzing over top of him, his hands sitting in a hot pool of blood. He couldn't order the memories and it was frustrating. He looked to the river of blood running out of the room, and he needed to touch it. He knelt down and brushed his fingers along the river, and then he sunk in his whole left hand into it, letting the liquid lap up over him as he closed his eyes. The hot wetness of Kenny's innards seethed in him, and he let out a slight and quiet grunt. He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at his hand. The blood wasn't warm enough, he thought. It didn't give him the high he expected it to, not realizing he was mimicking his own actions from less than an hour earlier. He retracted his hand, and stood up backing out of the room. There was a familiar bloodlust bubbling up in him again and Jesse welcomed it; he let it fill all the holes in his being. He was set on the destruction of anyone who should cross his path.
He entered the clubhouse room and saw Frankie's corpse draped over the pool table. His blood was soaked into the felt of the table, and his chest and abdomen were so torn by bullets his body appeared ravaged by a wild cat. Jesse pointed his gun as he scanned across the room. He saw the back of a lifeless figure oscillating in the now vibrating recliner chair, and so he swiftly and soundlessly moved across the room to turn off the chair's vibration lest it attract more attention. With an eagerness, he tallied the four dead in his head. He couldn't be sure how many men were in the compound at a given time, but one key figure was missing: Jack. At least, he thought, his death could be mine to savour. As Jesse switched off the chair, he heard a rustling from the back of the room.
"You're alive…" Walt trailed off, his jaw agape from the floor. He was still tied at the hands and feet, and lying on the filthy floor.
Shocked and guarded, Jesse stood for a moment pointing his gun across the room. That voice, he thought…it couldn't be. He stammered out, "Mr. White…?"
"Jesse I thought…I thought you were gone."
Jesse cautiously moved around to get a look; he needed to see him with his own eyes to believe he was there. He looked down upon Walt, who was in a heap against the wall, and could see the rope around his hands and feet appearing painfully bound. Mr. White was looking at him with uncanny eyes - they were wider than he had ever seen them. Walt began writhing around on the floor, straining to get a better view of him.
"You're – oh god. Is that…your blood?" A look of horror crawled across Walt's face as he sucked in a breath. Jesse moved only a couple steps forward before shakily raising his gun to steady it on him.
"How did you get in here?" Jesse asked in a course, wavering voice.
Walt's face wrinkled as he stared at Jesse quizzically. He began to speak slowly in calm tones. "What do you mean…Jesse?"
Jesse shook his head and blinked out tears. Why was Mr. White here now? Was he here to ensure I died? He tried again as his voice raised and cracked, eyes glistening, "I don't understand what you're doing in here. Were you, were you here the whole time? Did you make them do all those things to me?"
Walt craned his neck to look back up into Jesse's eyes. "No, Jesse, I've been trying to protect you. Don't you remember? I've been helping you stay safe. I got you those clothes…and the razor. Jesse, what did you do with the razor?"
Jesse looked down at his clothes soiled with blood. A sensation of digging the razor into Kenny's abdomen rippled through him. The razor had become so hot and slippery in his hand that he had gripped it so fiercely he could feel it puncturing his own hand. Losing his focus as he lived in those sensations, he struggled to keep the gun on Walt. His eyes blurred, and he rubbed a hand against his forehead leaving macabre smear of blood behind. A distinct metallic taste and smell started to overwhelm him, and so he coughed and sputtered.
Walt scrunched his face as he watched this play out, but then cleared as he spoke with determination. "Untie me, Jesse. And I can help you."
Jesse looked back at him pointing the gun squarely at his chest. He blinked, and said nothing.
"Jesse, untie these ropes for me. I'm not going to hurt you. Just do as I say." Walt repeated, looking directly into Jesse's eyes. Their steely blue was clouded over and distant.
"How do I know you're not going to kill me?" Jesse breathed out in a low growl. His energy was fading rapidly, but he was working to ignore it. He couldn't let himself slip up now, he'd come too far in this nightmare, and to succumb to Mr. White would be make his suffering for the past year all for nothing.
Fervently, Walt raised his voice and craned his neck as far as it would reach. "Jesse, look at me. I'm not going to hurt you. You know this. Untie me, now, before Jack gets back here with Kenny and Todd."
Looking back at him, a hint of recognition returned to Jesse's face. Walt continued, "That's right Jesse, the clock is ticking here. I need you to do this for me so that I can save us both." Jesse stared, and then slowly dropped to his knees to inch toward Walt. He felt himself give in to obeying Walt, but he still had the gun, and that's how he wished it to stay. He began untying the rope at Walt's wrists.
Walt watched Jesse silently as he struggled to untie him. As he finally pulled a critical thread free to unravel the knot, Walt asked quietly, "Are you hurt, Jesse?"
"I don't think so," Jesse returned, not looking up from the task. He balanced his grip on the gun before tugging harder on the rope.
Walt kept his eyes on Jesse cautiously. "Where were you before you came in here and found me?"
Jesse freed Walt's hands, and then slumped back cradling the gun in his lap as Walt moved to untie his own ankles. "Jesse, where were you before you found me? Just now," Walt pressed.
Staring deep into the carpet, Jesse began, "I was in that back room, there was a gun."
Walt looked curiously at the gun in Jesse's lap. "What gun, Jesse? Your gun? Who was holding the gun?"
"It was Kenny, he had it…on me. And then I took it, or I found it. I just…I don't know. I'm not sure." Jesse rubbed his head, and then patted his hair through the congealing blood on his hands. His face and hair were becoming layered in blood with each touch.
Walt was now free of his binds, and sitting up slowly while keeping his eyes on Jesse, whose gaze was averted downward. He moved his hand towards Jesse's lap, but as soon as his hand hovered near the gun, Jesse's face shot up, followed by the gun.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Jesse said staring at him intently.
"Jesse, give me the gun," Walt ordered.
Jesse stood up and backed away from Walt, shaking with a low and raspy voice. "No way…what are you trying to do?"
Walt stood, grasping his lower back momentarily as he adjusted to being vertical. He took a careful step towards Jesse and began, "Nothing, Jesse I'm not trying to do anything. I think you're not in a very good place right now, and you should give me the gun. I think maybe you've hurt yourself, and you really should hand over the gun now, to me, so I can help you."
Jesse stepped backward as Walt inched towards him. He bumped the recliner with his lower back, which urged him to snake towards the entrance. Full of anguish, he growled, "I can't…trust you right now."
Walt followed him slowly as they moved inch by inch closer to the entrance. He held his hands up and moved in step with Jesse, pleading with him. "Jesse, listen to me! You're not thinking straight. Give me the gun, now and we can escape this place right now, together."
Jesse stopped moving, and a change mounted in his eyes. Walt implored, "We can leave here now, just give me the gun."
Jesse steadied the gun as he held it on Walt. The man's beady eyes were looking back into him, trying to persuade him, but he wasn't about to fall into Walt's appeal for trust. Suddenly, his train of thought was interrupted by a thud at the entrance. He and Walt whipped their heads around expecting to see someone in the doorway. Within a moment, a booted figure with a shotgun stepped into the light. Jack was in the doorway holding a shotgun from his chest.
"Well, what the fuck do we have going on here?"