breakerwhiskey

[breakerwhiskey]

200 - TWO HUNDRED

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

Okay, I think I’m—I’m ready to read this note now. Beyond just the date and the first few lines.

“April 6th, 1975

Abigail—

I’m okay. If you do find this, I have a feeling you’re going to have questions about the blood. You always have questions about everything. It’s one of your best qualities and also one of your most infuriating. Though I suppose I should be grateful you’ve been dogged in your pursuit of the truth. Maybe this can be repaired.”

I don’t know if she means the jacket or…

“It’s chicken blood. I am not as capable as you when it comes to butchery.”

That’s…that’s as far as I got after finding the note. The relief hit me like a freight train but…

I don’t want to be capable of butchery. I know that’s not what you meant but I…

Anyway. Moving forward.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reach our meeting in time, but after that man came to the house, I went to ground. I heard a car in the distance a few times over the last few days, but I couldn’t be sure it was you.

I got the car you left me. And the radio. I’ve been transmitting out regularly but I’m going to guess that you haven’t heard me. That’s what I’m choosing to believe anyway, given I’ve sent you more than a few messages over the months, with no reply. And, yet, somehow, I’ve heard many of your transmissions—not all, and they are very often full of static and breaks in the signal, but you have reached our garage even from Los Angeles.”

She crossed out something here. I think it says…(crinkle of paper) "I thought about joining you” but I can’t read the rest. Goddammit, Harry…

“Do you remember that one diner that we went to every month for all of ’69? I know that you’ve been to a lot of roadside diners in the last ten months, so maybe they’ve run together in the way that they’re almost purpose built to do. The one down the street, the one we could walk to—we haven’t been back in ages, because I got spooked the one time the neon sign flickered back to life, but we’d carry thermoses of tea and pretend that we were going out for a morning cup, because the monotony of our existence was threatening to destroy us both.

Whether you remember it or not, that diner has a working radio. I believe it too spooked me when there was a power surge, even if it was just static. In any case, I’m no longer at that diner, but I was briefly and heard several of your transmissions. There was no way to speak back to you, as it wasn’t that kind of radio, but it was picking up your signal just the same.

I’m not in the state anymore. I threw the jacket from the car as I drove out of town, a final ditch attempt to contact you. I had a feeling you would take it with you if you found it, despite the state of it, and just had to hope that you would find these pages sewn inside the lining.

I’ll keep transmitting, so we can find a time and place to meet, but there are conversations I don’t want to have over the airwaves, or in a letter. So I’m going to give you instructions now, that I’ll keep repeating on the radio, in the hopes that you’ve found this even if you can’t hear me.

Do you remember the show I did up north at that gallery near the water? You’d been in Provincetown with Francis for a few days and he drove the both of you up for the opening. It wasn’t a particularly short journey, but manageable. You both stayed the weekend, at that little B&B that shares its name with one of the planets.

I don’t think you thought very much of my show. It was one of my more abstract periods. I know you never cared much for that style, but I do have to wonder if you’d have been more generous to it if you’d known what inspired it. Then again—”

And she crossed that out too…

“It was still nice having you and Francis there. I always wondered why you’d agreed to come. You seemed so unhappy to be there. It makes me wonder if my demeanor made you think that I was unhappy to have you there. That was never my intent.

I’m headed there now. I think you left me with enough fuel to make the journey, and I want to get somewhere familiar that isn’t terribly close to where we've been. Meet me there.

I don’t want to write the name down, for fear that someone else will find this jacket and this note, but I’m going to assume you remember.

I remembered. The place where we had the picnic. I remembered. And I always knew that you were winding me up about Rothko, but I liked arguing with you. It’s why I never told you that I like Hank Williams. At least, I learned to.

Harriet”.

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

199 - ONE HUNDRED NINETY NINE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

She’s alive. I can’t believe it but she—

In the Carhartt—I, I put it on after I couldn’t go back to sleep and I was pulling it tight around me when I heard this crinkle—it’s like she knew—

It’s fucking chicken blood—

I’m sorry, I just need—a need a second, I—

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

198 - ONE HUNDRED NINETY EIGHT

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

I woke up in the middle of the night—I’m still at Richie’s loft and I— for a second, I thought I could hear laughter from the other room.

When I was very, very small, my parents would have these two couples over for dinner once a month. They would play faro—which is an absolutely ancient game that my mom’s dad used to play with her when she was growing up and, I swear, my parents were the last people in the world to play it—

But anyway, they’d have their friends over and we’d all have dinner together and then they’d play cards until about midnight—or at least, it felt like they were up until late, but I guess I was going to bed so early then. But our house wasn't very big and my room was just off the kitchen, the only room where we had a table big enough for six people and I’d fall asleep to the sounds of their murmuring voices. And if I woke up at all, I’d hear that—their hushed laughter, like a warm breeze coming in from the next room.

That’s how I feel. In this loft, in Sylvie’s shop, in this whole city—like I’m just the next room over. Maybe I was just dreaming about the times we used to have in this loft, or maybe I really did hear laughter from the living room. Because I’ve heard things before—I’ve seen things. The man in the hotel room in Colorado—I think he really was there. I think our worlds overlapped, just enough, that we got a glimpse.

And maybe that’s happening here. Richie isn’t in this loft anymore, not unless he got out early, but there’s something nice, comforting, in thinking that this place, even now, with whoever occupies it, is still filled with joy.

[click, static]

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[breakerwhiskey]

197 - ONE HUNDRED NINETY SEVEN

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

I went to Sylvie’s shop.

She’s still there. I’m—I can’t believe it—she’s still there, doing her thing as far as I can tell, customers and all—

[click, static]

Jesus, I just realized—she’s not there-there. She’s not here. She’s there. God, fuck, um—not to give anyone false hope—I wanted to see if I could prove my theory about the polaroid, or at the very least gather some more evidence in such a big city and I was looking for Don in this pizza place right down the block from Sylvie’s shop and thought…what the hell.

It’s clear that no one’s been in here in years. Which makes sense. Don knew Sylvie, a little—or at least by reputation—but this isn’t a place he’d spend time in I don’t think. So I’m probably the first one in here since ’68. And it’s…

Well, it’s strange. And sad. And lonely. And a little bit comforting. Which really describes so much of the experience of being back in New York.

I went to my old place. And by that I mean, I went to the last apartment I’d been living in—I was a few months into a sublet that I’d probably have been in for at least half the year, a friend of a friend of a friend’s place I’d sublet before. And, well, I actually got some of my own fucking clothes which is…god, I’d missed my boots. These nice steel-toed ones that I’d bought for myself after my first significant take. It’s nice to have them back.

But there wasn’t much else there that was…mine. I mean, the place was never really mine. I did take a few polaroids, and things had been moved around, so I’m assuming the tenant came back and is living here again. I guess they either didn’t care that they missed out on a few sublet payments or they found someone else to live here while they were gone but…well, I’m glad I didn’t fuck up their life.

But being at Sylvie’s is like…being at home. The smell of it, the sound of glass and china rattling in their cabinets as you walk through the shop. I loved this place. And it feels good to be back, even if I am alone.

Sylvie would often work on project at the register—the shop was rarely full, but you could hardly tell if anyone else was in it with how winding and full it is. So it’d be easy for her to miss a customer if she didn’t camp out at the register.

It looks like she was working on an old Tiffany lamp right before…

I wonder if one of the crew brought it to her. It’s a nice piece and genuine Tiffany lamps always go for a decent price. I wonder if she finished it. I’m looking right at it but I wonder where it is now.

So, anyway, I took a photo of the counter and there she was—I got lucky with the timing because she was checking out a customer who was buying an old mantle clock. There was a big pile of fabric in place of the Tiffany lamp, so I guess she’s mending things at the moment. That always relaxed her.

She looked…she looked like Sylvie. Older, of course, but no worse for wear.

I hope she’s happy. I hope she doesn’t wonder about me.

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

196 - ONE HUNDRED NINETY SIX

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

(sighing) I’ve tried his apartment, his favorite bar, all of the old haunts, even a few apartments of girlfriends I knew he had now and again. I even drove out to Long Island to see if I could find where his mom was living—I found her in the book, but no one was home. Which is…odd, right? If Don’s here, it would stand to reason that his presence would ripple out to his family but…well, I guess I have no idea if she was even still alive when we were arrested. He didn’t talk about her much, mostly just about her recipes. But he liked to keep all the crime stuff away from her, I think.

Maybe that’s why she’s not here. Maybe him being here and him being in prison is just the same. I don’t know if Don would have ever told her what happened to him—called her or written her from jail—because he didn’t want to disappoint her. So, maybe to her, her son is just gone, and would have always been gone, and the how or the where doesn’t affect her life enough to make a difference.

I knew it would be hard—I knew finding someone in this city without being able to be in a million places at once would be hard, but part of me thinks that he must have left the city and never come back.

Which is sort of unthinkable in some ways—like Pete, Don never thought about leaving New York. Richie would talk sometimes about missing Chicago, and wanting to go back there, but Don and Pete and Harry would’ve died in New York if they’d had any say.

But I also see why maybe…he’d want to leave now.

The city is…very eerie all empty like this. Worse than Vegas or Denver, maybe because I know this city, I know what it’s supposed to sound like, look like, feel like. I know what it feels like when it’s teeming with people. There’s a sense of…wrongness now that there’s no one here. Maybe he just couldn’t take it.

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

Ok weird question. Do you happen to know the total run time for all existing eps? Aka please don’t make me do math bc I want to re listen to the whole thing (to date) in one sitting. I’m guessing under 3 hours?

This is such an amazing story, Lauren. Thank you for it.

Oh gosh, I do NOT know! But that is probably something I should know--

Okay, I started to answer this but then realized that because patrons and pals get all the episodes in one week, I could just add those run times together (40 files versus 200 lol). This is an under-estimate, because I just added the minutes, not the seconds, but the first forty weeks (week 40 starts monday) add up to 597 minutes. Which is...bonkers to me. Because when you said under three hours I was like "yeah, that sounds right!" and it turns out it's closer to ten. Which is roughly the same length as the first two and a half seasons of The Bright Sessions.

So...one sitting might be unpleasant, unless you've got a loooong road trip planned!

#answered #breaker whiskey

[breakerwhiskey]

195 - ONE HUNDRED NINETY FIVE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

(laughing) Against every single fucking odd, Don is alive. He’s alive and here and—

[click, static]

I can’t believe it, the first place I decide to check—Richie's shitty fucking Alphabet City loft—and Don has left a fucking note. It’s—well, it’s just so Don.

[click, static]

(clearing her throat) “To whoever the fuck might be out there reading this—if you’ve found this, that means you knew Richie, and knew him well enough to go looking for him, which means you’re either one of our crew or you’ve got a few screws loose and you were friends with Richie because of his personality. But, screws loose or not, if you’re in this empty world then I guess I’d like to know you. You can come on over to—“ And then he wrote his address, which I am not going to read out loud “—or—“ and then the name of his favorite bar, which I’m also not going to tell you, “where I am most days.” (laughing) Classic Don.

“And if you’re Richie and you’re reading this—where the hell have you been?

P.S. You still owe me fifteen bucks for that Mets game—never bet against the Mets.”

Maybe things aren’t so bad. Maybe even if this whole crazy situation can’t be fixed…maybe we’ll still be okay.

I’ll see you soon, Don.

[click, static]

[beeps]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

194 - ONE HUNDRED NINETY FOUR

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

I had the thought—Harry’s contact, whoever they were, whoever she had worked things out with at the…well, whoever it was she was working with, I didn’t ask, I was still so fucking—

[click, static]

They have to be here, right? And it’s not like I’m some great friend of Johnny Law, but surely whoever it was, if they are here, they’d still care about stuff like someone getting murdered. Maybe…maybe I could get them to help me find Harry, or figure out what the fuck to do about Junior.

If that person is out there, they’d be in New York, right? They’d have to be. And so would Pete and Don and Richie—hell, maybe even Sylvie, though just like Francis, she was already in her golden years so I’m not sure—

Well, regardless, I’m halfway to New York. I don’t think it matters if I tell you I’m headed there, because if there’s one place that’s good to disappear, it’s New York. Even without all the people, there’s hundreds of streets and thousands of buildings and millions of rooms to hide away in. Even if you got on the highway right now and raced there, I still don’t think you’d be able to find me.

Which…maybe doesn’t bode well for the likelihood of me finding any of my old crew—or whoever Harry was conspiring with—but at least I have an idea of where to look—apartments, old hangouts, penthouses we’d robbed that I’m sure any of us would take advantage of living in now…I’m not going in totally blind.

God, it would be nice to have someone else with me. I mean, that’s always been true, after the first few weeks of getting some fucking real alone time for the first time in six years, after I’d come down from the righteous fury that was still—

Well, it was nice, for half a second. To be on my own, to be totally unfettered. But for most of this extended roadtrip, it would’ve been nice to have someone by my side. Navigating, scanning the radio channels for anything, playing road games or whatever. Driving so that I could sleep in the passenger seat.

So there’s rarely been a moment where I didn’t want someone with me. But right now…there’s a reason I started running with a crew when Pete invited me, instead of carrying on on my own. I’d been doing fine, pulling in decent hauls by myself, but even though you’ve got more people who have noisy fucking footsteps or who might make a stupid mistake that might cost you, it always feels…safer with someone else around.

I wish I had someone to watch my back. I wish I had someone to help me find Harry.

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

193 - ONE HUNDRED NINETY THREE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

I’ll be next if what? Fox, if you’re trying to tell me that I’ll be next if I go seeking out Junior, if you’re trying to tell me that there’s a next to be, that he already got to Harry—

Shit. Fuck, what the fuck—

[click, static]

And what was with the long tone, huh? Is that you, Birdie? I get the feeling you two don’t like each other, but blocking out each other’s messages or talking over each other is not helpful to me, so keep that to your own time. Communicate on a different frequency, I don’t give a shit. Just stop getting in the way. I’m not interested in whatever petty sci-fi overseer timeline bullshit rivalry you two have going on.

[click, static]

Is that what you meant, Birdie? When you said you betrayed your job and hurt people? Was Fox one of those people you hurt? Because, jesus, that sure would be a fucking weird coincidence, wouldn’t it? Both of us trapped in some kind of weird locked horns battle with the one person who betrayed us and ruined our lives.

Are you and Fox also—

[click, static]

This is a distraction. It’s just my fucking luck that the moment you two start chiming in again—the moment I start to maybe fucking understand what the hell is going on here—

I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Clearly.

I don’t want to be next. Not if Harry…look, I’m not saying I’d go in her place, I’m not saying I’d die for—

[click, static]

Why does anyone have to die? Why can’t we just talk like human beings? Do you really want to kill the only two people you know to exist in this world, Junior? Is getting revenge worth being alone for the rest of time?

[click, static]

Then again, maybe you’re having the thought that I’ve had—that if you just kill what got you here, remove me from the board, and Harry too for good measure, you’ll go to bed, your deed done, and wake up the next morning right back in the world. Maybe you think spilling our blood is the only way to right the ship.

And you know what? I can’t even tell you you’re wrong.

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

192 - ONE HUNDRED NINETY TWO

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

Please—please—

[click, static]

Junior, if you—I’ll come to wherever you are right now if you get on the radio and tell me—

[click, static]

I found my Carhartt. I—I wasn't even looking for it, not really. I was getting some more supplies, at one of the last grocery stores in the area that we hadn’t completely depleted of non-perishables and in the parking lot there was—

[click, static]

I’m not there anymore, just in case you’re hearing this. But I’ll go back. I’ll go back right now and you can do whatever you want to me, just please tell me that she’s alive.

There’s blood on the coat. A lot of it. Too much. And it still smells of cigarette smoke and the woods behind our house, but it smells of chamomile and turpentine too, and also iron, metallic and turning the fabric stiff, the entire right side of the jacket like tarp under my hands—

If she’s—I mean, if she’s really—I don’t know what I’ll do—

[click, static]

I’ve felt no ill will toward you, Junior, even after you attacked me, but if you did anything to Harry I swear to god, I’ll—

[click, static]

I’ll—

[click, static]

Please just tell me she’s okay.

[click, static]

[beeps and then a tone that distorts the rest of the message]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

191 - ONE HUNDRED NINETY ONE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

I don’t know what to do here. I don’t know how to find Harry, I don’t know what to do about Junior, I don’t know if any of this can be fixed.

Can a timeline be corrected? Can we go back? Back to the real world, I mean, not back in time, though I guess…

I actually have no idea if I would go back in time. I mean, of course, if I could undo what I did, I would but would that mean—it’s not like I want to go to prison.

Then again, according to Harry, that was never going to happen. I’m still not sure I believe her. I’m still not sure it wasn’t a rotten situation all the way through. And would that alternative really have been better?

[click, static]

I don’t mean that, of course it would have been better. But, no matter what Harry says or thinks, we would have had to—she said only she would have had to—

I don’t think I could have betrayed Pete and the guys like that. I don’t think—

[click, static]

Wait…if we’re not there…if Harry’s not there, that means she wouldn’t have—and without her, they could—

[click, static]

Holy shit, I’ve got to go to New York.

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

190 - ONE HUNDRED NINETY

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

What if he’d killed me?

[click, static]

I mean it, Harry. What if I hadn’t been fast enough, or what if he’d been able to truly catch me by surprise. What if he’d gotten the upper hand and he’d killed me?

It isn’t…it isn’t hard. Or— well, it isn’t easy. But the gap between keeping the upper hand in a fight and the other person getting it is razor thin. The tables can turn in a millisecond. All it takes is one mistake, or moving the tiniest bit too slow, or slackening your grip by an inch. I know this. You know this. You watched it happen.

I hadn’t even planned on—I didn’t have a grand escape plan. And I know you didn’t, you were so infuriatingly calm when they loaded us into that van and told us we were being transferred to god knows where. And of course now I know why you were calm, but at the time, I thought you were just trying to imagine you were somewhere else. But I wasn’t, I was stuck in the present, terrified of where we were headed, scared of how dark the world was around me, the further we got from civilization. I half thought we were being taken to the woods to be shot.

But I still didn’t have a plan. It was just…when we got that flat tire and he had to open the back to get the spare, I saw a window and—

Part of me thought it would be good just to run. Leave you behind and run into the pitch black forest. But I couldn’t— I couldn’t do that, especially not when you were shouting at me to stop, but I thought you were shouting at him, because he’d gotten his arm around my neck and I didn’t think that dragging him to the ground like that would’ve—I didn’t realize how close we were to the bumper, how little it takes to crack someone’s neck at just the wrong angle.

[click, static]

It wasn’t lucky. That’s not—it was terrible. But then it was done, just like that, and it could’ve happened just as quick with Junior at the house.

Would you mourn me? We’re not in the same place anymore, no longer each other’s sole conversational companion, so would me being dead and gone make a difference to you? Would you think about all the things you never said, never did, and have regrets? Or would you be relieved that you didn’t have to think about any of it anymore. That you would never have to make the choice of how to behave toward me, ever again.

I can’t think about the other side of this conversation. I find myself furious at imagining what your reaction would be to my death—to coming home and finding my body in the front hall—because I can’t bear to turn that question on myself.

If you’re gone—

[click, static]

Junior…Billings, I don’t know what you would want me to call you. But, if you’re listening, I know what I want to ask. Not that you—you don’t owe me shit, obviously. I don’t know how long you’ve been listening to me, what you know about me, but I can’t imagine much—if any of it—has made you more sympathetic to me.

But if I could ask for one thing, it would be to leave Harry out of this. If we meet again…I won’t hold it against you if you still want to kill me and succeed this time.

But please. Please. She’s not the one you hate. She’s not to blame. I am.

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

189 - ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY NINE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

Look. A lot…a lot has happened in the last few weeks. And I’m…well, I think I’ve found an okay place to stay safe for a few days, catch my breath, figure out what my next move is. A house that’s got some clothes that look like they might fit me, some canned goods, woods around it that should be good for setting up rabbit traps. Plus the gas stove still works, so I’m…well, I’m really cooking with gas. (a weak laugh) Sorry, I’m…I’m fucking tired.

Setting Harry and Junior to the side for the moment—not like I ever really can do that, they’re on my mind constantly, a merry-go-round of thoughts and fears that never stops—but. Setting them to the side for a moment.

I’ve been putting my thoughts in a row. Organizing the disparate threads of morse code messages and evidence and Asimov books and…

I am somewhere else. We are. We are in a time of our own, separate from the world we knew. I killed Billings and we…branched off. I took Harry with me because she was there, Junior because it was his father I killed, and Leann because…the random rippling of chance.

And if there was one ripple big enough to affect Leann, then that means there must be other people out there. I’m sure of it. But maybe they have no way of reaching me—maybe they’re not hearing me at all, even though it seems like my transmission radius is a lot bigger than it should be—and that’s a mystery I don’t feel particularly inclined to solve at the moment, bigger fish and all—maybe they’re just all spread out so much that the odds of us running into each other are vanishingly small.

But there are others. I know that. And that’s enough for now.

So. The photos. I’ve been looking at the Denver ones again and I had a thought…the weird watch, the slightly strange clothes…what if that’s—

What if it’s 1975, but just…over there. What if that’s where the sounds come from too? A collision point of timelines, some overlap that bleeds through in sound and in polaroids, for some reason. And the reason that Junior didn’t show up in the photo I took is because he wasn’t standing there in normal 1975. Because he’s here. But the people in Denver were there, just…unreachable. The camera is a little window into the real world.

I don’t know, it’s just a theory. But it’s got me wondering—why me? Why this choice? If time and space split every time someone accidentally killed someone—

Well. Maybe that is what’s happening. Everyone in their own little pocket of punishment after making a choice. But we make thousands—tens of thousands—of choices every single day. What makes one choice more potent than another? Is there some preordained “correct” order of things we’re supposed to be following, just like Eternity?

That’s really the ultimate question isn’t it—Birdie and Fox and what they both seem to know. The way they seem to be able to communicate with me no matter where I am. The way they only communicate through morse code. Are they…they’re not god, I refuse to believe that, but are they Eternity somehow? Are they…monitoring me, monitoring everything, to make sure things are just right? But if that’s the case, then what are we still doing here. Why hasn’t Andrew Harlan come and repaired what I did to put everything back in its place.

It really does all sound like science fiction. Maybe it’s all true, maybe I’m right on the money, or maybe none of it is. And I’m not sure who I would believe if anyone told me which it was.

[click, static]

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[breakerwhiskey]

188 - ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY EIGHT

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

I was going to—I was going to write him a note. And leave him the watch. That’s what I was doing when I was at the house. I was leaving a note for Harry, with instructions about the car and the radio, and I was also writing a note to Junior to say…

Well. I hadn’t gotten very far yet. I started with “I’m sorry” but then I got stuck because just those two words looked so…hollow on the page. Incomplete. Insufficient. I’m sure he’d agree.

The boy doesn’t know how to fight. Not that I—I mean, I sure as shit had never gotten into a fight before, but Don taught me some basic self defense. He was into that…kung fu stuff. Bruce Lee movies and all that. And he was always so worried about me walking through the city late at night which was sweet in its own way, but…

Anyway. I’d never been in a fight, but I’d been in plenty of high stress situations, and had Don’s voice in my head, so I think I—I mean, I guess you don’t know how you’re going to react when you get into that kind of thing, but the fight instinct took over and I—

Junior wasn’t operating off of fight instinct or staying focused under pressure. He was all rage. I’m not sure he had a plan on how to ki— If he did, it flew right out the window when he saw me because he just went for me without thinking twice. And the thing about being all rage…you can definitely land some body blows—and he did—but you’re vulnerable to distractions. You’re vulnerable to showing your weaknesses. And with his slight frame…

I don’t think I hurt him too bad. I was careful this time. I guess having that one prior experience of fight or flight…I don’t know, I just wanted to get him off me and get out, and just thinking about that gave him enough opportunity to give me a black eye and bruised rib.

I’m lucky. I know I am. But I’m—it’s the stupidest thing, I’m mad I didn’t get to finish my note. To Harry, sure, if she ever goes back there and if he didn’t destroy it—

He probably destroyed it. That’s what I would do. If I were him. I’d make it impossible for me to find the one person who might be an ally, and I’d…I’d think about how can get a second swing at killing me.

I am sorry. I know that’s not enough. I know that being apologetic about killing your father is the shittiest consolation prize anyone has ever received. But it’s true. And it’s what I have to offer.

I don’t know if it makes a difference that I didn’t mean to. I don’t know if it matters that I just wanted to escape and that, for a split second, I thought I was going to die. I know you probably see me as some immoral criminal who destroyed your family, your future, your life. And…

I’m not sure I have a defense against that, actually. I am a criminal and I did destroy your life. But I don’t like to think of myself as immoral. Am I…complicated? Yeah. Do I have, perhaps, a slightly different view of what’s acceptable than the average person? Sure. I made my living breaking the law, I’m not trying to argue for Citizen of the Year here. But I’m not a bad person. I’m not.

I’d never hurt anyone before. Not ever. That’s not the kind of criminal I was. Hurt some property, some pocketbooks, but never a person. And what I did to your father has stuck with me every single day since it happened. It was the biggest thing to ever happen to me, and that’s before I knew that it…caused all of this.

And that has to say something, right? I’ve spent the last…nearly seven years living in a world that was empty and apocalyptic, with no explanation as to why, and that still didn’t loom as large in my head as taking a man’s life.

I’m not…I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not asking for absolution. I’m…

[click, static]

I actually have no idea what I’m asking for. I’m not sure I’m even asking you to spare my life. I—

I’m not sure.

[click, static]

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[breakerwhiskey]

187 - ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY SEVEN

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

(sigh) So. I think I should probably explain some things. Again.

I’m—if I sound different at all, it’s because I’m on a new CB. I tried to broadcast yesterday but I don’t think I was coming through at all—the radio kept spitting static back at me and it took me a second to figure out that something was wrong with the push-to-talk button. The mechanism inside kept slipping and—

Anyway, this isn’t important or interesting. Other than to say…I’ve got a new radio. And a new car. And…no other supplies really. It’s like I’m starting from scratch again, like we did in ’68 and I’m—

[click, static]

I’m trying not to be scared by it—daunted, I’ll allow, but there’s no room to be afraid of the circumstances I find myself in. Not when everything else is so fucking terrifying.

He—

[click, static]

I shouldn’t have been broadcasting from the house. Even for a few minutes, it was foolish. Arrogant and risky and—

He found me. He walked through the door to the garage and he—

There was a moment, when we just looked at each other. And I could see his father in his face. The same eyes, the same ghosts of dimples on his cheeks. Even more prominent than on Billings face, actually, with the way that Junior’s face is sunken. Like he’s been underfed for years. Which, I suppose, he probably has been. Especially if he’s been alone.

I wanted to ask, wanted to say—something. There’s so much I want to say to him, so much I want to ask him, but we stared at each other for that brief moment and then, before I could even open my mouth, he was lunging at me.

It is the same cologne. As his father. I wonder if he wears it because it reminds him—

[click, static]

Well, if there was any doubt that Junior wanted to kill me…I have my answer now.

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript

[breakerwhiskey]

186 - ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY SIX

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

(a lot of static and cutting in and out) Breaker breaker, this is WAR1974 calling out for anyone on the line.

[click, static]

Does anyone read?

[click, static]

Does anyone read?

[click, static]

Can you hear me? Can anyone hear me?

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

[breakerwhiskey]

185 - ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY FIVE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but I’ll be quick, I promise.

I came back to the house. I staked it out for a good three hours first, to be sure that no one else was here, but it’s clear that someone has been here. The house is torn apart since I was last here—I don’t know what Junior is looking for…maybe nothing. Maybe his father’s watch. Maybe he heard my broadcast the other day. Maybe he just wanted to break anything and everything in his path, just because he could.

A lot of our supplies are gone too—I don’t know if Harry took some when she left or if he’s taken them, but I just hope they’re being used by someone. I’m still not sure how to feel about the whole Junior thing—I’m mostly trying to not think about it at all if I’m entirely honest—but I’d be happy to inadvertently be feeding him or helping him survive somehow. Mi casa es su casa, I guess.

I’m not thrilled about my Carhartt jacket though—that seems to be missing as well. I’d been hoping to…I don’t know, I didn’t really pack all that many sentimental objects when I left but I wanted to—I don’t know. I liked that coat. And coming back here made me realize how much I missed—

[click, static]

Well, I fucking miss cigarettes that’s for sure. If I ever have a garden again, I wonder if I can figure out how to grow tobacco and roll my own. Though, at this point, with everything I’ve been dealing with, I might have to resort to smoking the seven year old packs lying around.

Anyway, the jacket is gone. It wasn’t on its usual hook and I searched the whole house and its…gone. I’m assuming Junior didn’t take it, but I can’t remember if it was here last week when I came back to the house for the first time. Maybe Harry threw it out the day I left. Maybe she took it with her when—

(scoffs) Probably not that. More likely she just tossed it. Or cut it up into scraps to line the chicken coop.

I should get going, I think. It’s not good to linger. But I—well, I left Harry a note. On the off chance that she does come back here. It’s got the same info I’ve said on the radio, with a new meeting place in case…

Well, in case. I also—well, I wrote—I know he probably wouldn’t want to hear what I have to say, so maybe I’ll just keep it and—

[click, static]

(sigh) I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know if there’s anything I should be taking with me from the house. Any other bits of sentiment, any remaining supplies.

I have this feeling…I don’t think I’ll ever be back here after this. I think—

[a creak of the door opening behind her]

(gasps) Wh—

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify