maskormenace | [04] Voice

[04] Voice

[ So even though the feed opens up, Walt doesn't talk for a moment or so. There's a sharp inhale and it's accompanied by a piteous cough. And then after a couple minute pause, he starts talking -- sounding rather relaxed. ]

Today was my birthday.

[ A beat. Nonchalant. ]

But it's also my death anniversary. How many people can say that? Their life came a full and complete circle, starting and ending all on the same day? I mean, what are the chances? Pretty crazy, that.

[ Another brief pause. Another follow up cough. When he speaks, his voice is a little strained. ]

I mean like, this whole world. What an insane concept, right? To think that our own individual worlds are just this tiny fraction of all the different worlds out there -- some with crazy powers or vampires or Satan. We have Satan. Does anyone ever stop to think about that? How Satan has a TV show? I mean, I guess...what a better way to say welcome to hell than Satan with his own TV show. I've never actually watched it, mind. But I imagine it probably involves burning people alive.

But following that thought -- I still think this place is hell. I mean, I can't be the only dead guy walking here, can I? And it's definitely not heaven. My therapist called it purgatory once.

[ A beat. ]

Purgatory is kind of accurate. Sometimes he knows what he's talking about. All of us just sitting here and waiting -- to either go home and die for good or to do whatever it is we do here. I mean, we can't die. There's a definite statistical likelihood that we come back to life if we get killed, so do we age? I'm 53 today, but am I not really 53? Am I eternally 52 until I die again? Do I die again? Or do I just live an endless loop of my life -- dying, coming here, dying coming here until some otherworldly being makes up their mind?

Maybe that's what Satan's show is about. Collecting as many of us that belong in hell and dragging us back with him. That's a pretty morbid thought, isn't it?

[ So why is Walt laughing. Why is Walt laughing like it's the most hilarious thing in the world? Why is he laughing at all? What was he laughing at again?

The laughter dies. ]

What was I talking about again? [ But it's lost. ] Anyway, I just want to know. Is there anyone else out there who died? Bonus if you died on your birthday. Might be good to talk about it. Therapeutic. And I'm here to listen. We can talk here or in person. If anyone wants to go with me to get birthdeath day breakfast for dinner, that could be a thing. That we do.

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How are you so torn between this indulgent martyr complex and your profound loneliness?

You're like this jackal. Always jumping all over the scraps of what I say.

[ And that's totally okay with Walt. ]

Aren't you going to wish me a happy birthday?

Better a jackal than a lion. You prefer me to supplicate.

[A beat -- he doesn't answer Walt's birthday query just yet.]

Is it wise to reference me?

[ And Walt just snorts a laugh. ]

Are we all animals now? Can I change yours to an ass?

[ He is so hilarious. His chuckles die down after a minute or so. ]

Where am I referencing you? Will Graham is talking to me. I'm not talking about you.

No, you cannot. I am not about to dehumanize everyone with you, either. [Spoken after a polite period of waiting for the laughter to ease out.] Oh, you have another psychiatrist now? Another one who talks about purgatory with you as you pick at the theological carrion?

[Pause.]

-- Will Graham is talking to you? Privately. Will Graham is talking to you privately.

Chill, Chilton.

[ He nearly loses it at the alliteration. ]

It's not like I'm talking about you by name. No one'll know.

Except Will Graham, probably.

[There's a frustrated hiss -- Chilton rubs his hand over his face. He reconsidered the productivity of talking with Walt when the man was clearly under an influence. It would only be playing into Walt's overly amused hands, thought Chilton, to mention the overt use of marijuana.]

There is exactly one practicing psychiatrist in the imPort community now. How poor do you think the mathematical skills of the others are?

[Most imPorts did not seek non-imPort psychiatric aid. Communal trauma bred community values.]

Precious as you are to play coy, just tell me what you are talking about with him. No need to drag it out.

Does that make you the only psychiatrist in the world? I don't think so. As a matter of fact, Hank thinks I'm seeing a non-imPort psychiatrist. So I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Chilton, but you're not the center of the psychiatric world.

[ A pause. A long pause. ]

I'm not talking to him about anything.

As if Schrader is idiotic enough to believe that you aren't egotistical enough to want optimal support. A local psychiatrist isn't empowered the way we are, and you are addicted to influence. Your little kingdom thrives on it.

[Clearly Chilton has too much faith in the clarity of others.]

And you are a terrible liar. This is what happens when you skip out on double sessions, Walt. I had to give your slot to Miles Edgeworth.

[Speaking of liars. It isn't as if Chilton can blame Walt, of course, but it rankled his spine to hear Walt address him in such a way, especially since their post-Atlantic City interface had been only minutes long.]

I guess I won't be coming back then.

You think it is that easy.

It is that easy.

[ This isn't the first time Chilton's threatened Walt's time slot. And Walt refuses to bend over and change his schedule to accommodate Chilton. If Chilton wants to play this game, then he loses. Every time. ]

Perhaps you no longer need therapy. I could sign off on that.

[Chilton is willing to call that bluff, given the limited risk. Now that Walt has fractured beyond diagnostic repair, now that Walt feels he can trust no one. Chilton recognizes himself as the last thread holding Walter White together.]

You're right -- that was rather easy.

[Maybe this would set that time bomb ticking.]

Goodbye, Chilton.

[ It's spoken with indifference. Not a care in the world. Chilton wanted to be like this, fine. The jackass couldn't even wish him a happy birthday, so Walt doesn't care.

But he's waiting for Chilton to hang up first. ]

And -- goodness, happy birthday. Tell your friends to --

Oh wait.

[No, YOU hang up first, Walt!!]

[ Chilton. You wanna end this so badly, you gotta disconnect. ]

I don't know if you noticed, but I do have a lot of birthday well wishers and friends. Your jealousy is palpable.

Yes, the value of pity and compulsive guilt from near-strangers is incredibly desirable on an interpersonal level. How could I have been so blind? And here I thought it was merely sad and vaguely pathetic.

Edited 2015-09-08 04:53 (UTC)

You're just mad because I'm dumping you and moving on. Harley's a psychiatrist, you know. Did you know that?

Not one licensed here, which is obviously going to be an issue for you. Did you think that through? Did you miss a step in your logic?

Moreover. You are not "dumping" me. I'm referring you. I cannot in good conscience have you lie to Schrader -- to, ah, Hank. Any longer. I have an excellently mundane local psychiatrist of mediocre note for you. A perfect match.

Edited 2015-09-08 05:09 (UTC)

That's so kind of you to sacrifice your extraordinary patient and your book. You will make that mediocre psychiatrist's life that much more successful. And maybe when they're rolling in the riches of their best selling book, they'll send you a signed copy -- thanking you for being the stepping stone to their life-altering moment.

[As if Chilton would ever refer Walt to someone who had any access to imPort regulated hospitals, or any capability of examining Walter White to the appropriate degree -- that ace he was saving up his slimy sleeve. Because of course Walt was priceless in his perspective and agenda, of course he was ideal in his neurological disturbance, but Chilton had been acutely observant of the past couple of weeks. Walt no longer invested in the doctor-patient relationship they had.

Walt was volatile, even chemical in personality -- and chemistry was the science of change. Wouldn't he appreciate that?]

You forget I still have Will Graham.

[What a nice parallel, thought Chilton. Thank god Hannibal Lecter wasn't around to undermine that claim.]

Edited 2015-09-08 05:24 (UTC)

That's it, then.

[ His words were short and clipped. An irritation bleeding through the fog of calm that had so blessedly surrounded him. Chilton was being serious about this. The one thing Walt banked on being there for him was going to leave him, too. ]

You don't get to have me back. You make this change, and it's permanent.

Change. You know so much about change, Walt. Transformation.

[How quickly that tone shortened in Walt's mouth. Chilton couldn't help but feel a little pride in how he could ruin the lift of Walt's buzz. Just by talking.]

But this isn't what you want, is it? To be handed off -- how would that affect your abandonment issues? Poorly, I imagine. And a man as talented as yourself deserves better.

[His tone was almost cooed. Flattery was the most acute form of manipulation.]

You need your freedom -- to an extent. You need to be Heisenberg. So why don't we make a change? An agreeable change for the both of us.

We can decrease your sessions, from weekly to monthly. Same time -- though I would like to extend towards a two hour session slot.

Why? How would that benefit you?

[ It wasn't like it wasn't agreeable. Maybe it would be better to have only one session. Easier to make. Freed up some of his time. But what didn't make sense was why Chilton wanted the change. Why he would even suggest that Walt see someone else in the first place.

What was the ultimate goal? Walt wondered. ]

I cannot have you continually missing sessions, Walt. You can maintain one appointment a month, can't you?

I certainly would not want to compete with your chemotherapy treatments, after all.

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