Breaker Whiskey

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 atypicalartists.co/support.

If you'd like to send Whiskey a message, click here.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

Breaker, breaker, this is whiskey calling out to one and all. 

[click, static] 

Hi, everybody. I know it's been a minute. I’m—I'm weirdly nervous talking to you now. Now that I know that people are listening. Now that I know that people across infinite timelines are listening, it's a lot of pressure. I feel like I have a little inkling of what Jean Shepard would have felt getting on the radio every night, except I actually think I probably have more listeners than Jean, which yeah, I actually can't think about that very much or I will get even more nervous. 

[static]

As an update because some of you have seemed curious— we’re doing good, I think. Not too much has changed since my last transmission. We're still where we were, although I think we're going to have to head down the mountain soon. The weather is changing and I don't think we want to be here when the snow comes. Well, when the snow really comes, there is already snow because we're that high up. But we can't survive a winter here, not with how thin these walls are. As for where we go next, I don't know. I know I probably won't be telling you. Not because I don't want you guys to know, but because. Well, you know, people may be listening and I don't want to invite any more trouble than I already am inclined to do, just living my life. 

[static]

Harry and I are good for the most part. I mean, we've had a few blow up, knock down, drag out fights. Well, you know, a dozen, maybe. Nothing— nothing earth shattering, just the usual. Although now we have a a different mode of conflict resolution, by which I mean we actually make attempts at conflict resolution now and in a way that I think is very productive. Maybe not talking things out as much as we should, but I don't think either of us can complain. So. Yeah, we're. We're okay. 

Not much else to report. Not much has changed. Haven't heard from Birdie or from Fox since that last big transmission, but I have been hearing from a lot of you. We spend most of our days sifting through all the different messages we get. Some of them are like this, and a lot of them are Morse code, which I don't think either of us were expecting necessarily. But it's nice to have somebody else with me to translate the Morse code. 

One of you…one of you sent a morse code message asking if this was real. You said it was a cool project and that that threw me because does that mean that somehow you, whoever you were that send that message, you're back in the normal world and this was coming through on your normal radio and you thought, hey, maybe there's another Orson Welles joint or something of that kind. Does this sound like a story to you? Like I'm just an actor pretending to be somebody stuck somewhere. I—I’m glad that you thought it was cool. In any case, I don't know that I would categorize it that way because it's my life, but yeah. 

Yeah, it’s real.

[static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

atypicalartists.co/breakerwhiskey

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

------

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

It took me the better part of a day but I think I’ve done it. I think I’ve written out your whole message. It…I honestly have no idea what it says. I was so focused on the individual letters, barely any words formed from it as I went.

I…I should go get Harry. But she’s sleeping and…I think she needs the rest. After—we’re still working through things and I think—no, I know—we will be for a very long time. As we waited for your message to finish transmitting, we talked a lot. We maybe got a little…distracted from time to time, but she put it all out on the table, everything she’d been thinking and feeling that she didn’t tell me. Things she didn’t even write in her notebook. And I told her things…we aired grievances and shared the times when we thought we might get close to something, back in New York. She talked about how she felt about Pete and listened to me when I talked about him and…and she was really kind when I couldn’t parse the good from the bad, when I didn’t want to just write him off as a violent criminal. I mean, I don’t…well, there are a lot of things I need to work through and it doesn’t all have to do with Harry.  

Well. I could fill you in on all of it, on every detail, but…these broadcasts have been mine, separate from Harry, as much as anything in my life can be separate from Harry, and there are some things with her that are separate from the world. At least for now. 

I know I said I might stop transmitting now that we’re safe and I think…I think I am going to take a break. Disappear for a little while like you’re so fond of doing. I’m—well, I think I’m happy and I’m not totally sure what to do with that feeling. Especially since it’s laced with…well, Junior is still out there, we’re still trapped here and even though I know what it’s like to kiss her, to— I don’t think I’ve forgiven Harry yet, not fully. She knows that, she…she’s understanding of it. Genuinely. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try to get there. Especially since I know I haven’t been the paragon of healthy communication and perfect relationship behavior so there are things that I need to…that I need her forgiveness on and, well, I think she wants to try to get there too. 

All that said—well, I don’t know what I’m going to find in your message and I hope it’s not goodbye forever, but maybe this is a goodbye for now. I want only good things for you Birdie. I hope you get a little peace of mind. A little closure. I’m discovering eve the tiniest glimpse of it really does wonders. 

Okay. Here we go. 

“Dear Whiskey, 

I am sorry that we couldn’t meet. You find yourself in a watch tower of my own creation. I wasn’t positive it would still be functioning in this timeline—you never do know when an earthquake or a storm is going to cause something to come toppling down—but I’m relieved to find that it is. I do wish I could have been there myself, but we can only enter timelines through great pains and effort and I have already interfered far more than we are meant to. Though I suppose my hand was forced when I ceased to be the only one communicating with you.

The person you know as Fox is, as you guessed, a purist. They want all people in all places to be instead in one place, following one path. They do not believe that anyone should be free to make their own choices and live with the consequences. They would prefer to guide your hand into another choice you cannot take back, all in service of what they deem to be correct. They know what they are; they even told you directly. Though they are not the figment of an author’s imagination, they are as close to Eternity as one can get. Though in this case, they are not the norm, but a rebel.

And I cannot claim there is nothing to re—rebel against. It is not a perfect system. It is hard, to watch people suffer in the worlds of their own creation, with no obvious recourse. Sometimes these timelines correct themselves, merging with each other or disappearing entirely. But even we, the keepers and observers of these strands, cannot fully comprehend the intricacies of why certain shifts are created. 

As you know, you are not the first person for whom I have tried to bring comfort in a lonely universe. Not all alternate worlds are as empty as yours, but some are even emptier. And yours, was of course, becoming more empty all the time, though that may not be a bad thing for every person involved. 

Fox told you you’re too late because the timeline has shifted once again. I’ll explain that in a moment but first I need to talk about the shift that preceded it, that caused an angry man to seek vengeance. A few months ago, Fred Billings’ mother—“

Fred. That’s his name. Fred. Wow, I, uh—anyway—

“Fred Billings’ mother, who was her—who was here, vanished from this place and merged with her correct timeline. Both Fred and his father perished in a car accident on New Year’s Eve 1974, and the widow Billings’ life was forever changed. Fred woke up here one day to find that his mother—who he had lived with in some degree of contentment for the last six years—had vanished. Meanwhile, she was waking up in the place she was from, with no memory of this world. 

That’s what would have happened if you had killed Junior. Or, at least, that is what Fox and I both suspected. That it would have aligned enough with the timeline of your origin and you would’ve been sent back. But you should know, if that were to happen, all of this would seem like a strange dream. Your memories of the last seven years would be filled with the experience of that other you. The events you’ve experienced here would not inform your life. I have not brought you here to keep you from making that decision for yourself, but because I thought you deserved to have all the information relevant to what Fox was asking you to do. They forced my hand when they told you to kill Fred—I could not let you do that without knowing the full consequences. 

However, it is a moot point. As I said, something in the timeline has shifted again. You have merged—you have merged with another offshoot, your circumstances have once again changed. I wish I could give you the information that would help you navigate this new world—I wish I knew if this meant more potential allies or if this meant that you were closer to getting back home than you were before. But we cannot see all. Fox has their ways of seeing more than most, but I suspect even they are uncertain of what this shift has brought. 

I do know that yours and Harry’s fates are irreversibly intertwined. I cannot think of a decision on any timeline that would separate you as you are now. In that sense, I take comfort in knowing you will never be truly alone. 

On that subject, I have a final gift for you. I know you are going to cease transmitting soon. And I understand that, I do. But before you go silent, look at the radio system in front of you—“

…okay… 

“Turn it on and tune to the very last frequency. Then switch on the delta tune to the positive and access the off-frequency just beyond that final channel. 

Through some error that I know my superiors would like to correct, your transmissions have been reaching out—have been reaching outside of your world. In the same way that visions of the world you came from have bled into where you are now—” The polaroids I’m guessing— “your words have reached beyond their usual bounds. It is why they were able to reach your friends from across the country and after a year of listening to you, I have yet to figure out why this is happening at all.

Perhaps now that you are no longer alone, you don’t need this particular comfort. But you have spent all this time calling into the dark, hoping someone was listening, hoping someone would call back. Hoping that someone out there would find you. 

You were found a long time ago. You were never really lost or alone. Many of them were alone, before they heard your voice. But the moment you called out, there were voices calling back, even if you couldn’t hear them. 

Your friend,  Birdie”

What…I don’t…I don’t understand—

Okay, tune to the last frequency…let’s see

[turning to the frequency]

“You were found a long time ago”…Who found—

[gets to the last frequency and then—

a cacophony of different voices, all the messages that Whiskey has not been receiving, from infinite timelines]

(an intake of breath)

Oh my god.

[static]

[click]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Well. We, uh, made up. 

I—

[click, static]

It’s not fixed, it’s not like everything is suddenly—there’s still a lot we need to…

(clears throat)

She—she came looking for me. I wasn’t even done transmitting and she well, it was a long conversation and I’m not sure how much I—But I think I can probably give you the highlights. She said she wouldn’t give up. That I could keep moving in whatever direction I want to and she would be right behind me. That she’d stay there until I wanted her next to me. That she—

She told me that she wouldn’t ever stop loving me even if I decided I couldn’t forgive her. That she’d love me even if I chose to love someone else. That she wanted to watch me keep loving the world, in the hopes that it would help me love her again. (a small laugh) And that she wants me to shout at her whenever it seems like she’s forgetting that, whenever she starts to hold me too tightly. 

She wanted to start over. That’s the only thing she asked of me. That we could start fresh, get to know each other again, leave everything behind and try to…try to make something new, even if it’s just a friendship. Even if we’re still strangers two years from now. 

I told her no. I can’t start over. I won’t. I can’t forget what she’s told me, I can’t box away every contradictory feeling I’ve had for her. And I don’t know where that leaves us but I—in that moment, after hearing the last secret she had from me, that she loves me—I just decided, to hell with it, if this is—if she’s going to spent the next…who the hell knows how long, trying to get my forgiveness, my trust again, then I’m going into that with all the information I can and I—I kissed her. 

I didn’t…I didn’t expect anything from it. I just kissed her the once, not a prelude to anything, simple and earnest, but I just had to know. I’ve spent too much time, too many years, not knowing. And maybe it was unfair of me, to ask that of her without being able to promise the exact nature of the feelings behind it but she, uh, she didn’t seem to mind. 

She didn’t stop at kissing me once. And the moment she put her arms around me…(laughs) I had no hope. Passion is an emotion that can come from so many origin points and I don’t know if it was love or anger or some combination of what she brings out in me but…well, it turns out just shutting up and working out our issues in different ways is…not a bad idea. 

[a door opens behind Whiskey]

So that’s where we—that’s where we are. (smiling) Um, and—

[footsteps approaching]

Well, I’m still not letting her broadcast on my frequencies, but she’s— 

(off mic) Yes, I have been talking about you and you know that—

(on mic) Like I said, things aren’t fixed, but it’s—it feels like moving forward for the first time in a long time and—

(distracted) And, um, well she’s been…it’s like a floodgate has opened and—(off mic, laughing) Harry, get off—

[click, static]

(breathless) Sorry, uh…maybe I should keep doing these by myself seeing as someone can’t keep their hands—

[click, static]

Jesus, sorry—I got on here for a reason, you know. 

Because, well, I finally got my wish. My other wish. Our date this morning. I don’t even know what to do with the length of this message. I can’t tell where it ends and begins but I’m going to—I’m going to try. I said I’d sit in front of the radio for hours and copy out morse code and I’m sticking to that promise. 

It really is nice having so many radios. 

I’m recording and it seems like it’s going to keep going for a little while so—

(off mic, exasperated) Harry—

[click, static]

Yeah, okay, I’m gonna go—

Signing off. 

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

I could really use your dits and dashes right now, Birdie. I could really use anyone to talk to. Harry and I—well, all that growth and warming up and being more vulnerable…I guess I was lulled into a false sense of calm, because things finally…I didn’t think we had more to say to each other, but I guess we did. 

It was you…it was you saying “our date”. Can you believe that? All of this time, everything that’s happened, and it was a little jealousy over a person I question is real half the time that finally tipped Harry over. And, you know, I’d been suspecting that she was jealous of you but…Jesus. 

When I told her about your message, I guess—well, I was happy! I am happy, I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say. But she—she read something into it because she asked me if I’m in love with you. Which is just…

Don’t take this the wrong way, Birdie, but that’s absurd to me. I’m grateful for you—more than I think I can ever fully express—and I hope that I’ve brought…well, something to what sounds like your fairly complicated existence, but I don’t know you. Not really. I know that you’re caring, and regretful, and scared—I know enough to consider you a friend and to want to really get to know you and cement that friendship. But I don’t know you like I…

I don’t know all the different kinds of laughs you have—the one when you’re being polite, when you think someone is being stupid, when you actually find something hilarious but don’t want to admit it, when you’re embarrassed or flattered, and the one that’s just genuine joy. I don’t know if you have any scars or birthmarks or that you broke your arm falling off a bike when you were eleven and haven’t ever really ridden a bike since. I don’t know the names of your parents or if you have siblings, or what you would spend your perfect day doing. 

And it’s not just…the minutiae, it’s…I wouldn’t recognize you in a crowd. I can listen to any song and not have it remind me of you. I can wake up and not have you be the first thing on my mind. 

I didn’t—I didn’t say all that, but I told Harry she was crazy, which, well, was the wrong thing to say because she…she blew up at me. She said that she’s felt this before, that she knows what it’s like to be on the outside when I’m on the inside with someone. That that’s what it’s always like with—

I know—I know that you can’t ever really know what someone is experiencing. How a person sees the same events that you’re both going through. But I’d—I’d really had no idea that Harry felt so left out all the time. That my friendship with the guys put her on the outs. That the easy way I had of being with everyone we ever met—with Sissy and K and Francis and Sylvie—how the way that I liked everyone and everyone liked me felt like she was always standing in front of a locked door. And that I was doing that now, that Birdie is my person and that Harry just gets the scraps of both. 

I…well, it put some things into context I guess. She’s selfish, possessive, resentful of the fact that she had to share me with all of New York and now she has to share me with the world. She hates the fact that I spent all that time not talking to her and then started telling every inner thought and private secret to anyone who could listen. She’s jealous of you and she’s jealous of my radio. 

And I’m not—that’s not me calling her selfish or possessive or any of that. That’s how she put it. Her exact words. And what does she want me to do with that? I—I didn’t say anything. I just walked away and came back up here. After all, it’s her turn to be the one left holding the emotional bag. 

I know she’s listening right now. I know she’s gone down to the little  visitor center and turned on her radio because I know she knows that the first thing I’d do is get on here and talk to you. Talk to the void. 

Except it was never the void, was it? All this time, I left to find people, to hope I’d have someone else to talk to, and I was just talking right to Harry all the while. And that’s the real truth of it. So I might as well talk straight to her right now. 

Sometimes I was so happy that we were the only two people in the entire universe. And then you told me what you did and I found myself wishing that I’d drive out into the world and find it full of people and then come back home to tell you and you…wouldn’t be there anymore. And I’d realize that it had all been some weird illusion, or dream, or nervous breakdown and that the whole time I’d been holed up with you, the world kept turning and it was you that wasn’t there. That you were somewhere else entirely, somewhere I’d never be able to reach. Somewhere beyond my control. I’d fantasize that I didn’t have to look for you anymore, because that’s what I was always doing. 

Back in New York, back in the world, I would look for you in every room. Any party I ever went to, any museum, it didn’t matter if you weren’t supposed to be there, if you weren’t invited, any time I went into a new place, I’d turn and hope you’d be there. Every time you weren’t was a tiny heartbreak and every time you were was even worse. And there would be a tiny, pinprick moment when I’d just get to look at you, take you in, see you out of the context of us—laughing at someone else’s joke, rolling your eyes at an art critic, sneaking another piece of cake…it would be a split second where I’d get to observe you exactly as you are without me and then it’d be over because you’d somehow know I was there and you’d look over and we’d lock eyes and then…then nothing. You would look away, or I would, and eventually we’d wander into each other’s orbits, but you never came straight to me. 

And then we lived together—we lived in the same house for six years, each other’s only company and I was still looking for you. I would still relish every moment that I was in a room without you realizing I was there and every time you’d eventually notice and you wouldn’t…you might say something, maybe, but you wouldn’t look back for long. You wouldn’t chase me. You never chased me. Not until now. 

And that’s the grand irony of all of this, isn’t it? I kept looking for you and the moment I left, the moment I stopped looking, you started. And try as I might, I was never really speaking to anyone but you. Even when I talked to Birdie or Fox or was just trying to speak to anyone—anyone who could hear, it was…I was always just trying to talk to you. I spent months hoping it was you, that we’d be able to say through morse code what we never could say out loud. 

And now you tell me it isn’t enough? That you still want more of me, that you want all of me, leaving nothing left for anyone else and I—I can’t do that. The part of me that can forgive you—however small it might be at times—that’s the part of me that wants to talk to anyone who would listen. That wants to like everyone she meets. That has wanted to be in the world. You can’t take that part of me away and still have…me. I can’t just be made up of the parts that you shaped. There has to be more of me, because I don’t think you’d want me otherwise. 

I stand by what I said almost eighteen months ago—we can’t move forward if you keep caging us in. I’m going to keep moving forward and I’m not going to look back to see if you’re following. 

I loved you, Harry. I did. I still lo— 

But I can’t keep looking for you. It’s your turn. 

[a door opens behind Whiskey]

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

This place is…extraordinary. I woke up with the sunrise this morning and it was breathtaking. It’s so…quiet. I mean, it’s not actually that quiet, the sounds of the wind and the creaking trees and whatever wildlife is out here—oh, and I found the rifle, which I guess is good in case any of that wildlife deciding to come to our door but they’d have to get up the stairs first. I guess this means I am teaching Harry how to shoot after all. Maybe I’ll finally learn to hunt. 

But—those sounds aside, the natural sounds, it’s peaceful. Being in cities now is eerie—they’re quiet but it isn’t right. This place was so untouched by people to begin with that it feels right. It gives me the same feeling I got in Wyoming all those months ago. Except, this time, I’m not trying to forget about Harry, because I very much can’t forget about her. 

Last night—well, it doesn’t matter that it’s July, the nights still get fucking freezing this high up. But, as you know, there’s a cast iron stove in the watchtower, and there’s still a whole pile of wood underneath the stairs, so we had that going all night. And I guess we both were still too cold because somehow, in the course of the night, we both ended up with our blankets and pillows in front of the stove. Between the fire and the shared warmth, I slept…well, I slept really well for the first time in a long time. 

It’s not that I’ve never woken up next to her before. When we were first on the run, we couldn’t afford to be out of each other’s sight for too long. But this was—this was different. It's the first time there’s been nothing between us—no secrets, no lies, no games. Harry has been different these last few weeks and it’s like I was getting so used to being around her again, and all the mixed up feelings that that brought up, that I didn’t even notice until now. But the way she did eventually go along with what I wanted to do, the way that she admitted that coming here was a good idea…

She isn’t just surrendering, telling me what I want to hear. I know what that’s like, I’ve lived with that version of Harry for months. After she told me the truth, she tried to…change. Become some version of herself that she thought I could forgive, being easy and agreeable and giving me space and consideration and I fucking hated it. 

That’s not what she’s doing now. She’s just…thawing. She’s letting herself be vulnerable. She’s letting herself be wrong. I’m starting to feel like maybe she doesn’t just want my forgiveness to make her life easier, but because she is genuinely remorseful about everything. Maybe in the end that distinction doesn’t mean anything, but it matters to me. And it matters—it matters that she was trying to protect me in her own roundabout way even if I wish she’d just come to me when she found out about Pete—

(sigh) My head is so loud. If we’re really safe from prying eyes here…I might stop transmitting for a while after our date on Thursday. I’m…I’m tired. Waking up so peaceful and safe and warm this morning…it all hit me, this huge wave of exhaustion. I’m so tired of being angry. I’m tired of being scared. And I think taking some time after we talk to—to put down everything I’ve been carrying around…it might be a good idea. 

I’m—I’m excited to see what you have to say. You said “message will repeat” so I assume we’re not going to be playing our yes and no game. It better be a long message, Birdie. 

I think…I think I understand why you chose that name. There’s a bird-feeder on the railing and even though there’s no seed in it, I’ve still seen the most beautiful array of birds. I’ve been sitting here all morning, waiting for Harry to return from her supply run, and just watching them. And wondering if you built the feeder yourself, so that you could have some company. 

Is this what you did? You sat in this watchtower, with enough radio equipment to speak to the world, and you listened and looked out on the sunrise and the birds and felt like you were in the one good and beautiful place in the entire universe, across all timelines?

Or did you feel trapped? Consigned to your tower like some kind of fairytale princess? Did you look at the birds and wish you could be free too?

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

------

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Okay, we…we found it. We actually found it. 

How does this…how does this work? I mean, it sure seems like you were here, once, given the sheer volume of radios and…other equipment that I haven’t even begun to figure out yet. I think there’s some recording stuff, which is helpful—I wonder if I can figure out a way to rig it so that it can listen to every frequency and record whenever it detects a message. 

That sounds way beyond my capabilities and maybe impossible. But at the very least, I am going to spend some time testing everything out. And overall, it seems like a pretty good hideout—it’s a lot more spacious than it looks from the ground, and I bet the signal and transmission reach is amazing. There’s nothing in the way of supplies, really, but we passed a town a while back and there’s a visitor’s center a little further down the mountain from here, so I think we’ll be set for a while as long as I keep the car in good working order. 

There are two beds here—did you have a friend with you once? Was it Fox? Or did you somehow supply this place for us. It’s…well, it’s covered in dust. But everything in this world is covered in dust. 

But you’re…you’re not here. I’m not sure I really expected you to be, or at least, I tried not to, but I’m still disappointed. I still hoped…

You were here once though, weren’t you? This is where you…where you listened to all the other timelines? Where you communicated with whoever it is you communicate with? Where are you now? Another timeline? The right one? Or somewhere else entirely, somewhere in between? 

I assume…I mean, there is a visitor’s center. I assume that this was an active fire watch tower before. I’ve taken a few photos and everything looks pretty much the same in them, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone there but…I don’t know.

Shockingly, Harry was pretty gracious about the fact that she’s been proven wrong—that you seemed to have led us to a good place, a useful place. She admitted she was wrong, something that is still all too rare. And she told me—she said she still doesn’t trust you, but she trusts me, and that’s enough. 

Is that trust enough for me? Is that trust worth anything? What else is she going to do but trust me? What else could I do but trust you? Is trust  less valuable when it’s forced by circumstance? Or does that just make it more honest?

Now that we’re here…what do we do? I’m glad to be safe, to be out of Fox’s view, but you promised me answers. 

[click, static]

[beeps]

--- ..- .-. / -.. .- - . .-.-.- / -- . ... ... .- --. . / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / .-. . .--. . .- - .-.-.-

Our date. Message will repeat.

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Alright, we’re…we’re not there yet, not exactly, but we’re close. Except…Birdie, are you leading us up a mountain? Is this…safe? What exactly are we looking for? I don’t know what we’re going to find the further we go up, but I have a feeling we’re not going to trip over a bustling town. 

You said no one could see us. I definitely get that from a, you know, other human beings who may or may not be alive in this country at the moment standpoint, but I don’t see how being on a mountain hides us from Fox or any of your other insane coworkers. And I’m still not sure why I want trust you when you say this is the right thing to do. But the promise of answers…of maybe even meeting you…

Well. Harry is much more skeptical, you’ll not be surprised to learn. It’s…it’s been interesting reading her notebook. I haven’t had an over abundance of time, what with being the morse translator and the driver—it’s not that Harry can’t drive, but I’d much rather be at the wheel while she tries to keep me entertained with lectures on various topics or anecdotes about ridiculous people she knew in the art world. 

But what I have read so far…Harry really does not like you, Birdie. Which I knew but…yeesh. Any time you sent a message, she would write these little notes about what kind of sinister second meaning could be behind your words. It was the same thing with Fox, and I guess she was right on that score, but despite my maybe foolish faith that you really do have the best intentions at heart, you and Fox are no different in her mind. 

We…we got into kind of an argument about it. I think being in such close quarters after so long—sure, we shared a house for six years, but that’s very different from being trapped in a car together day in and day out. I think—I think both of our patience is wearing thin. 

Harry wanted to get more information—wanted to be sure we could trust you before we went anywhere you led us. But how exactly would she go about getting that information? It’s not like we can look you up in the book. I told her I was done waiting. That the worst that could happen has already happened and I was going whether she wanted to come or not. 

She didn’t take that particularly well. And, of course, it’s not entirely true. Terrible things have happened, but we’re still alive. I guess there are worse things that could happen. But we’re…we’re alive in other places too, aren’t we? We’re dead in other places, I would think. Infinite iterations of us…we wouldn’t have made it past thirty in one of those timelines. I’ve had a hard time falling asleep lately, because I just keep thinking about those other versions. I can’t stop wondering if Abi is happy somewhere else, if there’s any point to this version of me staying alive when I could be doing so much better elsewhere?

But then again…this is all I know. I’m assuming if I die, I don’t just wake up in another timeline, living another Abi’s life. If that were the case, we’d all be constantly besieged by other versions of us slamming into our consciousnesses. 

I exist as I am now and I can’t exist in any other way. I can’t go back, I can’t go sideways into another place, I can only move forward. That’s what I was trying to explain to Harry. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to her for seven goddamn years. 

And she…she’s going along now, finally. When I threatened to go without her, she didn’t even let me finish the sentence before she told me that wasn’t happening. She said—she said even if I did sneak off in the dead of night and try to find you on my own, that she’d chase me across the whole country if she had to. That she’s thought about chasing me every single day since I left and now that she has me in her sights, she’s not going to stop. 

I—(a small laugh) I would’ve given anything to hear her say something like that a year ago. Six months ago, two months ago. And having her say it now, it just put into perfect clear focus how much…how much anger I still hold. How much resentment. How much compounding confusion around her, especially since she told me about Pete and…

And it’s…it’s not enough. It’s not enough for her to tell me she wants me and then in the next breath tell me she betrayed me. It’s not enough for her to say she would chase me to the edge of the earth when it comes after trying to convince me not to do something I know I want to do. 

Anyway, I think I’m done chasing you, right Birdie? I’m here. And I’ll climb to the top of this mountain if I have to. 

[click, static]
 [beeps]

..-. .. .-. . .-- .- - -.-. .... .-.-.-

Firewatch.

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

------

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

I’ll be honest, Birdie, for a second I thought you’d lost it. Who am I talking to in my dreams? I’ll give you three guesses. 

It was Harry, of course, who reminded me that I said something just like this once last year. It’s…eerie, the way that she instantly knew what you were talking about when I finished translating your code. It’s like having her read my mind and find thoughts that I didn’t even know were there. 

You said this was the final one, so I guess we’ve got all the numbers but….they don’t really make sense. We’re pretty sure we’ve got the latitude right, but the longitude isn’t…the grouping of month and day would mean that the longitude is halfway around the world and then the date that you gave for the seconds is over sixty, which doesn’t make any sense either. 

(a beat)

(gasps)  A zero! It’s missing a zero, you changed up the date format for the last one—it’s not 12/13, it’s 121, 39—okay, I think I get it now! 

Holy shit. I—we’re not even that far from this. We can be there…tomorrow. Holy shit. 

And it’s…safe? This place you’re sending us to? You’re sure it’s safe. Because even if Fox or Junior can’t work out the code, it seems like Fox can still just…figure out where people are, which doesn’t bring me a lot of comfort. 

But…we’ve gone too far to go back now. 

[click, static]

[beeps]

-. --- / --- -. . / -.-. .- -. / ... . . / -.-- --- ..-

No one can see you

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.