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 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]

Have you ever read The Screwtape Letters, Birdie? 

We’re stopped off the highway for some lunch—Harry has set up a little fire so we can have something hot, I don’t know why. She knows I’m not fussy about what I eat, especially on the road, but maybe she just wanted to stretch her legs. 

It is…a lot harder to be stuck in a car with her than a house. I’m happy to sit there and focus on driving, let the static of the radio fill the silence between us, but Harry has never been one for awkward silence. Angry silence, judgmental silence, cold silence, comfortable silence even…sure. But if she feels like she’s not the one controlling the silence…well. 

Anyway, she was telling me about The Screwtape Letters. It’s a C.S. Lewis book. When she started in on explaining it to me, I really had no idea what she was talking about—I thought she was just trying to cut the tension between us. But it ended up being sort of relevant. Relevant to you specifically.  
It sounds nothing like the Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe stuff he wrote, though I guess those were meant for kids and this one was not. It’s about these two devils—demons? Servants of hell, I guess, I don’t know exactly what they’re called in the book. Harry says it was supposed to be a satire, but nothing about it sounded that funny. 

The older demon, Screwtape, is writing all these, yeah you guessed it, letters to this younger demon Wormwood. And he’s telling Wormwood how to corrupt the soul of this one human. Which, to me, seems a little ridiculous. In my experience, human beings are pretty corruptible, I can’t imagine that you’d ever need two demons on the job. I don’t know, maybe this one guy was particularly upstanding. 

I don’t know if you’re picking up on the resemblance yet, but Harry thinks that you and Fox are a bit like Screwtape and Wormwood, with me caught in the middle. I told her I’m hardly a pure of heart person that needs to be tempted into surrendering my soul to Satan or whatever, and besides, aren’t we already in hell? She didn’t take that very well. 

Between this and the Asimov, you’ve got to wonder if some of these authors knew something the rest of us didn’t. Did they get punted into their own timeline offshoots only to somehow find their way back?

The long and short of it was that Harry does not think I should trust you. Because for all we know, you and Fox are playing a twisted game over the ownership of my immortal soul. 

But I do trust you. Maybe I shouldn’t. Actually, I probably shouldn’t. But I do. I just wish you could explain it all to me. Even just one thing. 

[click, static]

[beeps]

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Want to explain

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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]

‘Keep going north’—very helpful. Not at all an answer to the question I was asking, but…okay. What the hell. Why not. It’s guidance of a sort, I’ve got nothing better to do and I actually haven’t been to—

[click, static]

I guess I shouldn’t say where it is I’ve been or haven’t been, given that that might give us away, the state we’re in now. Then again, if Fox can find us wherever we are and tell Junior…

[click, static]

But, okay, fine. We’ll go north. 

You know, Harry’s got a lot of opinions about you, Birdie. If I didn’t know any better, I might say that she’s jeal—

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She’s not very pleased with you. She’s…frustrated. Which I get. I’m pretty much always frustrated with you. But I still like you, for some reason. I still like talking to you. I’ll never forget the first time we spoke, really spoke, in dits and dashes. I don’t think I’d ever experienced that kind of joy before. Not until I found Donnie. 

Harry…Harry did finally get an apology out for that. For her part in that. For the part I feel she played. She cornered me in the kitchen this morning—we’ve been staying in this little house for the last week, I think we’ve probably got to move soon but for now we’ve been getting by. Though it is weird to be in a new space with her. She’s always somewhere I don’t expect. But I guess I don’t really expect her anywhere anymore. I’m so used to not seeing her. 

I keep trying to not see her, if I’m honest. I’ve spent a lot of time in my car, scanning all the open channels and looking at my atlas, trying to figure out where we should go next. Even when we’re in the same room, I try not to look at her for too long. Because I know that if I do, I’ll—I’ll let her talk to me. I’ll let her apologize. 

Apparently she wasn’t keen on waiting for me to cave. She withheld the hot water and stood in the doorway and wouldn’t let me leave or get tea until she said her piece. 

It was clear that she’d practiced it. Or, at the very least, come up with a plan of what she wanted to say. 

She said she was sorry for Don. That she had never wanted anyone to get hurt, that she’s lived every day in terror since Junior showed up at the house. Terror that he would catch up to her or, worse, catch up to me. That’s what she said. That it would be worse. 

And she said, straight out, that she does feel responsible, for all of it. She always has. Even when we thought it was nuclear war or some rampant disease, she thought it was just…the universe punishing her. She seemed…annoyed, that I’m the one the universe chose to punish for my decision. Almost like she’s offended that she’s not the main character of the world. 

Maybe that’s unfair. Probably that’s unfair. Maybe she was annoyed because she doesn't want me to be punished. She did say—she said I didn’t deserve it. That I didn’t deserve any of it, that she would take on the burden by herself if she could. 

She also did assure me that she had no idea about any of this—the timelines, Birdie and Fox, the direct consequences of my actions. She really was just scared that something terrible would find us if we left the safety of our house and I guess she was sort of right about that, even if she didn’t know it for certain. 

She said she’d do anything to make it right. That all I had to do was tell her what I wanted and she’d do it. 

I have no idea what I want. She can’t fix the things that are broken and I also…I wouldn’t know how to make demands of Harry. I’m too used to being the person who steps into line, I wouldn’t know where to begin making a new path. 

Anyway, going north. We’ll do it. At least I’ll have someone in the passenger seat with me this time.

[click, static]

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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]

Breaker breaker, this is Whiskey calling out for any goddamn clarification from Birdie. 

We’ve been talking about it more, the whole “Junior is already dead over there” thing. And we can’t think of any other explanation than the one we first came up with—that he must have died over in the original timeline, the “correct” timeline, whatever you want to call it, and that…because he no longer exists there, removing him here would allow our timelines to merge. 

But I need to know, is that…right? I mean, I know that that’s been the solution for a while—or at least we’ve been operating under the assumption that that was the solution—but does he really not exist in that other timeline anymore? Is there nowhere for him to go if we—if we did fix it? Through some other means?

(sighs) I don’t know. There are plenty of things in this world that can’t be fixed. Time can’t be turned back on itself—at least, I don’t think it can, but, god, after everything I’ve learned this past year, who knows what’s possible—

I can’t think about that. There’s only so many insane hypotheticals I’m willing to humor. 

Harry wants so badly to fix it. Even knowing that it was me killing—that it was Billings’ dying that brought us here I think she…I think she heard me when I talked about where the blame stops. And I don’t mean just heard my broadcast, I think she really…heard me. I think she understands that I can hate myself for what I did and be furious with her for putting me in that position in the first place. 

In all these years, she never—she never called me a murderer for what I did. She knew that sometimes the guilt would fill me up so much I’d start to drown and she…she never held me under. 

I don’t know if she judged me for it—judges me for it. If it changed the way she saw me—she never gave any indication that it did but finding out that Pete messed up and killed—I mean, it changed her perspective on him enough to rat him out, destroy his life. Destroy all our lives.

Maybe it’s because it was an accident or self-defense but neither of those things ever made me feel any better about what I did, so… Maybe Harry sees killing Junior before he can kill us as some kind of self defense but I don’t think it is. I’m not sure I believe in preemptive strikes. 

I just…I don’t know what to do. I could really use a little guidance here. 

[click, static]

[beeps]

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

Keep going north

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

So Harry—

Well, she told me something interesting today. I’ve been—well, the whole point of doing these transmissions on my own is that it’s my time, my words, my choice to tell you what I want. By that nature, I’ve been wanting…privacy, I guess. Which is silly, maybe. Wanting privacy from one person so I can speak to the whole world, whatever’s left of it. But it—well, it doesn’t have to make sense for me to feel it. 

And even if it so often feels like I’m just talking to myself, that I’m just speaking thoughts out loud and no one hears them, maybe there’s something to be said for actually saying these things to people. For letting some of those inside thoughts out. 

Harry told me—well, that she’s started to enjoy being called Harry. How’s that for a surprise? Over months of hearing my transmissions, she felt like—she said it felt like forgiveness, every time I called her that. Like I must be important to her still if I was bothering to give her a nickname, to give her some space in my head as someone unique. 

“Some space”—like she doesn't know she’s consumed entire sections of my thoughts. And for once, I turned the question back on her—why she always calls be Abigail instead of Abi if nicknames are supposed to be a sign of affection. Seems like maybe she was just being hopeful in assuming what it meant for me, given that she doesn’t seem to abide by that rule. 

Except, well, turns out it was just another way of keeping her distance. Formality as the bricks in the wall between us. 

She’s started calling me Abi since she got here. She’s even called me Whiskey a few times. I’m not sure what to do with that. 

[click, static]

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Harry’s asleep—went to bed hours ago and I just…can’t. 

[click, static]

In all the time away, I forgot. I forgot how much I like Harry. And that’s different, isn’t it, than being in lo—

I mean, I like her the way I like—liked Donnie. And Pete and Richie and Francis and Sylvie and Martha and Millie and every single person I’ve ever cared enough about to spend time with. 

I like her weird little bits of trivia, and her love of puzzles, and the way that she sees art as something important and vital in the world. I like her sharp sense of humor and how she’s gotten worse and worse over the years at pretending not to find my jokes funny. I like that she cares about doing right, but not doing good. Her moral compass is…well, it’s fucking infuriating, but its hers and she sticks to it. Okay, maybe I don’t like that as much as I respect it. 

I like that she demands respect. She always has. The guys always respected her and any time we were out and a man would be creepy toward her or condescending or just…annoying. She never took it. And I never did either but I’m —Harriet’s not built like I am, she’s slight and soft and feminine and men often think that means—

She’s strong in other ways. Ways that matter. Ways that I’m not. It’s not just the strength of her convictions, her immovable morality but the way that she weathers every single storm with grace and never breaks. We’ve both had our share of hardships, and they’ve been different kinds of hardships, but…I don’t know. 

If she’s telling the truth, which I think, finally she is, then she spent six years in the company of someone she wanted, someone she knew wanted her back and she denied herself out of a sense of guilt fueled by that moral compass. I denied myself out of fear, out of insecurity and doubt, but she…she resisted getting what she wanted because she felt she didn’t deserve it. 

I don’t know, maybe that isn’t strength. Maybe that’s just cruelty. Or maybe it’s neither of those things—I’ve never been a reliable character witness when it comes to her. 

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

I keep—I keep calling her Harriet. I hear it, feel the shape of her name in my mouth, and it feels…not wrong, but—well, I grew so accustomed to using her nickname—the nickname I had for her, the one that I’d use to talk about her to other people. But with her here, I find myself saying “Harriet” even when she’s not in the room. It’s…helping a little, in some ways. Helping me keep my distance, reminding me that she’s not just an abstract idea in my head, the way she has been the last year, but that she’s a real, three dimensional person who’s here and who I still…

We finally talked about your latest messages, Birdie. And she—she agrees with me. That you’re probably saying that Junior needs to die in order for us to go back to where we’re from. Because…well, in that timeline we’d be free people, wouldn’t we?

Are we? Do we exist back there too the way we do here? Are there infinite versions of us in infinite timelines? If we fixed things here the way that Fox says they can be fixed, would we just…be absorbed into whatever life we were in back there? 

I—I honestly doubt that Harriet and I even speak anymore. If we hadn’t escaped, we would’ve—according to Harriet—been let go and turned witness. I would’ve refused to testify and maybe…maybe that means the deal would’ve been bad and I’d just go to jail anyway. But even if I didn’t, even if I was somehow free, I don't think I’d have talked to her again after what she did. Fucking all of us over like that, out of some misguided fear about Pete…she’s the only other person in the universe who doesn’t want to kill me right now and I’m still not sure how to forgive her. If I can. 

Sometimes I think that maybe forgiveness isn’t necessary. For me to…for us to…

I wonder how many versions of us figure it out. Figure us out. I wonder if any versions do. Or if we’re fated to get close, but never step over the line. 

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

“Dead over there. Where you’re from.” 

So. Junior is…supposed to be dead? In the—the proper timeline or whatever you want to call it? So if he…if he died here…

[click, static]

Nope, I can’t think about that. Not—not right now anyway. Maybe later, Harriet and I can…

[click, static]

I guess I haven’t really said much about our grand reunion. Well, it wasn’t that grand. I told her where to go, she remembered enough about the song to figure out where it was, and she showed. 

It’s…it’s fine. It’s good. It’s terrible. I don’t know. We—

Well, we’re not really talking about anything, you know? Everything that happened before I left, everything that’s happened since, her being alone this whole time, me finding Donnie and then… 

Harriet actually—well, unlike Donnie, she wanted to come on the radio with me, “if I insist on broadcasting still”. But I…

I told her no. I don’t know who’s listening to this anymore—or at all. I never know if Birdie is going to drop off the face of the earth, or if Fox gave up, or if there are other people out there who can hear my voice and just not speak back. But this is…this is mine. And maybe it’s selfish, but I’m not—I’m not gatekeeping the radio waves from Harriet. She has her own radio, if she wants to broadcast, she can. 

But I don’t want to argue with her on here. I don’t want to have my thoughts and feelings and perceptions called into question when I’m just trying to get all those things out, work through them. And she hasn’t done that so far, not yet but I— I can’t think straight around her. And I need to be able to…I need to keep a level head. I need—

We still haven’t talked about Don. She started to say sorry, but I cut her off before she could finish. I couldn’t bear to hear how to finished it. Would it have been “sorry for your loss”? Or “sorry you blame me for Don’s death”? “Sorry I betrayed you”? “Sorry I led you on for years and we still haven’t—“ 

[click, static]

It is both harder and easier to be angrier at her when I’m with her. Easier because I have something to aim at, because sometimes I’ll look at her and I’ll see her face in the moment that I told her I—

And then other times, she’ll enter a room and I’ll get that whiff of lavender and turpentine and everything inside me just…melts. 

I want to be able to make her the villain in my story—I remember thinking…those first few days I was driving around, I remember thinking that if I found someone, if I really found someone else and we got to talk and get to know each other and really form a bond…well, you know how you practice conversations in your head? Ones you had ten years ago, ones you’re planning to have, ones you know you’ll never have. Well, I would practice talking to this imaginary person and telling the story of my life. It would be so easy to make Harriet the villain—rival into turncoat into nemesis. There’s a clean narrative there, one that I wouldn’t have to lie about to tell. Leave certain things out maybe but…that imaginary person, they’d believe me. They’d be on my side. 

But I didn’t find anyone. I just kept talking to the open airwaves and it was so much harder to keep the story straight when I wasn’t telling it all at once. When my feelings on the subject changed every day. When I hadn’t seen Harriet in months and I started to miss her so badly I’d get in my car and start driving back to Pennsylvania only to turn around when I had to stop to refill my gas tank. 

I never told you that, I don’t think. I spent so much time, wasted so many miles driving back to her. I always turned around right back around again, had to watch the same road go by. 

So maybe I haven’t done a good job of making the story simple, me as hero, her as villain, but the story I’ve been telling is still mine. And I don’t—I’m not ready for her to tell her side of it. 

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

“He’s already dead”? What the hell does that mean, Birdie? Is Junior dead? Did something happen to him? Did Don…injure him somehow when they—I mean, is that what happened? Did he get into an accident? Did Fox do something to him?

Fuck. All this time, everything that happened, Don—and this is how it ends? Junior is just…dead?

I don’t know how to feel about that honestly. When I told Harry—I mean, god, why am I even on here talking about this with you? I can just go talk to Harry about it, she’s here, she’s in the next room—

Just…clarify what you mean, Birdie. For fuck’s sake. 

[click, static]

[beeps]

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

Dead over there. Where you’re from

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, another day on this stupid fucking street corner, sitting in my car, hoping that Harry remembers all the lyrics to a song she heard a decade ago. I might live on hope, but even I have my limits. 

And yet, here I sit, staring out at an empty street and trying not to lose my mind. I don’t know what to do with the message that Fox sent. 

“Junior dies you go back”. I told myself I wouldn’t listen to anything that Fox has to say—and I don’t want to—but I can’t exactly help hearing them, and once I have…

Is that why Birdie went silent the other day? Not because they had to go, but because they didn’t want to answer my question? Confirm my worst fear?

Junior dies, you go back. I don’t accept that price. If it even is true. And why would it be? What about him being gone would fix things? I don’t accept it. I won’t do it. I—

[click, static]

Oh my god. Harry. 

She’s—she’s here. 

[click, static]

[beeps]

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

He’s already dead

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’m bored. All I’ve done since I got here is sit in my car on this street corner and wait. Harry had farther to travel, I guess, but not by much. Maybe she didn’t hear me. God, part of me hopes that’s it. A big part of me hopes she didn’t hear anything I said yesterday. A part of me wishes that you didn’t hear it, that no one did. But what do I have to lose by putting it all out there now? I wasn’t really honest with Donnie when he asked and I—I really regret that now. 

Maybe she did hear me talk about where I was going and she’s decided it’s not worth it. After everything I’ve said on here the last few weeks, I’m not even sure I could blame her. 

What does she owe me anyway? What do we owe each other?

[click, static]

What if…what if she’s had the same thought that I’ve been having? That something needs to happen to one of us, or to Junior, to make things right. What if she thinks that she can fix what’s broken? What if she thinks that’s how she finally repents?

I’d really love to hear from you, Birdie. Give me…give me some kind of direction here. Please. 

[click, static]

[beeps]

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

Junior dies you go back 

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