Breaker Whiskey

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] What do you mean it's not him? I was so certain—I mean, of course I knew there was a possibility that it was someone else, just wearing the same cologne, but why would Harry leave, why would the back door be broken? Why would my flight or fight instinct have kicked in so hard the moment I felt his presence in the house? I guess I'll— [click, static] Well, I guess I shouldn't say what I'm thinking, what I'm planning on here. I guess I should just do it. Because on the off chance you're lying to me, I don't want to give— [click, static] Fuck, Harry, where are you? Please, let me know that you're okay. Somehow. Send up a flare or go back to the house or— Actually, don't do either of those. And I can't tell you where I am, not on a public channel. I'm not sure you can even hear this. If you do have a radio, maybe you can hear this but not respond, or not broadcast far enough to reach me. I just have to hope that's the case.  You know that place that we went once in the spring of…'71? '72? I can't remember, they all blur together after a certain point. But that day stands out shining gold from all the rest. It was a really good day. The first crop of strawberries had come early, and you made shortcake and you let me drive us all the way to…well, to that town we picked up bottles of champagne in, which I'm not going to say the name of because then we found that place, where we had the picnic. Strawberry shortcake and champagne for lunch…we got a little drunk. Just tipsy really, on the champagne and the perfect sunny day we had, unseasonably warm.  And we didn't argue for a whole afternoon. Well, that's not true, we argued about everything, but it was…they were arguments that didn't matter. You tried to convince me that Rothko is one of the greatest painters of the twentieth century and I told you I just didn't get it. You got so red in the face—because of the sun, because of the champagne, because of how impassioned you were describing his style to me, explaining what was so revolutionary about it. I tried to poke holes in it all, telling you it was just big blocks of color, that all his stuff looked like someone trying to decide what color to paint their living room and gave up halfway through. (laughs) You hated that. But anytime I said anything particularly offensive to you, you would push on my shoulder with your palm and the more we had to drink, the more you let your hand linger, tracing your fingertips down my bare arm whenever you pulled back.  So I couldn't exactly tell you the truth—that I like Rothko. That I didn't agree with a word I was saying. That maybe I did, at one point in time, but you'd been telling me about his art for so long that I'd started to see it differently, that I'd gone to an exhibit of his art once without you, just to try and understand what you saw, try and understand you. That I had your voice in my head the whole time, pointing out everything special in the paintings and that that made me love him. That the way you see art, the way you see the world, made me love a lot of things.  If I'd told you that, you would've stopped pushing me. So instead I pulled your pigtails like we were kids on the playground. And you pulled right back, teasing me about my music taste, saying you could take the girl out of the country but you couldn't take the country out of the girl. And I know you've never liked that kind of stuff, but you still got me to recite all the lyrics to “I'm so Lonesome I Could Cry” and then you made me sing them, even though you know I've got a shit voice and you leaned your head on my shoulder as I sang and I think…I think you liked the song. I think you liked something.  [click, static] Meet me there. In that place where we had that picnic. In the hour before the sun sets. On Friday. That will hopefully give you enough time to get there from…wherever the hell you are.   Just…come find me.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] It isn't…it isn't Billings. Fox was right. Or at least— [click, static] I should explain. I don't know for who's benefit but… I went back to the house this morning. I didn't— I didn't go in or anything, I…well, I staked it out. I know the woods around the house like the back of my hand, felt fairly confident that I could stay out of sight and see if anyone was going in and out. See if Harry had come back.  She hasn't, as far as I can tell, but he's still hovering around. He drove up in a shitty old VW that sounded like it was gasping for breath and went inside for…fifteen minutes? And then he left again. Doing what I'm thinking is probably a daily check. To see if anyone has shown up. To see if there's been any change.  God am I glad I had the common sense not to broadcast that I was going back today.  I don't think he saw me. Though I'm not sure what would have happened if he had. I got a good look at him and it wasn't… The weird thing is that it did look a little like Billings. Same blond hair, same light eyes—I was too far away to really get a sense of the color, but it's such a sunny day and his eyes were kind of…glowing in that way that blue or green eyes do when the sun is shining in them.  Harry's eyes do that.  But he was—he wasn't an average sized forty something guy. He's…slight build. Reedy like he doesn't eat very much. Maybe a little on the shorter side. Felt like I could snap him in half just looking at him. And he's…young. Early twenties I'd guess? If that? Still had some baby fat around his cheeks, but I thought I could see some dimples too. Or the hint of them, just like… Am I dealing with some kind of time travel? Is this the young Billings, traveled…forward in time to prevent something that's already happened? It makes no sense. I know that I haven't traveled back in time, because I've read just about every single newspaper from 1968 that I could get my hands on, just to have something to do.  I took a photo. So that I could look at it later, see if I could remember anything else about Billings, if he had a mole or a scar that would give him away. Or else see if I could recognize whoever this person is.  Except the picture—I mean, I took it from far away but I could see him through the viewfinder, I should be able to see him in the photo too. But instead there's just…nothing where he should be standing.  It's more evidence that, for whatever reason, photos are showing me something I can't otherwise see. People that aren't there; empty space where there shouldn't be.  That mystery will have to wait. I have to go meet Harry.  God willing.  [click, static] [beeps] Junior  .--- ..- -. .. --- .-.

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Okay, even if Harry— Well, I'm still alive and with what is looking like a pretty serious situation on my hands. Junior is clearly here because of me. And if Harry ran from the house because he showed up, then she must have been thinking the same thing I'm thinking which is that he wasn't dropping by for a cup of tea.  What does he want? What would I want if I were him? I'd want back to the real world. I'd want my dad back. I want to punish those who took him from me in the first place.  You know, even after all the “you are the stone” business I still thought…maybe this wasn't me. Maybe it's the choice that Harry made, the one she kept from me for six years, that broke us off into some alternate version of the future. After all, she's the one who—and if she'd just told me then then maybe I wouldn't have— [click, static] I guess it doesn't really matter. Because it really was me, wasn't it? This was all my fault. It wouldn't be him—it wouldn't be Billings son who's here if this was all about what Harry did.  I have to assume the worst, I think. Both about what Junior—god, I guess I am just calling him that now—wants and about…about Harry.  I think I'm going to— [click, static] Fuck, I guess I really can't talk about that shit on here, can I? I can't work through my problems or plans out loud, at least not before I've done them.  I never could have expected that would be so lonely. To keep my thoughts to myself. But it is.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Harry, if you can hear this, I've fixed up another car for you. It should run just fine, and there's two canisters of fuel in the trunk, so you shouldn't have to siphon any of your own for a while. There's also a radio hooked up in it. So… Well, that's sort of pointless isn't it? I put the radio in there in case you haven't found another working one, but in order for you to find this one, you'd have to have a working radio to hear this message.  It took me the better part of two days to put it all together and get it to where I thought you might find it. It's near where we used to go to get firewood. Not that far from the house, but far enough I think it'd be a pain for Junior to find, especially considering all the other cars that are in that area. And it's—I made a point to find a car that was your favorite color, to make it easier to find and also in the hopes that…I don't know, maybe you'll happen to walk past where I've left it and you'll see it and some instinct will tell you to see if it works and— [click, static] I'm grasping at straws, I know I am. I've been searching all over, every single day and I don't see any sign of you. There have been a few times where I thought I heard another car, but I have a feeling that probably belongs to Junior. I was too afraid to follow the sound and double check. Every time, I just go in the opposite direction.  There's one other thing I'm going to try, but it's a long shot too. But what else am I supposed to do? I can't stop trying.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [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]  

[TRANSCRIPT] [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]

[TRANSCRIPT] [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]

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 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]

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] 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]

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] 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]

[TRANSCRIPT] [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]

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] 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] -.-- --- ..- .-.. .-.. / -... . / -. . -..- - / .. ..-. Youll be next if

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 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]

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 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]

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] (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] .. - / -.-. .- -. / -... . / ..-. .. -..- . -..  it can be fixed

[TRANSCRIPT] [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]

[TRANSCRIPT] [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]

[TRANSCRIPT] [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]

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] 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]

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, 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]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Alright, I've done my final checks of all of Don's regular hideouts and he's still nowhere to be found. But I'm not giving up hope entirely. I guess I should say they're my final checks for now. I figure after I go and find Harry we can come back to NY and look together.  I realize he might not be in the city anymore, but I don't know where else to look. And I don't know, maybe it will be nice for Harry and I to revisit the old spots. Staying in Richie's loft really has me thinking about all those old times. I think I've spent more time in this apartment than any apartment I've actually lived in. I guess that's not true. Maybe spent more time awake than any apartment I ever lived in. Because I only slept over here a few times. But the times were always good, weren't they. That's how it feels now anyway.  There's a part of me that knows that can't possibly be true. The version of Harry in the past, in my thoughts, changes all the time. I remember her at times harsher than she probably actually was and at other times sweeter and more forgiving. And maybe it's because she was both those things—all of those things, all at once, all the time. Or maybe it's because my feelings on her continue to change.  I don't remember when I first—I mean, I remember what I thought about her the first time I met her. And I remember what I thought about her when we were in that prison van, driving through the dark. Before I knew what I know now. Before I'd done what I did.  But it's the in between that's…not hazy, but like a watercolor where all the paints have run together. In the near decade we knew each other before everything happened…I mean, I always felt strongly. When I disliked her, I hated her and when I liked her, I… I don't remember when it started. I don't remember when that swirl, that storm of feelings—well, it's not that it ever went away, but there started to be this thing underneath it, informing everything. At a certain point, when I disliked her, I didn't hate her anymore, I was just frustrated and tortured. And when I liked her, well, I was also frustrated and tortured. But I don't know when that started, I don't know when she became someone who was so far beneath my skin that it didn't matter what I felt about her moment to moment because it never changed the fundamental truth that I wanted to be around her.  Anyway, I don't know if I'm making sense, it's late and I'm planning to get up early tomorrow to start driving, but I just couldn't stop thinking about it, being in this space. I couldn't stop thinking about if this living room was the place that that feeling first started. I can't stop thinking about my own recollections of Pete and Don and Richie. Were they who I thought they were?  Was Pete always this central, stable pillar in my life? This person I could lean on and rely on and who I still didn't know all that much about. In my mind, he's been such a morally upstanding figure, somebody that…somebody that I think about when I start to spiral about the things that I've done and I just think—Pete. Pete would still stand by me. He's loyal and he's good. Then I think, he was a criminal. Just like me. He lied and stole and tricked people. So that image in my head of him being…I don't know, Captain America is…well, it must not be entirely true.  And it's the same with Don and Richie. I remember them being, well, knuckleheads, but knuckleheads who cared. Who I had started to feel safe around even if in the beginning I wasn't so sure about them. But again, is that just thinking about how I'd feel if I saw them now—that the mere presence of other people would help me feel some sense of normalcy, some sense of calm.  Memories are a funhouse mirror, aren't they? We never really know if what we remember is true. I'm not even sure we remember events with any sort of clarity. I used to think that the one thing we did know was how we felt about things, but now I'm not even sure that's the case. And the strangest thing of all is that everybody experiences this. Everybody has versions of people in their lives that exist in their memories. And we can never really know how another sees us, how another person remembers us, or judges us for our actions. Anyway, I am gonna find Don and when I do, I'm gonna ask him what he remembers about me.  And when I see Harry, I'll… I don't know how this time apart might have changed the version of me in her head.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I remembered that Don had family in Massachusetts. His uncle and cousins ran a deli in a town called Winchester—the way that man would talk about the sandwiches they'd make…god, what I wouldn't do for one of them right now.  Anyway, I figured it couldn't hurt to check the place out. He wasn't at the deli—I didn't expect him to be, that would've been quite the fucking coincidence, but I did find exactly what I was hoping for. An address on an old bill. Presumably, his uncle's home address.  It's a few towns over, so I'm headed there now.  [click, static] This area is nice. I haven't spent all that time in Massachusetts, at least outside of Boston and Provincetown. But it's warm and sunny and there's a little humidity creeping into the air and (deep breath), I don't know, it's nice. Despite everything, I'm feeling…hopeful.  It reminds me a little of where I grew up. There are more houses and the houses are closer together—I'm sure there are parts of Massachusetts that are rural, but I am squarely in the suburbs. I don't know, maybe it's just that spring has finally arrived and the changing of the seasons always makes me think of home.  [click, static] Huh. I haven't thought about my childhood home as home in a long time. Home has been nebulous, ever-changing in my mind. But I guess if I've ever had a touchstone, it's the house I grew up in and…New York City. Touchstones of a different kind. But places that my mind always leaps to if I'm confronted with something that reminds me in the slightest of them.  I don't think you can ever really run away from home. That's more or less what I did, but it lingers, always. You can never undo the way that you've been shaped. You can pour new concrete over the broken sidewalk, but the footprints left on the previous layers will always be there, waiting to be revealed when the fresh new coat eventually erodes.  [click, static] (a small laugh) I can hear Harry's voice in my head correcting my metaphor. Making it about paint—where you grow up is the charcoal sketch and no matter how much you paint over a canvas, the layers and textures are always there. But I don't know painting. Not that I know concrete but… That's one of those things I always figured would be the deciding factor in whether or not Harry—I mean, she's sophisticated, you know? I don't know if she can hear this up in Maine—I'm sure she can, but maybe she doesn't have the radio turned on. She'd probably be happy to hear it anyway. That I think of her as sophisticated. But she is. Her secret love for Hank Williams and all. She appreciates fine things, delicate things, beautiful things.  And I'm not any of that. I've always been rough and blunt—the finest thing I do is picking a lock or breaking a safe and even then, sometimes brute force is the best way forward. Harry is a painting, and I'm a block of concrete.  [click, static] God, I hope Don isn't listening to this. He'd never let me live it down.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I think I'm close. To finding Don that is. I got to his uncle's house and there's definitely evidence that someone's been living here. I guess it's possible that his uncle, or his cousins, were also affected by the ripple, but…how? Don kept what he did from his family. Then again, I still don't know how Leann ended up here—I have a feeling I'll never really know. I guess, in the end, it isn't all that important. She met her fate, and there's nothing I can do about it now. I just have to live with it.  But Don, I can still find him. There's open cans in this house, the place is in a certain amount of disarray that makes me think…someone's been here. It's dusty, but I swear there's some tracks through the dust, like someone's walked through. So I'm gonna stay here for the night, and see if he comes back. Or, if whoever lives here comes back.  [click, static] I'm sorry for taking too long to get there, Harry. But just think—maybe by the time I drive up to the gallery, I'll have Don in my passenger seat. It won't be just us anymore. We'll actually have someone else to talk to. Someone to mediate, more likely, not that Don is the paragon of diplomacy.  But it'll be good for us, I think. Yeah, it'll be good for things to not be just us anymore.  [click, static] And we—we don't need to tell him everything, okay? I'll tell him what happened, why were here—he needs to know, especially with Junior out there. But I won't tell him what you did unless you decide to. And I'm not sure it'd be the best idea. So…your secret is safe with me.  [click, static] [beeps] ....- ..--- / ..--- ..... / ....- ..--- / --... .---- / .---- ....- / ----. 42 25 42 71 14 9

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Maybe it's fucking foolish of me to even attempt it, but the coordinates aren't far and the last time I found a dead body—if these are really coordinates of someone alive and I have a chance to get to them before anything happens…I'm not taking that risk.  It's a small diversion but Don didn't show up at the house. No one did. And maybe…maybe Fox is doing me an actual favor and there will be someone at these coordinates, someone who is alive and well and maybe…maybe it's even Don. Maybe this is how I find him.  And if not…well, there's no harm in trying. There's no harm in having hope. I'm pretty sure hope is what's kept me alive this long.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] (a slight intake of breath) [click, static] Do you think I'm a fucking idiot, Fox? Did you think that you'd earned my trust simply by the virtue of being one of the few people in the world I talk to? Did you think that having sent me Leann's coordinates before meant I would blindly follow wherever you led? I know I said there was no harm in trying, that it's good to have hope, but that doesn't mean that I'm new to this. That doesn't mean I was going to be fucking stupid about it.  [click, static]  I think you've forgotten who I am. I wasn't some sort of criminal mastermind, or bad-ass GI Joe, but I spent my life sneaking and thieving and never getting caught. In fact I wouldn't have been caught if—  I've been taking care of myself since I was fifteen years old. I've learned when to trust people and when not to and I'm fucking good at calculating risk. And maybe I've let myself get soft this last year, maybe I've wanted to trust a little more than usual but that trust has always been conditional.  I don't know what you're playing at, but if you were banking on me just driving right up to the coordinates and announcing myself, you're not very good at whatever you're trying to do.  And I know what you'll say—maybe Junior just also heard the coordinates and just beat me there. Except I didn't say how close I was to the coordinates you gave. I was fucking close. And he was already there. I even checked the hood of his car, that stupid VW—it was cold. He'd been there for a while. You sent me to him. You sent me to him and either you knew exactly where he was or you told him where to go first. Because it looked like he was waiting. And he had—he had a gun, Fox, and I'm sure he would've shot me on the spot. He was waiting for something. For someone.  So I waited too. I watched him for two hours. And you know why I think you told him where to go and then gave me those coordinates? Because he started to talk. I'm not someone who is going to judge someone else for talking to themselves, I would be a fucking hypocrite if I did. But he was…he was yelling. He was yelling for me. He was furious when I didn't show up. And it…it made him look even more frail. Like the scared little kid he practically is. The gun was shaking in his hand. I doubt he could've shot straight if he'd tried.  Junior might be inexperienced, he might be ill-equipped, but that doesn't mean he isn't dangerous. The way he was shouting, the anger that's inside him…you don't have to know what you're doing to be a threat.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] You said it could be fixed. Weeks ago, Fox you said—I think you only sent the message once, maybe because you were worried Birdie would interfere, but I—I heard it. And I…I couldn't think about it, couldn't let myself hope yet, not when I was already so hopeful I would find Don.  Was this what you meant by it being fixable? Is my death at the hands of that boy the way to fix this? Did you send me to Junior so that he'd shoot me and everything would go back to the way it was? God, that can't really be the answer, can it? I know I've said—I mean, I've wondered. It does make a certain kind of sense—my actions brought us all here, all these people are being collectively punished for something I did or, at the very least, were punted here because of something I didn't do or…something I would've done. I would've done something back in the real world that would've eventually affected Leann's life in some way. And because I'm not there… I'm guessing that's why Don is here too. Because Harry is. And maybe without her, because he wasn't actually in the building at the time, there wasn't enough evidence to— [click, static] Why am I even trying to work this all out? What does it matter? We're here, with each other, and I don't see how that changes. Because I'm not going to just walk into my own execution, not now, not when I'm on my way to— [click, static] I just don't believe that the solution to this is going to be in the barrel of an angry boy's gun.  [click, static] [beeps] -.-- --- ..- / .... .- ...- . / --. ..- -. / - --- --- you have gun too

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Except I don't, remember? Because I had to abandon the car that I'd been driving and all the supplies I'd built up over the last few months after the last time Junior tried to kill me.  [click, static] “You have gun too”…I swear to fucking god. What is your game Fox? Who are you? Are you just bored? Has my intrepid journey through the country not been enough entertainment for you? Are you hoping to manipulate me into some kind of OK Corral final stand? It's not going to work. I don't have a gun anymore and even if I did, I wouldn't—I will defend myself, and I'll defend Harry, but I'm going to do everything in my power to avoid a situation in which I would have to defend us.  Fuck this. Fuck you. I'm—I'm done.  Birdie, if you've got any opinions or insight on any of this, now would be a great time to pipe up.  [click, static] [a strange whistling sound]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] So…I found him! I fucking found him. I don't even— [click, static] The whistling. I thought I was losing my mind at first. It was so weak, and kept going out before I could catch all of it but I knew— I mean, that's our whistle. Our lookout whistle. Who else could it be but Don? And after all this time and so many attempts to find Birdie or…or anyone, driving around until the signal got stronger actually fucking worked.  I— what? [click, static]   (calling out off mic) —because I have to! Just—hold on a sec, okay?  Sorry, he— Don doesn't get why I'm telling the radio this news when there's a guy out there trying to kill me but I want Harry to know and I— I want you to know.  I don't—I'm not sure who you are in this scenario. Maybe Birdie, my first friend in this world, even if I'm not sure they are a friend. Maybe… Look, the fact that my transmissions got all the way to Harry when I was in fucking Los Angeles…maybe…maybe other people are out there, hearing me. If there's even the slightest chance— [click, static] —(off mic) you could just tell them yourself. (to the mic) Alright. (off mic) Yeah, that's fine, just let me finish— [click, static]   Donnie refuses to come onto the radio. Apparently whistling is as much as he's willing to reveal about what he sounds like. So those “morse code freaks” don't have more intel on him.  He's also requested that I stop talking about him and his family on here. Which I will do. But I'm still…well, I think you deserve to know, dear listener, what it's like to finally be with someone after all this time.  God, I still can't believe it. I don't think I've ever been this happy. It's like every holiday ever all at once. Like I've been walking through the desert for years and finally, finally stumbled on an oasis.  [click, static] Don's laughing at being called an oasis. (off mic) Yeah, I would never have guessed it either! (to mic) Sorry, things are a little chaotic, clearly. I—well, I'm going to go have a goddamn conversation with a goddamn human being, in person and everything.  So…signing off.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] You know, it's so funny how people don't change, even in the kind of extraordinary circumstance we're in. The apocalypse, an empty world, seven years of trying to find each other and Donnie still cannot wake up before ten AM.  I don't know when I became an early riser. I thought it was one of those things that just happened as you got older, but it clearly doesn't happen to everybody. Donnie's older than me and he still sleeps like a teenager.  I…I'm not sure where to begin in talking about him. We spent hours yesterday, sitting at the kitchen table and shooting the shit. We had a hell of a lot to catch up on.  I know you might be curious, whoever you are, what Don was up to all this time. But that's another thing he wants to keep to himself. I'm not sure why—from what he's told me, it's not like there's anything particularly of note from the last seven years, aside from the particulars of surviving—but I'm going to respect his choice. I guess that's another way that he hasn't changed—you spend decades keeping certain information siloed from one part of your life and other information siloed from another part and that just becomes…normal.   That was a bit of a theme among the crew, I guess. Pete was incredibly  secretive about his home life—where he lived, who he lived with. He could've had a wife and kids for all we knew. Don didn't talk much about his family, even though he saw them all the time, and they didn't know about us; even Harry's parents were still around, in New York no less, but I didn't even know that until we were here. As far as they were concerned, she was a up-and-coming painter, which wasn't untrue just…incomplete.  But besides being nostalgic about Chicago sometimes, Richie seemed to be like me — his whole life was one complete piece. Maybe that's why we always got together at his place. And I guess we each had people—girlfriends, mostly—who we didn't introduce to our…professional life, but I'm not sure either of us really took pains to hide it.  Or, ever got very serious or committed in those parts of our lives.   I'm not good at compartmentalizing I don't think. I guess that goes hand in hand with the way I tend to fixate on a particular thing or person, but I just don't know how all of them could stand to lead such different lives depending on who they're with. I don't share Don's inclination toward privacy, even knowing that talking on here might eventually lead to my ruin.  Not that I've told you everything. Not everything I have told you is true. But I don't feel like I'm hiding when I talk on here.  That said…god, it is different talking to Don. (laughs) I mean, christ, it's—it's so good. To talk to someone who talks back, to talk to someone who knows me. I don't have to explain certain things, I don't have to make excuses for who I am or what I do. Not that I—well, I think I have done that a little, to you. Not knowing who I'm talking to, well, it makes me want to be a better version of myself, one who had a…I don't know, dignified job. One who contributed to the world in a positive way instead of breaking it.  Don, god bless him, does not seem that pissed about the fact that he's here because of me. Don't get me wrong, he hates being here, he's furious he is, but when I explained everything—my theory that killing Billings created some sort of branching timeline that we're all stuck in, everyone who was affected by that action—he…he got it. He got why I did what I did. And he doesn't blame me for it. After all, how the hell would I have known what would happen? There is…there is some comfort to be taken in that.  When he asked—I mean, he wondered why he was here of all people. He hasn't seen Pete or Richie anywhere, and he's looked, so he couldn't figure why he was singled out. They were all awaiting trial so why is he— [click, static] I told him about Leann. That there are some random ripple effects, that there might be even more people out there who we've never even met that had the trajectory of their lives changed by what I did. That we may never really understand how and why the dominoes fell the way they did.  [click, static] Anyway, I'm gonna see what I can scrounge up for breakfast. Maybe by the time he wakes up, I'll be able to surprise Don with something. Seven years and he hasn't once had the pleasure of waking up to someone else having made breakfast.  [click, static] We haven't talked about that yet, not really. The fact that he was alone and I had Harry. Whenever I tried to ask… [click, static] So, yeah, I'll be off the radio for the rest of the day. We have even more catching up to do.  
Whiskey out.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] So, today I asked Donnie what he remembered about me.  I thought you all might enjoy an update.  At first he, of course, turned the question around on me. I don't think he heard my entire transmission the other day talking about it, about feeling safe around him, but he knows I've talked a little about everyone—and yeah, I think I'm okay to talk about my perception of Don, and how accurate it is, and still respect his rule that I don't reveal too much about him or his life.  Huh? [click, static] Yeah, he says it's fine, as long as I'm being honest about what the says about me. Which is fair.  And— [click, static] (laughing) I'll take that as a compliment.  Don says I'm a regular Jean Shepherd. Maybe that's not a cultural reference that'll land with everyone, I think he may have just been a New York guy—he had this radio show on WOR, for us “night people”. That's what he calls—called—all of us who were fighting against the…what was it? [click, static] —that's right, yeah. The “creeping meatballism”. Of course you remember that.  Mediocrity, basically. And the celebration of it. Shep could talk and talk and talk and he'd talk about everything from his childhood in Indiana to railing against cultural conformity and, yeah, I guess I get the comparison. What can I say, I get why he did this for so many years. There's something to speaking all your thoughts into a radio.  But back to the point I'm trying to make—Don is basically who I remember him being. Yeah—I remember you being pretty easy-going and warm, when you know someone at least, but when you're serious about something, you're serious. There's no arguing with you or talking you out of it.  You also deflect questions about yourself or your feelings with humor, which— [click, static] Okay, yeah, that's fair, I do that too. But you remember me differently than I was. I'm still pretty straight-forward, and I don't take shit from you, which you always liked, but it's…easier to be around me. Don't shake your head, that's right! You said I used to be harder. That living here, with Harry, has made me soft.  What? [click, static] —not right now. Because I don't want to— Okay, clearly there's a reason Shep didn't have a co-host. I think I'll call it there. So goodnight, dear night people. Goodnight.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Breaker, breaker, this is Whiskey calling out for Harry—I don't know if you can hear this where you are, or if you're even listening, or if you're just waiting in that gallery for me to show up, but you might have to wait a little bit longer.  Donnie wants to solve the Junior problem. And we both think it's probably safer for you to stay put where you are while we figure it out.  We're currently…in disagreement over what solving that problem looks like. And Junior is probably listening to this, even if you're not, so I shouldn't say more. But you've got the radio and the car, and I'm sure you've been able to find supplies up there, so just…sit tight for a bit. There's no point in all three of us being in mortal danger if we can help it.  Whiskey out.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Okay, Donnie is driving me crazy, in that way that he always had, that I guess I'd just forgotten in the years and the distance. And I just need to… [click, static] I needed a break.  I wonder if bull-headed people just draw in other bull-headed people. Like attracts like, right? Or maybe it's simply a necessity of our profession. Or maybe we were drawn to criminal enterprises because we're stubborn and immovable. Either way, it feels like every single person in my life—both back in the real world and here—is fucking…intractable.  We're still not agreeing on the best approach. I'm—well, I'm obviously not going to say what the nature of the disagreement is. Whatever we end up doing, if we end up doing anything, I clearly can't tell you until after its done. If then, even.  I will say, my need to speak my feelings and thoughts into my CB has definitely been tempered by finding Donnie. Sure, maybe I'm not as uncensored with him, but that has less to do with trust than with actually getting a response back. It is easier to say everything that comes into my head to a radio that doesn't talk back. I trust Donnie with my life, would tell him practically anything he wants to know, but he has things to say to me, and it…I don't know, it quiets everything in my brain.  Even if he is driving me up the fucking wall. I hadn't realized how much I've been inoculated to Harry's particular form of crazy-making behavior. Not that I was unbothered by her—that isn't the case at all, that's for fucking sure—but more that I eventually stopped immediately blowing my top when we'd get into a snit. But even sharing a space with a new person, the littlest things are irritating. Tripping over his shoes, having him yell “what?” when I'm talking to myself and he thinks I'm talking to him. Hearing him talk to himself and doing the same.  None of it…it's not a problem. That's not why I'm sitting in my car talking on this. The argument we had—it's not about leaving your shoes out. I'm just. I guess I'm making an observation. About how ill-equipped I feel to be around other people, even when it's all I want in this world.  It doesn't dull the joy—the argument, the annoyances. I'm still on the top of the world. Just hearing his voice in the morning as he grumbles about waking up feels like the sun coming out after a storm. I might want to throttle him right now, but I still wouldn't let him go for anything. And I think he feels the same way.  Anyway, I should get back to him. Signing off.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] (tipsy) Donnie and I have kissed and made up.  Well, obviously we haven't kissed. But, you know what I mean. We drank a lot of beer—apparently the moment he got to Massachusetts, he started stockpiling, which is really so typical. But it helped. Our issues are resolved. Without anyone having to kiss anybody else.  (a laugh) Poor Donnie. He was pretty sad when I told him I hadn't found anyone else beside Leann and Junior. Not that there's no one else out there to find but…you know. The odds don't look great. But the poor guy hasn't had sex in seven years and I think it's making him crazier than not having anyone to talk— [click, static] (off mic)—c'mon [click, static] (off mic) —not. Sh! (on mic) Anyway, not like I've seen any action in the last seven years because I haven't. Despite what some people might— [click, static] (off mic)—not ever, I promise. (on mic) He doesn't believe me. But he should. If I did have anything to report, I'm sure you would've heard about it already, my night people, my listeners, because I'm not sure I would've ever been able to fucking shut up about it. Oh, come— [click, static] He's laughing at me. This is an absurd conversation. (off mic) And you're an absurd person. (laughing) Oh yeah, well how about the impressions, how do you— [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] God, it's fucking helpful having someone else around to bounce ideas off of. My stupid hungover brain wasn't exactly functioning at the highest point this morning but I think we burned through so many conversational topics last night that over breakfast we actually talked seriously about this whole…deal. Not just the Junior of it all, not just the basics, but the particulars of how this fucked up world works.  He agrees with most of my theories—that we're in a separate place, but time marched on normally without us somewhere else. That the photographs are a glance into that place. He's heard some weird sounds though the years too, so the sounds of cars, the tornado siren…all that stuff, everything he's heard, he agrees that it's probably bleeding in from that place. From home. Or maybe other timelines, because we're definitely not the only people stuck in a place like this. That wouldn't make any kind of sense.  He's less certain to say with any finality what he thinks the situation with Birdie and Fox is. We both have a hard time with the idea of any kind of all-knowing, all-powerful entity, but we're also both familiar with being on a government's wanted list so…the idea of some kind of surveilling body isn't crazy.  
That's what he thinks they are. That they're supposed to be monitoring us, monitoring the other timelines, which is why Birdie disappears sometimes. And he had the thought—the idea that maybe that's why they use morse code too. That maybe it's easier to transmit over long distances using only morse, that maybe they've got some kind of relay system built into the country. Which would make sense, I guess—something that existed before the timeline split off, something that's maybe operating off of old telegraph lines. What's a longer distance than trying to communicate across all of space and time? That still doesn't answer the question of where Birdie and Fox are. Are they here in this timeline? Are they in the real world? In somewhere in between? And…who are they? Part of the US government? Independent scientists? Something other than human? I'm not sure we'll ever know, but it's been nice to theorize with someone. And I'm not holding my breath that Birdie or Fox will respond—and I'm not sure I even want to hear from Fox—but that's bothering me less than it usually would. It's easier to bear not knowing when I've got someone else who is equally as clueless as me.  [click, static]

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're at a bit of an impasse. Neither of us will budge on what we think the right way forward is so we're going to… Well. I don't know. We'll figure something else out. A compromise.  We need some more supplies first. We can't actually survive on beer and beer alone. Though it has been nice to drink together like the old days. Donnie said he hasn't had very much to drink the last few years, just a beer on special days or when things were particularly hard to handle. Sounds like he spent the first two years— I don't know if this is okay to share. I guess he told me all this stuff. Not you.  He agrees with me about the cigarettes. That it's a fucking tragedy they taste the way they do now. There's lots of things that we both miss from the real world, and not just sex and cigarettes.  Donnie misses ambrosia. You know, the fruit salad? I could never stand the stuff, but he loved it. And I think…I mean, I could probably make that, right? With canned fruit? Any marshmallows I find might be pretty stale at this point but…yeah, I bet I could make it.  One of us should have something we want.  [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Okay, Donnie and I have been having a fun time playing, well, if not “house”…”normal weekend away and the world is just outside the door”, but now that we've just…agreed to disagree about Junior, we realized it's time for the old crew reunion to be complete.  Donnie thinks it's going to be easier for me to just go get Harry, than to try and broadcast something to tell her where we are that could be picked up and deciphered by Junior. So I'm getting in the car today and head North. Once I get her and come back…we'll figure it out from there. There's no reason that Junior would be able to find us where we're at—not if he hasn't found us so far—so I think we've got a few more days at least before we need to seriously consider moving.  But we're rats in a maze here in the Northeast. It's three against one now, so I'm not exactly concerned but after hearing about my whole encounter with Junior, Donnie went into that protective older brother mode he would get in sometimes, the one that led him to teach me self-defense. Another thing about him that hasn't changed.  He's staying behind to “fortify” the place we're staying, whatever that means, and to start building up the kind of supplies we'll need to safely move to a new spot. Sounds to me like he's expecting a war, but there really is no reasoning with him when he sets his mind to something.  I don't know, maybe war is exactly what we're doing. If it is, we've got a much better chance of surviving now than I did a week ago. With both Donnie and Harry…well, trying to stay alive with two whole other people to pick up the slack feels like luxury.  But I don't want to be at war with anyone. Though, if I have to be, there's no two people I'd rather have in the trenches with me. [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Breaker, breaker, this is Whiskey Alpha Romeo calling out for anyone else who might be out there.  [click, static] Maybe my mistake this whole time was not staying in the Northeast—everything is so close here, and now that I know why—or at least, I have an idea why certain people are here and others aren't—it stands to reason that most of the people who'd be in this place would be in the Northeast. That's where most of my life was centered and… Well, I guess there's no point in using any callsign or code name. If I have other enemies out there beside Junior…well, I'm not sure who they'd be and I'm not sure how it gets worse, so…  [click, static] Breaker, breaker, Channel 19, this is Abi Rogers driving through New England, looking for other survivors.  [click, static] Maybe it's strange to use that word. What did we survive? The last seven years living on our own I guess. Survivors of my mistake.  In any case, I'm zig-zagging as I move up north, just to be safe, and I'm going to be on this channel all day on the off chance I come into someone's radius. A long shot, I know, but I've been feeling more optimistic lately.  It's odd, isn't it? Not too long ago, I came face to face with a man who wanted to kill me and then one of my mysterious fair weather friends tried to repeat that particularly unpleasant encounter. By all accounts, I should be feeling the most downtrodden and scared that I've felt since I got arrested.  But finding an old friend, someone I truly never thought I would see again…it's like air in my lungs. Despite being alone, Donnie really is so much the same person he was when we first met. It's like a warm cup of coffee, talking to him, hearing his ridiculous stories, being teased by him. It's easy to fall back into the regular patterns. The other day I said he thought I was softer than I was, but what he actually said was “you seem sadder than you were, Abi”. Which I guess I can't fault him for noticing. Even with how happy I was to see him, there's still this cloud… I don't know if I realized how much it had sunk into who I am. Loneliness isn't new for me, hardship, fear—while there have been new kinds of challenges these last seven years, the fundamentals of who I am haven't encountered anything they can't bear.  I have been missing people more than I thought I would. As in—if you'd told me a decade ago that I'd be stuck in a place without strangers, a place where I just had to focus on living, and I could technically do whatever I want, I'm not sure I would've seen that as a bad deal. But the reality…well, being with Don has just put into stark focus just how much I miss talking to people. Being in New York reminded me just how much I loved getting lost in a crowd.  So there was bound to be some change in demeanor, I think that's pretty normal. I have no idea how Donnie was able to stay sane by himself all these years, how he was able to stay so much the same.  I think being around Harry has been making me sad for a really long time. It's a funny thing, that. When I first told Donnie that that's where I've been—that Harry and I have been hiding out—he made a joke that I'd won the top prize in this shitty world. That he often felt like locking the two of us in a room until we could work things out.  I had no idea—that our…dynamic was so apparent to other people. But according to him, it was a point of discussion amongst the other three. Which is absolutely mortifying and also, strangely validating. So he was plenty happy for me that I'd finally been given the time and space to knock down whatever wall was holding us back. He couldn't comprehend why, over six years, we never managed to do it.  And, of course, I can't really tell him why, can I. I didn't understand why myself until the months before I left, didn't understand why Harry kept herself at arm's length, I took her coldness for disinterest, not guilt. So I just told Donnie that we're both too stubborn to make the first step. After all, that's not exactly wrong.  (sigh) I don't know, maybe it'll be different this time. Maybe now that everything's out in the open, now that we know why we're here, that it was my fault, now that we've got a little bit of the gang back together… I'm not saying I'm over it. I'm not saying forgiveness is that easy, but maybe…maybe we can move forward. Either way, I don't feel sad anymore. Not like I have been. The loneliness that I felt with Harry, that got worse these past months as I've driven all around this country, that was at it's most engulfing when I found Leann…it's like that weight has been lifted off of me. Moving forward shouldn't be so hard now that I'm not dragging it. [click, static]

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 got—Donnie and I, we rigged up a long range radio to transmit slightly off frequency— Apparently, after hearing snippets of my transmissions, Donnie got…uncharacteristically into radios. Being in New York, he had access to way more information than I did and has surpassed my knowledge by…a lot. I guess having a decently functioning radio and Birdie to occupy me early on left me less inclined to really dig in.  Anyway, he figured out a way to transmit off the normal channels and still be received through my radio by me just turning the Delta Tune knob and thirty minutes ago— [click, static] Maybe I'm being worried over nothing. He's been sending me updates, not extensive, just check-ins and little observations about how things have been going—we chose some predetermined times for me to switch over to the off-frequency and at our last check-in— It's probably nothing. Interference or a bad connection, or something wrong with his push-to-talk. Because it sounded like— [click, static] It's better to be safe rather than sorry. I'm only a few hours away—though still have several hours to go before I reach Harry, I think I over did it on the zagging—so I'm just gonna…I'm gonna go back. And I think I'm going to insist he comes with me. We can—we can find new supplies and all the rest as we go forward after picking up Harry. It's more important now to stick together. Well, either way, I picked up the ingredients for ambrosia salad so…at the very least, I can make it for him now, rather than later. If a ladder has fallen on him or something, at least I'll be able to cheer him up.  [click, static]

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] [content warning: death] [click, static] He's…he's dead. Donnie is…  [click, static] I got back and I wasn't even out of the car before I saw— [click, static] His body isn't even cold yet. He's soft to the touch, if I'd just driven faster, then maybe he'd— [click, static] But I didn't. And he's not. He's…oh, I'm gonna be si— [click, static]

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] [content warning: death and violence] [click, static] It doesn't even look like it was on purpose. He wasn't shot, it's not like Junior came here and— [click, static] He tried to get on the radio to tell me. It wasn't—it wasn't interference or something wrong with the equipment, it was just that he was already— [click, static] Why did you go outside? Why not stay put by the radio after you called me? And what were you trying to say? Your voice was so weak and— [click, static] He was—he was stabbed, I think. And there's a bruise on his face that wasn't there when I left so they must have had some kind of fight and why would you stab him, Junior? Why that? Or was it that Donnie had the knife first and rushed you and— I keep playing out every possible scenario in my head and they're all ghoulish and terrible. But I can't stop it. Like a film reel going round and round in front of my eyes, a million ways to die, a million ways to be killed. The—the injustice of it, the irony. I want to throw up. It shouldn't have been him. It should've been me. I just found him and— [click, static] I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. [click, static]

[TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Harry, I'm sorry but I'm…I'm not coming. Not—not right now. I don't know when I'll be able to—I mean, I know I can't stay. I know that I have to keep moving, that I can't let myself become a sitting duck for Junior to— [click, static] I buried Donnie today. It took…all day. It wasn't easy or pleasant or— I just wanted to give him some peace. I think I picked a spot that he would have liked. I did what I could to make a marker and— [click, static] Fuck. I just can't believe he's gone. Nothing about it feels real. Nothing about finding him even felt real, I was just getting used to the idea and now he's— [click, static] It's not that I blame you, Harry. But I also…don't not. I know this is all my fault, that we're here, that Don is—was here—that Junior feels he needs to get revenge or find his way out through blood but— How far do we go back, you know? How far until we find the root of the blame? Billings' death was the catalyst, but I never would've tried to escape if we hadn't gotten that flat tire. Is it the prison's fault for not taking care of their vans? Is it some administrator's fault for transferring us to wherever it was we were going? Is it Pete's fault for deciding on that job? Or all of our fault for not fighting back the moment the cops found us.  Or is it your fault, Harry, for us being in that position in the first place? For your selfish and short-sighted— [click, static] Goddammit.  [click, static] I buried Don today and all I can think about is every single thing I did that led to this point. Back then, sure, but also…this week. Yesterday. A month ago. If I hadn't sought him out, if I hadn't found him, if I hadn't left to find you— [click, static] If I'd just listened to Fox.  What if I had listened? Did you know this would happen, Fox? Is that what you were trying to communicate to me? If so, you did an absolute shit job. If there was a way—if there is a way—for me to fix all of this, you need to tell me, and tell me plainly.  [click, static] [beeps] Doesn't need fixing

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'm—(sigh) I don't know how much I'll be on here, I don't know what to say. What the hell can I— [click, static] How can you say this doesn't need fixing, Birdie? How can you look at this situation and behave like this is the way that things are supposed to be? Is this your system, your version of Eternity? Is this really how you want to be spending your existence, watching people suffer for a single mistake they made? [click, static] I—I'm in Maine. Waking up after putting him in the ground, I just wanted to be near someone— [click, static] I'm not this naive. I'm not this desperate. After everything she's done, after everything you've done, why should I trust either of you. I'm—I need some time to myself. I'm turning around, I know you're probably still at the gallery, Harry, but get in your car and go somewhere else, and—and— [click, static] I'm going somewhere else. I don't know where yet but even I did I wouldn't— [click, static] I know no matter where I go, you'll be able to reach me, Birdie. So just tell me. Who are you? What's your stake in all of this?  [click, static] [beeps] Observers. Can't interfere.

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] You ‘can't interfere'? Are you trying to make me fucking furious? What the hell has all of this been then? [click, static] Observers, huh? That's what you are? And that means…what exactly, you're bookkeeping for the universe? Making sure that everyone who does something bad, who makes the wrong choice, gets their just desserts?  (sighing) I can't do this. I'm—I'm clearing my head, okay? I'm not in fucking New England anymore, I'm not in the tri-state area, Junior can spend all his time searching Massachusetts and New York for me and he won't find me. And you can keep sending messages to me but I— I'm just done. [click, static]

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, but here's what I don't understand—and, yes, I know I'm not supposed to be talking to you, I'm supposed to be clearing my head and enjoying the fucking warm weather and— Why did you even talk to me in the first place, huh? Why reach out at all if you're not supposed to interfere. And sure, you never gave me anything actually useful or actionable, not in the way that Fox did but—  [click, static] I also…listen, my head isn't exactly cool, but I'm not quite as—that is to say, I've calmed down a little. And I realized that it was really goddamn stupid of me to just…drive away from where Harry was just because I— Well, I'm still furious. I'm sick over what happened with Don and I'm not sure how I could look you in the face, Harry, not when none of this would've happened if you'd never— [click, static] But you're the only ally I have. Or, at least, the closest thing to an ally that I'll get. So I don't want to abandon you entirely.  I've been trying to think of the best way to communicate a location to you without revealing anything to Junior and I've really had to dredge this memory up, so I have no idea if you'll… There was a song playing when—that job that we did in Philly in sixty-six? We went to that all-night diner to talk about the plan and Richie and— the guys were arguing over what to use their one quarter for to play on the jukebox and as they were going at it, a song was playing that I knew but that you didn't. Or, at least, you didn't like it if you did know it. And I was tapping my foot in time and my leg was bouncing the bench we were sharing and you snapped at me to stop and then I snapped back and Pete snapped at the guys and basically all of us were in a terrible mood that started with you losing your patience.  That song. There's a place mentioned in that song. I'll be there in two weeks. Meet me there or don't. I…it's not that I don't care. I just—I can't be responsible for you, anymore. You have to make it on your own.   [click, static] [beeps] -.-- --- ..- / ... . . -- . -.. / .-.. --- -. . .-.. -.-- You seemed lonely

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—I'm not sure what to do with that. “You seemed lonely”.  You always do this, say just the right thing to keep me wanting to talk to you— [click, static] I know I seemed lonely. I was fucking lonely. I am fucking lonely. But if you're observers of all of this shit—and there's no way that we're the only ones, I know that—then you have to be observing a lot of really lonely people. Why me? Why choose to talk to me? Why…(sigh) [click, static] [a beep] Am I going crazy or did you just— [click, static] [four dots, two dots] Say again.  [four dots, two dots] “Hi”. You're saying fucking…hi.  Well. Hi.  [four dots, two dots] Is this Birdie? [one dot] I guess you remember. I— I want to be happy to hear from you, to talk to you, I do, but I… Okay, same as last time—one dit for yes, two for no, three dits if the answer is too complicated to explain and one dash for “I don't know”—and I better not hear those last two very much. Alright? [click, static; one dot] Right then. [click, static] Did Junior kill Don? [one dot] Did he— did he mean to? [one dash] It was a struggle, wasn't it? They got into some kind of altercation and… [one dot] Right. (deep breath) Right.  [click, static] Okay, uh, what else ask you…if you've been listening, am I right? Am I right in thinking that when I killed Billings, I branched us off into another future, and dragged Harry and Junior and Leann and— and Don and who the hell knows who else? Am I right about that? [one dot] Okay. I mean, not that I totally believe but…okay.  You and Fox—you're observers. Do you control the timelines? [two dots] Who does? [one dash] You don't know? You don't know who your own boss is? [two dots] Fuck.  Is it God? [two dots; one dash] No, you don't know. Okay. Helpful.  Do you know Fox? Personally? [one dot] Are you friends? [two dots] Are you enemies? [one dot; two dots] A yes and a no. I'm guessing that means it's a little more complicated than just friends and enemies.  [one dot] Yeah, okay. You both work for the same…entity though? You're both bookkeepers for the universe or whatever you want to call it? [one dot] Are there others? [one dot] Where are they? [click, static] Okay, yeah, I guess that's hard to answer yes or no. Are they observing different timelines? [one dot] How many timelines are there? [one dot] (scoff) Yes, there are many? What, is the number infinite? [one dot] Oh. How many are you looking over? Dozens? [two dots] Hundreds? [one dot] Shit, okay. And it's the same for Fox? [one dot] And you don't like each other…when you said you betrayed your job, did you betray Fox? [two dots] No. Did you betray your boss? Another…coworker? [two dots] Also no.  Did you betray…the people you're observing? [one dot] Because what—because you observed wrong? [click, static] Did you interfere? Did you try to fix it? [one dot] Yes. And it went wrong. People got hurt.  [one dot] Yeah, well, that's the way it fucking goes, isn't it?   Is that why you don't like Fox? Because they're trying to…I don't know, are they trying to fix it in their own fucked up way? [one dot] They're the one who turned me onto the Asimov book…that's what they want, isn't it? They want one perfect exact timeline? [one dot] And they're going around to a bunch of different timelines, trying to correct it? [one dot] Jesus. Do I—do I have to die for that to happen? Do we all have to die? [two dots] Thank god. Does Junior have to die? [click, static] Birdie? [bad interference] Birdie? [click, static] Birdie are you there? [click, static] Shit. [click, static]

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] We—we figured out where Junior was holed up. I couldn't say that on the radio when we were still…I didn't want to mess up anything we might attempt by blabbing about it. Even if we weren't agreeing on what we wanted to attempt.  He wanted to kill Junior. I wanted to run. It's a big country, we can—I'm confident that we could hide. Junior could keep coming and coming but if we went far enough and remote enough and I threw away my radio and just lived with Harry and Don, gave up hope finding anyone else…we would've been okay. Finding us would've been a nearly insurmountable task.  Then again, with Fox giving coordinates out of peoples' locations…maybe not. That was Don's argument. I figured we could defend ourselves if it came to that but… But he wanted to go home. He—he was so much the same, but I think being here, alone…I think it broke him somehow. He was…harsher, had a shorter temper. I didn't—it didn't fucking matter, you know? That he had this look in his eye or that he snapped a little more because we were together and also, I understood. I got softer and he got harder and the central difference between our experiences is that he was alone and I wasn't. If I'd been by myself all that time, I think I'd be out for blood too.  I didn't want to believe… It turns out he was right. I think he was right. I know Birdie didn't answer me, but what if Junior dying is the solution? I don't understand how but, would I… No. I've already—I'm paying for what I've done. And it's not my right to try and undo that.  [click, static]

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'm tired of taking all the blame, Harry. I know—I know it's my fault that we're here, it's my fault that Junior's here, it's my fault that Don is dead and Leann lived the end of her life alone, but it's not only my fault. I'm not the only one that led us here.  I made a choice—a bad choice in terrible circumstances—and, you know what? I'm not sure I did choose it. It was an accident, I got unlucky, I made a mistake. I chose to try and escape, I chose to try and help you escape and it cost a man his life.  But we would have never been there in the first place if it hadn't been for you. And I'm fucking tired of pretending like I'm not mad at you for it.  [click, static] Who am I kidding? I haven't been pretending anything—it's more that I'm mad at you for a different thing every other week. But I've been keeping your secret. I've been keeping it from Birdie and Fox and Junior and whoever else is listening here and I kept it from Don. And he died thinking he had two friends in this world. Me. And you.  And that's a lie. I'm done with telling that lie. You weren't his friend. Not really. I'm not sure you're even my friend, even if you think— [click, static] Did you hear my conversation with Birdie the other day? That they have a not-quite-friend-not-quite-enemy in Fox? That they tried to meddle in things and it went very very badly? Any of that sound familiar? You betrayed us, Harry. You—you cut a deal with the fucking FBI to get off scot-free and you set us up. I don't know how I spent so many years not suspecting a thing because we'd never even been close to caught before but that night, out of nowhere— [click, static] Maybe I haven't been pretending to not be mad at you for it, maybe that has been very fucking apparent, but I think I've been pretending—even to myself, especially to myself—that I can forgive you for it.  I'm not sure I can. I'm not sure I will. [click, static]

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] She said it was the right thing to do. That the gravy train had to stop at some point, and that she wanted to get off before she became a casualty of it. I think that's a pretty fucking presumptuous thing to assume—plenty of thieves don't get caught and we were good. And, besides, she could have just quit! She didn't have to be doing what she was doing, but when she found out about Pete… When I've said that I never knew much about Pete's life, that was true. Mostly. I really never did know anything about his personal life or what he'd been doing before putting together this crew. I never asked and he never volunteered any information.  But that wasn't the whole truth. I didn't know much about his life then but Harry…Harry filled in some blanks.  Pete wasn't just an art thief. It wasn't all penthouses and auction houses for him, apparently. He started with banks. And something like ninety percent of all bank robbers get caught, but Pete was…the best of the best. The feds had no clue who he was, barely even had his height and race. And then, one off the robberies went bad and he—a few people died. Three people.  So he came back to his hometown of New York to disappear among the millions. He cooled his heels and then he started in again, just on a higher brow racket.  I don't know how Harry figured this out. We…we didn't get to that point in our conversation. (scoffs) “Conversation”, there's a euphemism for it. Argument? Screaming match? Dropping a nuclear bomb into our tentatively okay existence? I was a little more focused on the revelation that the person I'd been living with for six years had betrayed me and the people we cared about. The revelation that my mentor had killed a few people… I don't know. I'm still not sure…Harry has no reason to lie. Not about this. And, I guess, there were things through the years that made me think Pete's past was a lot more checkered than even your typical thief. But I wasn't lying when I said he always seemed like a stand-up guy to me. He was. He was good and kind and fair and the fact that he made his money through illegal endeavors felt really secondary to all of that.  I'm not sure the knowledge that he's killed people—multiple people and not—not entirely by accident, not like— It should change things. I know it should. And it isn't that I don't believe Harry, even not knowing how she found out about it, it—I don't think she would have done what she did unless she'd been certain. I'll give her that. But it hasn't reshaped who Pete is in my head.  He took me in, mentored me, was a friend. He made me his ally when he could have just as easily made me an enemy. He saw something in me. Something worth…something worth attention and care. And I hadn't had that since my father died and I— I've thought a lot about what I would have done if I'd known before. I've shared nearly every other thought I've had in my head besides these ones, because I had to make room somehow, over this past—god, year, since I learned the truth.  What if Harry had come to me first before going to the feds? What if I'd been the one to uncover Pete's past and not her? What would I have done? I wouldn't have betrayed him, that's for sure and fucking certain. I probably would've confronted him about it. Maybe. I would've wanted to hear his side of things. I would've wanted to know why he did what he did, how he felt about it now. And maybe I wouldn't have—well, I wouldn't have understood it, the way I do now, if I'd known before, because if I'd known, we never would've been arrested and I'd never have killed Billings and— [click, static] I still think I would've been sympathetic. Empathetic. I don't know. I would've given him…grace. Forgiveness. Even if it isn't mine to forgive. I would've loved him just the same.  And that's the rub, isn't it? Harry said that she could never—she said that she wasn't honest about how she felt because she was too swallowed up by guilt, was too scared to tell me the truth and have me run away and too scared to start anything when she had this secret but what if it wasn't that at all? What if the way she felt about me—the way she'd ever be able to feel about me—changed the moment Billings hit the pavement? She found the truth out about Pete and stopped caring for him in a blink. She saw what I did, so surely— [click, static] Well, in any case, I guess she was right. I did run away.  [click, static]

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've still got the fucking ingredients for ambrosia in my passenger seat. Donnie— [click, static] He—he made fun of me for calling him “Don” when I talked about him before we actually found each other. Because I almost never called him that to his face. But it was like all that time had passed and he became a cardboard cutout of himself. Don D'Agostino. Pete always called him Don—so did Harry actually—but Richie and I, all his friends really, called him Donnie. I didn't even notice that I instinctually reverted to that until he asked why I'd been referring to him as Don on the radio.  I don't know how to refer to him now.  [click, static]

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'm. I'm here. Where I said to meet me. If you remember that day in Philly, if you remember the song, if you remember the lyrics well enough to know where I'm talking about…it's a lot of ifs. But I'm not sure what else to do. I'm not even sure I want to see you but— What other choice do we have? I tried being away from you. But we're tied together, whether we want to be or not. We were always connected, weren't we, but it was by choice. We chose to work together, to be part of the same crew. We could've walked away at any time. You could've walked away. Why didn't you just walk away? Instead, you ratted us out, you cut a deal on my behalf—you sliced a fish hook underneath my skin and dragged me along with you and when I tried to wriggle free, all I did was get you stuck to that very same hook. And now I worry that if we pulled it free from our flesh, we'd both bleed to death. The thing—the thing that really infuriates me is that…I was ready to forgive you. I was ready to move on from it, move forward, figure out how to deal with our new reality together. Hell, there were times when I thought I should just sacrifice myself so that you could live. That's how much I— [click, static] I didn't want you living with the consequences of my actions. When all I've been doing for years is living with the consequences of yours. And now Don—Donnie's dead.  And I still have no idea who to blame.  [click, static]

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 keep replaying our fight in my head. The one that marked the beginning of the end.  It's weird, I remember so many things she said with perfect clarity. “Do you have any idea what kind of torture it's been sharing a space with you all this time?” She shouted that at me. Harry so rarely shouts—the fact that she was raising her voice for so much of the conversation was almost as jarring as what she was saying.  Torture. Here I thought we'd been living in relative peace and every day was torture for her. Torture she thought she deserved. Torture that, since that fight, I've sometimes thought she deserved.  Except it wasn't just her being drawn and quartered, was it? In denying herself something she thought she didn't deserve, she put me through the wringer too.  That's how the argument started. I finally just…snapped. There's only so much one woman can take, you know? And the signals I got from Harry had always been mixed, but that night…I was sitting by the fire, Harry was in her studio, as she so often was and I was…honestly, I don't even remember what I was doing. I'd fixed yet another leak in the roof that day, the house had really been starting to fall apart and there was only so much I could do and— That's the thing, we fought earlier that day. I came in from outside and it was—it was a fucking cold day, you know one of those February days where it feels like winter is never going to end and my hands were frozen solid and when I came into the kitchen, I was—I was rubbing them together, trying to get them to warm up and Harry had already put the kettle on and she came over and—and she stepped right up to me and put her hands around mine. And we stood there, barely a breath apart, her body heat sinking into mine, my eyes still watering from the cold air outside.  There were so many of those little moments—moments when she'd look at me and I'd think…here it is. Finally. After years of holding my breath, the exhale is finally coming.  But then she stepped back. She started fixing me tea and it felt like I was going to suffocate, from holding the air in for too long and we'd—well, she'd agreed to go out more the last few years. To that picnic, on small hikes, supply runs that were a little more far flung and so I—I tried to get some relief, from all of it, from the cold and the breathlessness and so I said something about going somewhere warm. A vacation. I suggested we go on a fucking vacation.  And of course it turned into the fight that we always had when I made that suggestion—how we were safe where we were, how we didn't know what else was out there and I—well, I think I did tell you about this particular fight once, maybe, because for a long time it was the only part of that day I could allow myself to think about—but I—I told her that we were never going to move forward if we didn't literally move forward, that we wouldn't have a future together if we kept standing still and that was the first time either of us had ever spoken anything like that out loud and she just said “we don't have a future either way” and that…that was that.  (laugh) What fucking irony, huh? Both of us arguing about the future when we were in one of our own making.  Did you know, Harry? Did you know that things weren't safe out here? Did you know where we were all along?  If I find out that you—I mean, I'm already having a hard enough time forgiving you for—there are some things that I'll never get over, Harry.  [click, static]

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] You know what? I think it's shit that you betraying us was something that was supposed to happen. Apparently. But me protecting us…that's what fucked everything up forever. You loved throwing that into my face when you finally told me the truth. That if I'd just trusted you, I never would've tried to escape, I never would've killed Billings, we wouldn't be fugitives.  Little did you know, right? Just how right you were. If I'd just trusted you. Except…you gave me no fucking reason to trust you. You told me nothing about what was happening, as far as I was concerned, we were just two prisoners being transported, not fucking…states' witness or whatever the fuck you were. You didn't trust me enough to tell me.  And you know what? You were right about that too. I would've told Pete. I was loyal to him and I—well, I would've tried to talk you out of doing something stupid but if you'd told me after you'd already gone to the feds, yeah, I would've ratted you out to Pete. A snitch for a snitch.  None of this would've happened if you'd just trusted us. And if I do see you again, if you do come find me, then I think we need to have a very long conversation about what trust looks like from here on out.  [click, static]

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 just realized—I never even finished my story the other day. I got distracted telling you about that other fight, the one we had when I came in from the cold.  After she said that, about our future, I stormed off. Obviously. I couldn't stand there and look at her after I'd revealed so much in one simple sentence and been completely rejected so I took a shower and ignored her for the rest of the day. Then, that night, I was sitting by the fire, and I remembered, I was reading—god knows what, I don't think I was paying attention to a single sentence, I think I just wanted something that would make it look like I wasn't just sitting and moping—and I fell asleep.  And when I woke up—well, I was woken up. I felt something, on my face, a warm brush of something and I opened my eyes and Harry was there, pushing my hair off my forehead. And she's bookmarked my place in the book too, closed it and put it on the coffee table and then she'd… She jerked back the moment I opened my eyes. But there was no mistaking what she'd been doing. And I just…lost it. That's what broke me. That she'd show me affection only when I wasn't awake to see it.  I never expected—never planned to ask her outright. But I did. I just asked her what she felt for me. What she wanted from me. And she—she fucking refused to answer. Fifty seconds earlier she'd had her fingertips tenderly stroking my hair and she couldn't answer a simple fucking question. So I told her my answer.  I told her—I told her I'd been in love with her since the first time I saw her laugh. That I'd respected her first, stood in awe of her art knowledge, her talent, her expert way of handling beautiful things. I'd watch her hands when we were packing up the goods and thought I'd never seen someone treat something with such care and make it look like art unto itself. Like some kind of meditative practice. Like something holy.  And then, the moment it left my mouth, I told her that was actually a lie—that I'd really been attracted to her first, and then came the respect. And that I'd bounced between those two feelings and complete irritation for months and months and then I saw her crack up at a dumb joke and it was like an air raid siren went off in my head. I immediately knew I was in the kind of trouble I wasn't going to get out of.  And the whole time—the whole time I'm telling her this, she's just backing away and shaking her head like she doesn't want to hear it. Like I'm being cruel to her in saying it. And I say that I thought that maybe, maybe, she felt the same way but clearly I was wrong. And that it's been long enough, and the house is…in shape enough and that she's got enough supplies and know-how that she'll be fine, probably, and now she's looking at me like I'm crazy because she doesn't understand yet what I'm saying.  So I tell her outright—I have to go. I have to leave, have to see what's out there, who's out there, because staying here now that I know we have no future is torture and that's when she shouts at me. That she's the one who's been agonized all this time. That she's wanted me for so long, but she never had the courage to do anything before and that she couldn't now because it would all be a lie. That she couldn't let me think she loved me when I didn't know that she'd betrayed me.  Well, she didn't say exactly that. I was the only one who used…that particular word in the conversation. Not betrayed, the—the other one. I'd never used that word for anyone before, not since my parents, and never in that kind of context. And she couldn't even… It didn't matter. Once she started telling me what she meant—started telling me the truth, the full truth…it was worse than any rejection would have been. She tried to explain it away, tried to say that she was trying to protect me, that she wanted to get us both out of a bad situation but all I heard was that she'd betrayed me and then lied about it. All I heard was that she, like always, thought she knew what was best and removed my own wants and needs and fucking free will from the equation entirely.  And then she begged me not to go. She begged me to let her make things right and I…I couldn't look at her like that, after all that, and walk away. So I didn't. I stayed and I— I stayed and I punished her. I didn't speak to her, didn't let her try to apologize, I barely stayed in a room if she walked in. And then even that got to be too much to bear.  So I did the thing she was most afraid of, and I left.  [click, static]

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'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 

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] 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

[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

[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.  [click, static]

[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.  [click, static]

[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.  [click, static]

[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]

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] 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

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] ‘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— [click, static] 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]  

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] 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] .-- .- -. - / - --- / . -..- .--. .-.. .- .. -. Want to explain

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] You want to explain what? All of it? You want to explain everything to me, is that what you're saying? Because I've said it before and I'll say it again—you can transmit as long a message as you want, just make sure it repeats and I'll sit by the radio and transcribe it all out.  When we got that message, Harry asked me what an explanation would change for me. She wants to know if I'll—if you really do tell us everything and it all makes sense and the world becomes clear, and after all of that, it really is true that killing Junior would put us back…would that change my perspective on it.  And I—well, I told her I don't know, because I don't know. I can't know, not really, until I know what I don't know right now. When I don't have the information, I can't predict how it might change what I think.  But if I'm honest with myself, I really doubt it would change that much. I'm not a killer. I don't want to be a killer. I know that technically I am, but I—well, I don't know! I don't feel less guilty about Billings just because I didn't mean to kill him, I still fought with him. But Harry seems to think it's different and that's what I don't understand.  How does she look at Pete and decry what he did and then look at me and say it's okay and I can do it again—I killed a man and can kill his son and that's not as bad as what Pete did. It doesn't make any sense to me, that logic. And I can't imagine a world in which Harry would want to do this particular bit of dirty business herself so it would be - it would be me. It doesn't matter—I'm not entertaining the idea. No matter what we learn. No matter what you tell us.  [click, static] [beeps] I'll transmit safe location

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—I'll get to your latest in a second but first… I'm already having a hard enough time ordering my thoughts—talking out loud on the radio and spending my days talking to Harry…it's like my brain is more active than it's been in months and I feel like I'm bouncing from thought to thought with no order or intention.  And it's so much worse than usual right in this moment because Harry just told me something that… I don't know why she didn't tell me this a year ago—maybe because when she first confessed everything I refused to hear more about it. But I talked to her about what I was saying yesterday, the messed up logic of her view of me and her view of Pete and she—she said it was different. Because what Pete did was cold blooded murder, not an accident, not an escalation of a confrontation. And I didn't buy that, how could she know, she wasn't there and she— It was his partner. Um, two of the people who died—one was a teller who refused to open the vault and the other was um— (pause) was a seventeen year old boy who tried to take Pete's gun away. And that's—I mean, I didn't expect one of them to be just a kid—but I figured that's what happened, that something went wrong, someone tried to interfere, a gun went off and— But the third person was Pete's partner. His…mentee, his protege. The two of them, after they did get into the vault, after they—well, they, um, snuck out through the back and Pete—Pete shot him point blank in the head and left him in the alley behind the bank. Which…does put the other killings in a different light. Suddenly the death of the teller doesn't seem like a robbery gone wrong, but instead… It's different. That's what she said. I mean, she also said that she doesn't want to kill Junior, that she doesn't think that's a way to solve anything, but that she's had to think it all through anyway. She had to consider it, because if it was the way to make things right with me, then she would— But she knows it's not. She knows it wouldn't fix anything, especially since she already learned that taking extreme action to protect yourself from the possibility of harm can lead to something so much worse. Because that's why she turned Pete in. Because she felt it was just a matter of time until he did what he did to his old mentee again, but this time to me. She didn't think she could convince me that he'd ever hurt me—and…she's probably right about that—so she…made a different choice.  And now I have to live with this knowledge and figure out how it changes my entire world view and feelings about one of the most significant relationships in my life.  [click, static] So…I've had some things to process. Clearly. But I'm not—I'm not ignoring you, especially since what you said— “I'll transmit safe location”. That's what you said. Birdie does this mean…are we going to meet? I assume you mean a safe location for you to…leave me something, or somewhere Fox can't find us or…I don't know. I know what I'm hoping for and I also know that I need to hold that hope tightly so it doesn't grow out of control.  I don't know how you plan to transmit a location without Fox or Junior hearing it, but I have no doubt you'll come up with something.  So for now I'll just…wait. I'll wait and I'll keep going North.  [click, static]

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, Birdie, we've gone North. We've gone so far North that we're quite literally at the Canadian border. I've never been to Canada. Well, I guess I have now—the moment we got to the sign, I stopped the car and Harry and I both jumped out and ran for the other side of the border. One of those moments where we both had the exact same idea at the exact same time.  I missed that. The way that we can be in perfect sync. Sometimes on a job, we could communicate with just a look. The whole crew had that ability to some extent, but it always felt…you know. Better. With Harry.  Things have been…better. With Harry. I demanded she tell me anything else she'd left out about Pete and her snitching and…I think I know everything now. Even if I have no idea what to do with it. But it's cleared the air some. Made me understand her a little more. Even if I'm still furious so much of the time…that fury is not aimed solely at her anymore.  It's her birthday today. June 30th. She didn't mention anything to me—it's not like we've got a wall calendar hanging off the rearview mirror or anything, so it was only when I was doing my usual marking of my atlas that I realized.  I didn't get her a gift, obviously. A trip to Canada, I guess. When I wished her a happy birthday, she just sort of…quietly said thank you and that was that.  We're both a year older and not any wiser for it. We know more now, about the world, about each other. It doesn't feel like—I'm not sure what other secrets we possibly would have to reveal to each other. And yet, I don't feel like I actually understand anything. I'm still just…out to sea.  I don't know. I miss Donnie. I wish I could talk to him about this stuff, I wish—I wish I could talk to him about Pete. I wish I could have someone else's perspective on her. On us. And the real problem is that, despite everything, I still— The look on her face when she got to the other side of the border. We were both out of breath and red faced, like kids who had raced to the front door. And she smiled so big and she looked at me and said “Didn't I tell you once that I'd take you to another country someday?” I honestly couldn't believe that she remembered that. She said it one time, years ago. I remembered it of course, because at that time I was looking for any kind of scrap that she… We were at a new exhibit at the Morgan Library—rare manuscripts, I think from the renaissance, I can't really remember. Pete—(voice cracking) uh, Pete, um, loved—loved stealing manuscripts. They were hard to steal, because they had to be so delicately handled, but Harry knew how to do it, which gave Pete an advantage that most thieves didn't have. With big exhibits of them, we could steal just one, not a whole collection, and still get a really good deal for them. Especially since there is always a wealthy person out there who wants to own one just for the sake of having something rare and won't fuss too much about where it came from.  Anyway, we were casing the place, her and I, because Harry could spend hours looking at every corner of an exhibit and make it seem totally natural, like she was just looking at the art. She usually went alone, just to get the layout of the exhibits, but we'd never tried robbing the Morgan Library before, so I went with her to get a sense for the whole building's security. And we… We had a good time. We had a really good time. We laughed at all the weird margin drawings that the monks would leave in the books of hours, or whatever they were, and Harry would tell me about the history of when and where these things had been written and, if she'd been to the place herself, she'd talk a little bit about what it was like now. I've never been…anywhere. And when I told her that, she said, “I'll take you someday. Everyone should leave the country at least once”.  Actually, I think she said “continent”. That's…obviously not possible now. Well, I guess we could go to South America but…I'm just happy she remembers that conversation at all. I thought about it for weeks afterwards. What she meant by it. The implication that she would be with me if I traveled. That she'd be the one to take me.  You know, I could get her a rare manuscript for her next birthday—I could walk into any museum in this country and walk right out with one, just like I did with that painting in Santa Fe.  "Her next birthday”…guess I am thinking that we'll still be, well, that we'll still be alive and that we'll still be together a year from now. But I really don't know that for certain, do I? Anyway, should we keep going North or…do you want to give us a little direction here? Literal direction, in this case.  [click, static] [beeps] .-- . ... - West

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] You do know that you're going to have to give me a little more than “West” right? I mean…we'll do it, we'll start going West now, but there's still a lot of West left, so I need you to narrow it down.  She keeps calling me Whiskey. Harry, I mean. And she seems to really not mind—she seems to even like that I call her Harry but I never expected her to even call me Abi with any regularity but… She said that she started to think of that name when she thought of me because listening to all my transmissions made her feel like she was finally meeting the real thing. The real me. I said that I'd never tried to hide from her before, that other than certain…feelings, I've always been exactly who I am. She—well, she skated right over the feelings bit, which I'm honestly grateful for—and said that it's different, to hear someone talk when they think no one is listening. That she started to understand more about the way that I think, the way I feel things. And she's started to think of that person, the real me, as Whiskey.  I think it's a little more than that to be honest. I think…I think Abi—Abigail is the person that she betrayed. The person she lied to, that she hurt, whereas Whiskey is someone who spends a lot of time talking about her, but maybe isn't carrying as much anger around as Abi was in those last few months we were together.  I sometimes wonder if she would want to go back to being strangers if we could. I sometimes wonder if I would want that. If I'd been alone when I got here—pretending, for sake of argument, that I ended up in this little wasteland of a world through some other means. What if I'd been alone and I went on my road trip and Harry was the person I found. In that context, what would we have been to each other now? It doesn't matter in any case—life doesn't work like that. I can't forget everything I know about her and everything she's done to me even if I tried. Even if I could…that's the easy way out, isn't it? And nothing with Harry has ever been easy.  [click, static] [beeps] Harry's letter

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] Harry's letter…what about Harry's letter? Are you asking if we've talked about it? Or…what?  As it so happens, we haven't talked about it. It's not really relevant anymore, is it? She doesn't need to know that I was worried sick that she'd been killed and I don't need to bring up the fact that she secretly likes Hank Williams. She hasn't mentioned my Rothko lie so…we're even.  It's not like the letter was really all that revealing anyway. It was mostly…logistical. And yeah, it was clever of her to sew it into the jacket, but honestly, I'm kind of pissed that she wore the jacket to butcher chickens. And butcher them badly. God forbid she gets any of her clothes dirty.  I still have it. Not that it's very wearable anymore but. I don't know. I had to abandon the house I've lived in for six years and the car that took me back and forth across the country, so I don't have a lot of things worth sentimental value.  If we were going to talk about any kind of correspondence…well, you think she'd have some specific things to say about what I've said on here over the last year. Both the good and the bad. And the…vulnerable.  Anyway, I don't understand why you're asking about Harry's letter. Is there some kind of…information she shared that you think would be useful? I don't think it's very smart of us to revisit any of the old potential meetup spots and you're sending us West anyway so…again, a little more clarity please.  [click, static] [beeps] .-.. . - - . .-. / -.. .- - . ..--.. Letter date?

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] “Letter date?” - that was your last message. As in…the date on the letter? It's April 6th, 1975. What's important about that? Four, six, one, nine, seven, five. Our first thought was coordinates, of course, and it's the right amount of numbers to be a latitude, but seventy-five isn't a valid number for the seconds. So maybe it's just the degrees and minutes and you'll send the seconds through later? Or it could just be the degrees and you want us to leave out the year entirely. If it is a latitude, we're not that far from it. We would just need the longitude, obviously. We're getting somewhere, I think, so let me know if this is entirely the wrong track. Otherwise, we'll keep working away at it.  [click, static] [beeps] Don't say aloud

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] Can you hear that Birdie? [the distant sound of fireworks] Fireworks. They started about ten minutes ago and we've—well, we've even been able to see a few, just the ghost of them really. We couldn't figure out why the hell fireworks of all things would be bleeding through and then we realized that it's the fourth of July. Not only that but, as Harry pointed out, the bicentennial is next year. She figures people are probably kicking off a whole year of celebration today.  One hundred and ninety nine years. That's how long America has been a country. I can't tell if that's a long time or a short time. Two hundred doesn't sound very long as the lifespan of a nation, but then when you think about everything America has done in that time…both the good and the bad… I mean, it's mostly bad, isn't it? I'm certainly not a poster child for the establishment, but I think we can all agree that America really made quite the impression in the last two centuries, including killing a lot of people. Which…I guess that's another case of throwing stones from a glass house.  But also…my grandparents came here from Scotland, Harry's came from Poland—everyone we know came from somewhere else. Living in New York was the best of this—all the different people you could meet, the different food you could eat, the languages you'd hear on the subway.  The last time I saw fourth of July fireworks with Harry was…sixty five or six, I think. The whole crew went out to Jones Beach with a case of beer and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that Pete had thrown together for us. We'd just finished fencing the last item from a job a few months earlier and I think we were all feeling that sense of camaraderie particularly strongly. And I remember Pete saying “what a country we live in. A true haven for the crooked and criminal” and we all toasted to that. He was right. From the…Boston Tea Party to the wild west to us, what is America's legacy but one of outlawry? Including fireworks! Maybe not in every state, but there's something fitting about celebrating the country's birthday by enjoying an illegal activity.  All those memories now…thinking about Pete hadn't really hurt like this even after Harry first told me but knowing the details now, being unable to create a more forgiving narrative in my head… It just hurts to think about, that's all. I—I loved him, in my own way and I thought he—and I like to think that Harry was paranoid, that there's something about his old partner that we don't know that made Pete do what he did and that he'd never have hurt me but he— I think it's just the realization that I didn't really know him at all. And I knew that—I knew that he was a mystery to me, to everyone, but I thought I knew the way I didn't know him, if that makes sense. I thought I knew the important things. I—  [click, static] Harry's calling me over—apparently she found a new part of the sky that's got some visible fireworks.  I hope you're seeing the sky light up wherever you are, Birdie.  [click, static] [beeps] -.-- --- ..- / .... .- ...- . / --. ..- -. / - --- --- .-.-.- / .-. . -.-. . .. ...- . -.. .-.-.- You have gun too. Received.

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] Sorry it's been a few days, Birdie—we spent a little time sightseeing. Now that Harry is out and about, she seems very keen on seeing whatever she can. I won't tell you exactly what we saw, but it was a national park and it was breathtaking.  Speaking of not saying things…you told me not to say things aloud—I'm assuming things in response to your messages—and then you said, very worryingly “You have gun too. Received.” I'd been hoping that was some kind of error on your part, but even as an error it doesn't make any sense. I received that message from Fox, but just like I told Fox, I don't have a gun anymore, considering I had to abandon my car and everything in it. And, for what it's worth, I haven't picked another one up. Harry wants us too—lord knows we've passed enough places that stock them—but I don't see the point, not when I'm still no good at hunting. I definitely don't have any plans to use it on anything but a wild animal. And I'm sure as shit not teaching Harry how to shoot and if there's one thing stupider than having a gun in the first place, it's having a gun around someone who doesn't know how to use one.  So what exactly are you trying to tell me? You gave me numbers, numbers that I'm fairly certain are the first part of coordinates, but I'm going to need a lot more than that. I— [a knock on the door] Hold on, I think that's Harry.  [click, static for a while] [click] Alright, sorry about that but, uh, well, I think we've figured it out? Or Harry figured it out. You were trying to tell me the date that that message was received. Same thing as with the letter date. You're giving me more numbers. Is that…is that right? If this is all going to be dates, than I'm going to assume the year isn't part of it. It'd be strange to have one-nine-seven-five or seven-four in multiple different places in coordinates. When I do have all the numbers, I guess I'll figure out the hours, minutes, and seconds. I'm at least assuming you're giving it to me in order, and I think it's safe to say that we're looking at the general northwest quadrant of the country. But correct me on any of that if I'm wrong.  Thankfully, I know the date for this one too, given I write down every morse code message I get. And don't worry, I won't say it on here, but I I'm fairly certain I'm right. I guess you'll just have to trust me.  [click, static] [beeps] .--. .. -.-. -.- . -.. / -.-. .. - .-. ..- ... / ..-. .-. ..- .. - Picked citrus fruit

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] “Picked citrus fruit”. That's the next date. And my god, it feels like that was a million years ago, a different lifetime.  Oh damn, I just realized…when I ditched the old car, I left Dean Martin's suit in there. I'd also picked up a dress for Harry that I thought she'd look amazing—that I thought she'd like, um, not that I'm going to tell her that. But I am bummed about Dean's suit. I liked that suit.  Anyway, even though I remember the weeks I was in LA, I definitely didn't remember the exact date I went around snatching everyone's lemons and oranges. I was starting to worry that I wouldn't be able to figure out what the next set of numbers are but then…well, I don't know if you somehow knew this or you were just counting on me being a better diary-keeper than I am, but Harry's attention to detail has saved the day.  She's…well, she's kept a notebook of every single transmission I ever made. Or, at least, every transmission that she heard. It's not like she transcribed everything I said, but she…she wrote the date, and where she thinks I was and little bits of what I talked about. If I mentioned her. She wouldn't let me see the whole notebook, but I saw enough to know that.  It's…well, I'm grateful, I guess, that she did that, because it's helping us now, but it's galling to have your innermost thoughts laid out and catalogued in that way. And I know, I know, they weren't my innermost thoughts, not when I was getting on here and talking about them to anyone who would listen. But I said…a lot over this past year. And I don't know if Harry wrote down any of what she thought and felt about what I had to say but… It's useful, that's the point. It's good she did it, because I sure as hell don't remember when I said or did most things, but also the fact that she did it at all is messing with my head a little bit. All those years of living together and feeling like she wasn't really listening half the time and now this.  I have to wonder if Fox has done the same thing. Written down every transmission I made and what I said. You must have, in order to give me a code in this way.                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Harry's started to get worried that you're leading us to Junior. That we are going to have to kill him. I told her there'd be no point to sending us on this weird memory lane wild goose chase if it was just going to end in the same confrontation but… I think there's still a part of her that's hoping we'll encounter him, honestly. I think she's willing to do what I'm not. Well, I think she's willing in theory. I think, if it came down to it, she wouldn't be able to. It's not…it's not as easy as I think she thinks it is. Even as a matter of survival. Even if you know that person is fated to die.  Because that's the thing…he's not fated to die. Not here. And I don't know what kind of life he could have, but he does have a life here. And he should get to live it if he wants to, regardless of what happens to him in any other timeline, or whatever is ordained from on high.  If you are leading us to Junior, I can't imagine what your goal would be. You said interfering in the past had destroyed things so what are you hoping to accomplish now? [click, static] [contrasting beeps of different pitches] Utah postcard. Keep you safe  You're too late

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, Utah postcard. I wish I still had it, so I could be certain, because I did date all of them, but I just have to hope that Harry's notes are accurate.  She wishes I still had it too. She said she really hoped that she'd get to read all the postcards someday and…well, maybe she still can. Maybe someday we will go back to the house and gather them up, along with all her art and the painting I got for her in Santa Fe. If you'd told me six months ago that I'd happily hand over each and every one of those postcards to her, I'm not sure I'd believe you. But what else could she possibly learn about me, what could I possibly say to her that would be more vulnerable than everything that's already happened. She's cracked open my rib cage and looked inside and somehow I'm still standing, so…  She's started to let me read her notebook. She says it's only fair. That she has this enormous advantage having listened to me talk to the air all this time. That she always had the advantage, knowing the score when I didn't.  I thought it would be helpful to hear that. To hear her admit that she's always had the power out of the two of us. That letting her guilt and secrecy dictate our lives meant that she was always the one who had her finger on the button of our potential happiness. But it didn't. Knowing that she thinks of herself as a coward, that she regrets what she put me through, it doesn't actually change the fact that she put me through it. It just…makes me sad. For me, for her, for us. But I do—I do appreciate the gesture of giving me her notebook. I never would've expected that from her.  Fox said…they said it was too late. I don't know what that means. I don't know if it's too late for us to disappear, too late for us to come and meet you, too late for us to fix anything but… I'm choosing to ignore it for now. As long as you're still sending us codes, I don't need to listen to Fox. That's a problem for future Whiskey.  And you said—you also said “keep you safe”. That's what you're trying to accomplish here? Keeping us safe? From Fox? From Junior? If that's the case, I guess I should say thank you. Though don't hold it against me if I wait to see where this all leads before I give my full gratitude.  [click, static] [beeps] ..-. .. -. .- .-.. .-.-.- / .-- .... --- / .- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / - .- .-.. -.- .. -. --. / - --- / .. -. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / -.. .-. . .- -- ... ..--.. Final. Who are you talking to in your dreams?

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

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] 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.

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.

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] 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]

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 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]

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] 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]

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]

atypicalartists.co/breakerwhiskey  

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. ------ [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]

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. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] Hello Whiskey. Ohh, that feels weird. Like… sending a message to your best friend but… also to a celebrity that has no idea you exist. I must sound a little crazy. And maybe I am. You'd probably go a little crazy down here, too.  Anyway, I don't think I've actually gone crazy, pretty sure I read somewhere that if you're still able to think about whether or not you are, then you aren't. I think therefore I am not crazy? I don't know. I don't think any of my transmissions are getting through, anyway. Or maybe they are and you're just… ignoring them. That… that hurts more, I think. Knowing that someone else is out there and they don't want to talk to you. Or maybe they're getting trapped somewhere between here and the surface. I don't think it's because they sound crazy or anything – I listened back to them to be sure. That was weird, hearing my own voice. The sound was… foreign. A stranger.  I know your voice better than my own, now. I could pick it out of thousands of radio signals. Couldn't even recognize my own played back to me. But then it's not like I've had much to say these past… seven years? I think it's been seven. I stopped counting the days a while ago. Just got… depressing. All those… plain white concrete walls covered in tally marks. (Cheering) But now my walls look beautiful. I've been transcribing everything you've said – I have tapes of every broadcast, and I've written down every word. Pasted them up on my walls. And I haven't used my paints in years – even… even before all of this, but… they needed a little colour.  I started by making my own notes in red, and then your locations in green, for the landscape, and Birdie's messages in blue. Like a bluebird. And all the people you talked about - Don's rust, Richie's yellow, Pete's green – not like the landscape, but like… money. Like the colour that I remember money being, at least. And Harry was… well. I had decided her colour back when I thought she had hurt you – and she had, of course, but I mean… back when I thought she did it for the sake of it.  So I gave her this… yellow-orange colour. And knowing what I know now, I feel… a little bad about that. I wish I'd given her a prettier one. But maybe she would like it. It's not terrible. Sort of a… sunny orange. Like the colour that I remember the sun being, at least. Anyway, every… every rainbow needs some sun, right? And their names… they make a rainbow. (Tearing up) You brought that rainbow back into my life, Whiskey. Seven years of white walls, and now there's colour. Seven years of silence, and you bring back sound. Seven years of isolation and desolation and hopelessness… and you bring back… me. You mentioned liking Rothko, back on… (checks) transmission 179. I mean, I'm no Rothko, obviously, but… I suppose he won't mind if I take a little inspiration from him So Whiskey… you can call me ‘Red'.  

A response to Red. 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. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] Well, hi there, Red. It's good to hear from you. It's strange to hear from you, to talk to you, to talk to anybody, which I know you understand. I haven't been ignoring your transmissions if you really have been sending them for this long. I—I just really haven't heard anything until now.  And it's..hard to think about. You know, when when we first got here and I switched on the radio and turned it to the channel that Birdie told me to, it was such a gift, hearing all those voices. But it was also hard. To think that so many people have been calling out and I just hadn't…  [static] It's something I've struggled with. I did…I needed time to breathe and to figure out what to do next, to figure out things with Harry. And, well, I'm not necessarily any closer on any of those things, but it's been good, I think, to step back a little bit. But I did feel bad. You know, I felt bad leaving people behind just when I finally found them. But then I thought, well, who do I respond to? How do I respond? How do I know that in all of the frequencies and all of the transmissions coming from all these different timelines, how can I make sure I hear from the people that I want to hear from? The next transmission you send, Red, if you send another one, how am I going to be sure that I can can hear it and document it? We've got the radio running all day, every day and are absolutely burning through tape recording it when one of us isn't there. I know we're going to run out at some point and… Harry says I'm not responsible for the world, but hearing you talk what you've been through the last seven years…the loneliness. Missing the sun. I'm glad that I was able to bring some color, some light back into your life, but I just can't help thinking, where are you? Are you here? Are you somewhere else? Are you somewhere that I can get to? Birdie said that things shifted again and I still don't know how. Still haven't seen any sign of what's different. But to think that you and I could merge our disparate timelines. Our isolated little personal purgatories could somehow join up down the line, I don't know. I don't know how we would know or how we would find one another.  I guess if there's anything that you can tell me specifically about the world that you're in now…maybe that'll help narrow things down a little. I don't know.  [static] But I'm glad I finally heard you. And I hope you hear this. I hope you know that I wasn't ignoring you. I've been listening. I've been trying to listen for so long. Also you should know that I got a real crack out of you assigning colors to everybody. It sounds like you nailed them, too. I mean, Pete being money green is… [static] And I did get a good chuckle out of you picking a color that you didn't like very much for Harry. I mean, that's probably what I would have done too. But if it makes you feel any better about things, I think she liked the idea of a yellow-orange. You know, because she's a painter too she thinks about colors differently. There is no ugly color to her. It's all possibility.  Anyway, Red, I hope…I hope your loneliness abates a little bit in the way that mine has. Being with Harry hasn't felt that void. Not entirely. I don't know that anything can or will unless we can find our way back, but it has helped. Being honest with her has helped. So I hope wherever you are that you're safe and that I can add more colors to your palette in the future.  Whiskey out. [static]

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. --- [TRANSCRIPT] Hey Whiskey Call me Passerine. Figured I'd keep with the bird theme that's going on around here. I've been seeing these messages coming through for a while now, but only recently did I take the time to actually sit down and hear. And, wow. What a year you have had. From visiting all of these beautiful places, to the danger of being chased, and all the heartache that Harry has brought you, I'm so glad you chose to call out to us. Some days I wish I had the bravery to do that, to call out to the world and let them know what the inside of my heart looks like. Or, well, to just go up to the people around me and just let them see the outside. I feel like even in a timeline where I'm surrounded with people, the loneliness still gets to me. I don't think you understand just how brave you are, to fight through that loneliness, to tell the world, and Harry, what it is that you feel. I think sometimes true loneliness is being unknown. I don't know how to break out of that. I'm so glad that you aren't alone anymore, even though I know some days you'll probably feel it again. Some days you're going to want to run away into the wilderness, and wrap yourself in the comfort of darkness, and just stay where no one can see or hear you. But I think this past year has shown that you're strong enough to fight that urge. And hey, if you're ever feeling that way, like that loneliness is creeping up on you, you know what to do. Turn on that radio, and tell us everything. We'll be here for you. You're never alone. And I think that's what I'm most grateful for. You've reminded me again that I don't have to be alone. Thanks Whiskey. This has been Passerine, over and out.

A response to Passerine. 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. ---- [TRANSCRIPT] Breaker breaker. This is whiskey calling out for Passerine. I think-I hope I'm pronouncing that correctly. I read your message out the other day. I don't know if you heard it. I recorded it and then set it to repeat, so hopefully you caught it. I just figured I didn't want to respond to your message and have you not hear it. So I hoped that in reading your message out loud, you would know that I was going to respond and stay tuned in. I don't know. I don't know how any of this works. So anyway, hopefully you are listening and hopefully I said that name correctly, Passerine. I don't know that I'm familiar with that particular type of bird, but I like a theme. You're definitely right in that I have had a year. Sometimes if I think about it too much, it doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem like all of those things happened in a 12 month period, especially when compared to the previous six years. I didn't know life could be that full. Maybe full is the wrong word because obviously I was alone for pretty much all of it. But eventful. And different, right? Just different. That's what I wanted and that's what I got and.. I wanted to not feel so alone and...to your point- talking to you helped me with that feeling. So did Donnie of course. I think about him every single day. It was easier- it was easier to miss him. To miss Richie and Pete and Sylvie and Francis and Martha and everyone else...it was easy to miss them when I thought there was nothing I could do, when I thought that the whole world had just gone mad and any help I could have provided, was way too late. So it hurts worse now. The fact that he's gone. Because I was in a position to help him, to protect him. And I...I failed. [static] And you're right, Passerine. Some days I do want to run away?. And wrap myself in that darkness. And today is one of those days I... Harry said something, made some joke and...I don't know. It just set me off, you know? It was like for a second I could hear the echo of what Don would have said had he been there, because even though it wasn't perfect between all of us, we did, you know, we had a rhythm and and Harry would say something and then Richie would say something, and Don would come in with the punch line, or Harry and Richie would be arguing and Don would mediate and-- or lean over to me and make a joke, just the two of us. And this was one of those moments where there should have been another beat, right? I said something. Harry said something, and then... And he wasn't there. He just - he just wasn't there. I still heard his voice. Still imagined what he would have said. It's not like that's the first time that's happened, right, in the last seven years. Like, Harry and I have had plenty of times where we feel the specter of the people that we lost around us. But it's worse now. [static] Sorry, I didn't mean to make a response to your message about this. I just, I wanted to follow your advice. You know, in feeling that feeling of wanting to run into the darkness, turning here instead to talk to you. I wanted to. I wanted to do that. [static] And I'm glad I could be a reminder for you. I don't know why you feel lonely or if you are literally alone. You didn't tell me much about you, but I'm glad if I eased some of that feeling a little bit. It's weird to think about. It's strange to think about being a part of people's lives when I don't know those people, you know? I mean, that's part of life no matter what, right? he person behind you in line gives you that last quarter that you need to buy coffee and they make your day okay. And you think about them and remember their face and they don't really think about you, right? They did a nice thing and it didn't really cost them much, but it made an impact on you. Things like that happen all the time, happen every day in a place like New York City, where most of the people you're interacting with on any given day are complete strangers that you'll probably never see again. So it's not like I haven't always been a supporting character in people's stories and vice versa. But well, you know, there's the whole being a part of people's lives when those people's lives are occurring in different timelines thing which is still hard to wrap my mind around, but I can't think about too long or my head because I'll wobbly. But, even beyond that, I don't- I don't know what your face looks like. I don't even know your real name. And granted, you don't know my real name, not my full name. But you know my voice. You know things about my life, about my mind, about my heart. And the most wild thing is that all of that means something to you. It means something to you that I have feelings and that I've shared what's happened to me and that I continue to share what's happening to me now and that... Sometimes I think, why does anyone care? But then I think, gosh, I mean, if I had someone to listen to on the radio who knew things that I didn't and had lived life that I hadn't lived, I'd wanna listen to them too, just for some entertainment. At this point, I'm pretty sure I know everything about Harry that I ever will know. Well, that's not true. But, you know, seven years of someone...You kinda hear all their stories at least once. Anyway. I feel like I'm repeating my stories and my thoughts. But, it still just blows me away. That people care. That people think I'm brave. You're right. The true loneliness is being unknown. And I hope you do break out of that. I really do, because. It is such a cage, isn't it? To feel like no one knows you. And sometimes I wonder with Harry if I'm opening that door and walking into that cage myself over and over again. Because she knows me. Of course she knows me. But even now, even now that she knows the truth of my feelings, sometimes I get afraid of her seeing me. Of her knowing me in my heart of hearts. And I want to hide. I want to run away and...who does that serve? So this is my promise to you, Passerine. I will keep calling out. I will not run into the darkness. And I will try to let myself be known. I hope the same for you. Whiskey out.

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. -- [TRANSCRIPT] Whiskey. I think if I found out someone had been reading my diary like we've been listening to yours, I'd be terrified. I'd close my eyes and cover my ears and run away to never appear ever again. But I can't think of it like that- intruding. I mean, I can. I'm like 90% sure if your timeline wasn't out to get you, leave you only surviving, you wouldn't share this. Those kinds of things change what's acceptable and what's not.  That was an awful start. Sorry. Everyone is just used to how I blabber and blabber that I forget to control it sometimes. So. Hello, Whiskey. This timeline of mine comes with...friends in it. It's not a Harry situation, really. But these aren't the people I would choose for an apocalypse. I wouldn't even choose people at all. I would choose my cats, Mimzy and JubJub. I was young and we had just read Jabberwocky for the poetry unit in class, and suddenly there were cats for me to name that day when I got home. And, anyways, Mimsy and JubJub have stupid names, but they're who I would choose.  And books. I would choose books. I had so many on my shelves that I was planning to read. There's no going back, though. I mean, the only reason I have my cats is because they needed a checkup. Did not happen by the by. That day, it went so weird so fast. It's weird here because nobody knows about me. I got a restart I never wanted, and I can't tell anybody anything. And I miss Arthur and...oh, geez.  So I'm not alone. We all have to move sometimes. And it feels like a field trip. It's really different from what you experienced. Humbling. Honestly, I kind of feel like a child whenever I complain now. I'm glad you haven't given up, though. I would. Even in this one, I almost did. I... I talked too long. I'm sorry. You don't know, but you mean a lot to me. Because I've been intrusively reading your diary, I suppose, but thank you, Whiskey. I want to hear your voice again soon. I've gotten pretty used to it.  You can call me Herm. It's something that...It's familiar. If you hear this Whiskey, or anyone else, I suppose. Callooh Callay. And I'm truly hoping that in front of us will be another good day. Herm out.

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. -- [TRANSCRIPT] Breaker, breaker, this is Whiskey calling out for Herm. Hi, Herm. It's good to meet you. Good to hear from you. Good to hear from anyone, really. We've left the place that we were--coming down the mountain--and we've been moving around a little. So I haven't been on the radio as much as I would like. I'm also a little unsure how far my radio is reaching. I had the benefit of all of Birdie's equipment up on the mountain. And now, I mean, I think I think I was able to jerry rig something that will work pretty much like Birdie's set up worked, but I don't actually know for certain.  I'm hoping...I'm hoping we can go back in the spring, but it was just...it would have been dangerous, foolish to stay up there throughout the winter. I mean, it was freezing by the time we left. But anyway, Herm, your timeline. Sounds interesting, this fresh start that you're describing, the fact that you're with people but they don't know who you are. They don't know that you've flipped into a different version of the world. Color me intrigued.  Is this how all of you have felt whenever I've alluded to something without actually giving much information about it? It's interesting and also frustrating to have just some of the information. I think--I think you're probably right. That I wouldn't have shared the information that I shared if I weren't in the circumstance that I'm in. But I don't regret it. Not just because it allowed me to say a bunch of stuff to Harry that I don't think I would have been able to say to her face and...to maybe say some things to...to Billings' son. If he was listening. If any of that means anything.  It's not just the freedom of getting to speak to people that I know or people that I have something to say to specifically. I don't regret it because there's something freeing about all of it. There's something to be said for having this audio diary of my life of the past year and change of everything that I've been through. And there's something nice about people reaching out their voices to me as if they were already friends. The fact that I can mean anything to anybody, any stranger is...I mean...humbling. Just like you're experiencing. And it's surreal, but it makes it easier. It makes living in this big, empty world easier.  Hearing from...from all of you. Some of you are like me. You're alone where you are. But a lot of you-- you're in the timelines that I guess are a bit closer to the one that you left. And I wonder if there are other people out there who don't even realize that they've slipped into a different timeline? I don't know which would be worse, right? I don't know if those people feel that something is off, that something isn't quite right. If it's like the feeling of worrying that you left your stove on, but not being able to go back and check. I don't know if I could live with that feeling every day in my life. Is it better to live in a world where I so obviously don't belong? Because. At least I know it.  It must be lonely being the only person who knows that you're in a different place. I mean, that's what I'm assuming, based on what you said, but. Yeah. It must be lonely, especially if you have friends, but they're not the ones that you chose.  I like your cats' names. Mimzi and JubJub are very good names for cats. I never read the Jabberwocky, but that's an Alice in Wonderland thing, right? Lewis Carroll. I think Harry would understand you, though, wanting to have your books. But it's funny. I never really gave much thought these last seven years about who I wish I'd been stuck with. I guess because as much as it was agony so much of the time, I was with the person that I would have chosen.  I don't...I haven't told her that. You know? I mean, things have been things have been good and getting better all the time, but. There's still that sense that while we're the only two people on Earth, I mean, not actually, but in every way that counts, we're the only two people on earth. So. It's good that we can tolerate each other. It's good that we can express these emotions that we have for each other now, but...I don't know if acknowledging that and being what we are now, I don't I don't know if that counts as telling her that I would have chosen her anyway. That even if we were back in Manhattan, in the life we used to live, I still would have chosen her.  I think she knows. She's stopped listening to my transmissions, mostly because she's, you know, near me when I make them. And we only have so many radios traveling with us. It was different back on the mountain, but I should probably tell her, right? It's nice to get to say these things first to you. To have you know me in this way, even though I barely know you. I still-- I like having these things just be mine. Just be ours.  So, thank you, Herm. For saying that I mean a lot to you. And you haven't been intrusive. I have been putting my diary out for the whole world to hear. So, you know, don't worry about it. You're not violating any kind of privacy line. And I'm not sure that there's a point in comparing the experiences. You're allowed to complain however much you want to complain, and if it makes you feel like a child, then I say embrace that. I haven't felt like a child in so long. And. I don't know. Maybe...maybe that'll be a goal of mine. To feel more like a child. All right, Herm. Um. Thanks for...thanks for reaching out. For letting me matter to yo. And you mentioned missing someone. I think Arthur maybe was the name, and I just-- I hope you find them. Whiskey out.  

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. -- [TRANSCRIPT] Another message from another person out there in the black. You said: I thought it was so sad that you only saw one dog on you journey. What good is a world without dogs? Then last weekend I was shocked and heartbroken by being attacked by a large dog that the owner had said was friendly and loved everyone (owner is shocked and heartbroken,  too). So now I'm on a journey to heal, trust, and learn more about that which I thought I loved...just like Whiskey. It'll be a somewhat lonely journey, like hers, and filled with ALL of the emotions. I'm hoping it ends with belly rubs, chewed furniture legs, piddle accidents, full vacuum tanks, five am wake-ups,  and an unshakable bond. Wish me luck.

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. -- [TRANSCRIPT] Breaker, breaker. This is Whiskey calling out to our dog attack victim.  Um, I hope you're okay. I'm sorry that happened. I'm glad that you're already on the journey to heal. And I do wish you a lot of luck. I want to say, I think it's amazing that that was your reaction. To want to turn around and pet the head the bit you. I 've always loved dogs, but at the end of the day, they are just animals that live in our homes. And you're right, what good is a world without them? But...sure, we domesticated dogs over millennia, but they still have sharp teeth. They still have an instinct that I'm not sure it can be entirely bred out. And I'm sorry that you were a victim of that.  I would love a dog to curl up with. To take care of. And to understand myself a little bit more, because sometimes I feel a little bit like that. Like there's something in me that can't be bred out, can't be trained out. That when cornered, I'm just a thing with sharp teeth.  [click, static] Harry would be the first to tell you that I bite. She's not talking to me at the moment, and for good reason. Um...that snarling, rabid snap of teeth that has always perched just beneath my soft palate came out the other day, and...well, she was in range.  [click, static] It was after...well, I was having another one of those dark days. Thinking about Don, just swallowed in grief and guilt. And she wasn't- she wasn't being a pill about it or anything, but she wasn't exactly being comforting and...not that I expect that from her. She's never been great at that. But I think I just needed her to mostly leave me alone if she wasn't going to be comforting. And she wouldn't. And I snapped.  I just...I told her it was her fault. It was her fault that I left and found him in the first place. It was her fault that I wasn't there when it happened. And it was her fault that we're in this situation to begin with. Even though I know- I know that it's technically literally the fault of my actions. But still she set us on the path. And that's-  [click, static] I'm worried that we're never going to stop having this argument. And that's...you know, in the very foundation of our relationship is having the same argument over and over again, but we've gotten better at it. You know, we've gotten better at fighting with each other. We can hurt more precisely now. Cut deeper with fewer slashes and it's...I wasn't nice about it and she's right to not be talking to me because she lost him, too and we both took actions to protect one another that led us to where we are now, so there's no point in placing blame for Don's death at anyone else's feet other than Junior's.  It's his fault. He's the one who did it. But we can't confront him. We can't jail him. We certainly can't kill him. And so we're left with only each other to sling arrows at.  [click, static] And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of. Lashing out when I feel cornered. I'm tired of caring about the blame. I'm tired of wanting to try and fix what can't be fixed. But I don't know how to stop any of it. I don't know how to train myself out of those animalistic impulses to tear out someone's throat. And part of me wonders if I did it, if I succeeded and was able to change that part of me so fundamentally, would there be enough of me in what was left? Is a dog still a dog if you remove all of its teeth?