Chapter 347: Choking
The next day, Walter went to see .
"Mr. White, please stop coming here. I'm not going back."
Pinkman leaned against the doorframe, looking drained and unshaven. He didn't even invite Walter inside.
"Pinkman, I know you may not like what I'm about to say, but I genuinely care about you. You have no idea what you're doing."
"Look at yourself. Ever since you met that girl, you've only gotten worse. She's dragging you down into a dark abyss."
"You're blind to the truth. You're making a mistake. That girl isn't right for you—"
"Sir," the Jane interrupted as she stepped out from the back room, "next time you talk trash about someone's girlfriend, maybe do it behind her back."
"I'm telling the truth," Walter shot back. "I don't need to hide it. Just look at the two of you."
"You really can't leave," Walter pressed on. "If you go, there'll be no one left to help you. No one left to save you."
"We're fine," Pinkman said irritably. "We don't need saving."
"Maybe you should worry about yourself instead," the girl sneered. "A high school chemistry teacher turning into the infamous Heisenberg… I wonder what your DEA brother-in-law would think if he found out."
Walter's eyes widened.
"You—"
"Stop bothering us," she said coldly, then slammed the door shut.
Walter stood there, staring at the closed door. His face shifted between anger and unease. He raised his hand, hesitated for a long moment—
—but didn't knock.
He was genuinely afraid.
If she exposed him, everything he had built would vanish overnight.
Back in his car, Walter gripped the steering wheel tightly.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.
Walter calmed down on the drive home. Arguing like that wouldn't work. He needed a different approach—and he needed to avoid the Jane. No matter what, he had to make Pinkman stay.
"He's definitely going to come looking for you again," the girl said.
"Next time, I won't even open the door," Pinkman replied.
"That'll still be annoying. Why don't we just leave?" she suggested.
"Leave? Go where?" Pinkman didn't follow.
"Leave here. Leave New Mexico. Leave the United States. Tonight. We don't need to take anything—once we have money, we can buy whatever we want."
"But we said we'd leave after we fully quit," Pinkman hesitated.
"We can detox while we travel," she said.
"And the rest of this?" Pinkman glanced at the table.
"Use it all. Throwing it away would be a waste. And if someone else finds it, that's worse. One last time. After this, never again." As she spoke, she swallowed unconsciously.
---
Walter settled things at home and waited until dark before heading out again.
As he drove, he rehearsed what he would say this time—how he would persuade Pinkman.
"Pinkman…" Walter knocked on the door, steadying his breath.
The door creaked open at his touch. It wasn't locked.
Walter stepped inside. The smell in the air made him frown.
"Pinkman?" he called, walking further in.
In the bedroom, he found Pinkman and the Jane lying on the bed.
They were motionless.
Walter called their names several times, but neither responded. No—this wasn't deep sleep. They hadn't come down from the high yet.
Syringes and paraphernalia lay scattered nearby. Walter's brow tightened.
"Bullshit about quitting. Wake up! Wake up!" He grabbed Pinkman and shook him hard.
Pinkman didn't stir.
But the girl suddenly reacted.
"Urgh—cough! Cough—!" She began convulsing violently.
Foam and vomit spilled from her mouth. Her breathing was ragged, desperate.
It was a dangerous situation—like someone who had drunk too much and lost consciousness. Anyone with experience knew the risk: if a person vomits while lying on their back, the vomit can block their airway. They can choke to death on it.
Someone nearby must turn them on their side. Clear the airway.
Right now, she was on her back.
The vomit was pooling in her throat.
Walter rushed around the bed and grabbed her shoulders, about to roll her over—
Then he froze.
His hands stopped mid-motion.
Something flickered across his face.
He slowly let go.
Her body convulsed harder. She writhed like a fish flung onto dry land, thrashing in blind instinct, the bed shaking beneath her. The choking sounds grew wetter, weaker.
Walter stood there, eyes shifting away. His expression twisted—hesitation, calculation, struggle.
Finally, he turned his back.
The sounds behind him grew fainter.
And then—
Stillness.
After a long moment, Walter turned back.
She was no longer moving.
Her body lay limp on the bed. Dead—choked on her own vomit.
"I… I…" Walter stood there for a long time, trembling slightly, one hand covering his mouth.
"Fuck!"
He fled to his car, slamming the door shut, fists clenched.
He sat there for a long time, trying to steady himself.
Regret crept in.
That moment of hesitation—he had thought too much.
Her threats against him. Pinkman wanting to leave because of her. If she were gone… if she weren't in the picture… everything could return to normal.
Everything could be fixed.
That was why he hesitated.
That was why he didn't help.
But it had already happened. Regret was meaningless now. What mattered was what came next.
No one would suspect him.
Anyone could see what this was: an overdose. A tragic accident. She had choked on her own vomit.
Without her, Pinkman wouldn't keep talking about leaving.
And when Pinkman was broken enough—
Walter would be there.
To "help."
To guide him.
To take control.