Chapter 16: The Jane Dilemma
Jesse's apartment had been transformed. Gone were the empty pizza boxes and drug paraphernalia, replaced by throw pillows and potted plants that spoke of a woman's influence. The walls, once covered in crude graffiti and amateur art, now displayed actual paintings—watercolors that captured light in ways that made the dingy space feel almost beautiful.
Jane Margolis answered the door, and Jesse's face lit up like a child seeing Christmas morning. She was exactly as Elijah remembered from the show—dark hair, sharp eyes, the kind of understated beauty that didn't need makeup or designer clothes to command attention.
But her pupils were pinpricks in the afternoon light, and her smile was just a little too wide.
"Marcus, right?" Jane extended her hand. "Jesse talks about you constantly. His mysterious business partner who keeps him out of trouble."
Elijah shook her hand, using the contact to activate his most expensive power.
Leverage Finder scanning Jane Margolis...
Subject is recreational heroin user, relapsed three days ago. Currently concealing drug use from partner Jesse Pinkman. Has history of overdose, recovery, relapse cycle. Planning to manipulate relationship for drug access and financial support.
Tier 2 secret. Cost: $3,400.
His hand remained steady as the devastating knowledge burned itself into his consciousness. Jane was using again. Jesse didn't know. And this was the beginning of the spiral that would end with her choking on her own vomit while Walter White watched.
"Nice to finally meet you," Elijah managed, his voice betraying nothing.
Jesse bounced on his heels, practically vibrating with nervous energy. "Yo, check this out—Jane's been teaching me about art. Real art, not just tagging buildings."
He led them to an easel by the window where a half-finished canvas showed the Sandia Mountains at sunset. The technique was rough but passionate, colors bleeding into each other with emotional honesty rather than technical precision.
"This is beautiful," Elijah said, and meant it. Jesse's face flushed with pride.
Jane moved closer to Jesse, her hand finding his arm. "He's got natural talent. Just needed someone to show him how to channel it."
But as she spoke, her free hand trembled slightly—withdrawl beginning to assert itself. Elijah caught the motion, filed it away with all the other evidence of approaching disaster.
"How long have you two been together?" he asked.
"Three weeks," Jesse answered quickly. "But it feels longer, you know? Like we've been waiting for each other."
Jane smiled at this, but something flickered behind her eyes—guilt, maybe, or the calculating look of someone who'd learned to weaponize affection. "Jesse makes me want to be better," she said. "Clean."
The lie tasted like copper pennies in Elijah's mouth. She was already planning their next high, already calculating how to convince Jesse to join her. The heroin had its hooks in her again, and she was about to drag down the first decent thing that had happened to Jesse in months.
After Marcus left, Jane suggested they celebrate their relationship properly. Jesse hesitated—he'd been clean for six weeks, the longest stretch since he'd started using. But Jane's hand was soft on his neck, her whisper warm against his ear.
"Just once. To mark the occasion. We'll be careful."
And Jesse, who'd learned to associate love with destruction, nodded and watched her produce the small bag from her purse with practiced efficiency.
Two days later, Elijah used his Probability Assessment to calculate the mathematical inevitability of tragedy.
What is the probability of Jane Margolis overdosing within two months?
91% probability.
Cost: $8,000.
The number hit him like a physical blow. Ninety-one percent. Statistically certain. Jane was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
He tried anyway.
Elijah found Jesse at a coffee shop near the University of New Mexico, sketching in a notebook while nursing a cup that had gone cold hours ago. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils dilated—he was using again.
"You look tired," Elijah observed, sliding into the opposite chair.
"Jane and I were up late. Talking. About art and stuff."
"Jesse." Elijah pulled out a piece of paper and wrote quickly: Jane is using again. Check her arms.
Jesse read the note, his face cycling through confusion, anger, and finally rage. "What the hell, man? You've met her once. Who do you think you are?"
He crumpled the paper and threw it at Elijah's chest. "Jane makes me happy. For the first time in forever, I'm happy. And you want to destroy that?"
"I'm trying to—"
"You're trying to control me like Mr. White does. Like everyone does." Jesse's voice cracked. "I thought you were different, Marcus. I thought you actually gave a shit."
He stormed out, leaving Elijah alone with his untouched coffee and the bitter knowledge that truth was worthless when delivered by the wrong messenger.
Desperation drove Elijah to Jane's apartment building. He waited in the parking lot until she emerged, approaching her with the careful movements of someone defusing a bomb.
"Jane? I'm Marcus. Jesse's friend. Can we talk?"
She studied him with sharp eyes, instantly wary. "What about?"
"I want to make you an offer. One hundred thousand dollars to leave Albuquerque. Take Jesse with you. Get clean. Start over somewhere else—New Zealand, maybe. I'll cover rehab, living expenses, everything."
Jane's face went through a dozen expressions before settling on cold suspicion. "Why would you do that?"
Elijah's speech curse stirred, preventing him from saying anything close to the truth. "I care about Jesse. I think you two could have a good life together, but not here. Not in this environment."
"You're trying to control Jesse like Walter does."
"No, I'm trying to save—"
"Save him from me?" Jane's voice turned sharp as broken glass. "You think I'm the problem? You're all the problem. You and Walter and everyone else who treats Jesse like a commodity instead of a person."
She stepped closer, fury radiating from her small frame. "I know what you really are, Marcus. You're a user. Just like Walter. You see Jesse as a tool, and you want me gone because I'm interfering with your business."
"That's not—"
"Fuck off. And if you come near me again, I'll call the police."
She slammed the apartment door, leaving Elijah standing in the hallway with his useless money and equally useless foresight.
That night, Elijah sat in his motel room staring at his laptop screen. Bank balance: negative $11,400. The Probability Assessment about Jane had pushed him deeper into debt, and his attempt to save her had accomplished nothing except burning bridges with both Jesse and Jane.
He activated his final calculation of the day, spending money he couldn't afford on information that would only confirm his helplessness.
Can I prevent Jane Margolis's death?
4% probability of success.
Cost: $8,000.
Four percent. Even with supernatural powers and meta-knowledge, he was statistically powerless to change the outcome. The Entity's game had made him Cassandra—cursed to see tragedy and be disbelieved by everyone who mattered.
His phone buzzed with a text from Walter: New cook tomorrow. Big order from Gus. Are you ready?
Elijah didn't respond. He sat in the dark, head in his hands, feeling the weight of inevitable futures pressing down on his shoulders. Jane would die because he was a stranger with no credibility. Jesse would be destroyed because warnings delivered without context were indistinguishable from manipulation.
For the first time since transmigration, Elijah wondered if the Curator had sent him here not to change events, but to experience the helplessness of omniscience without agency. To learn that knowledge without power was its own special kind of hell.
Outside his window, Albuquerque sprawled under a canopy of stars, indifferent to the small tragedies playing out in its streets. Jane was probably shooting up again, Jesse beside her, both of them chasing chemical happiness toward a cliff they couldn't see.
And Elijah could only watch, calculate probabilities, and count the cost of caring about people he was powerless to save.
The Entity's game continued, cruel and precise, transforming him into the perfect observer of preventable disasters.
"Perhaps this is the point. To show me that knowledge is meaningless without the ability to act on it. To teach me that some tragedies are inevitable, regardless of how much we know about their approach."
His laptop screen flickered, and for just a moment, he could swear he saw the Curator's smile reflected in the black monitor.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
Can't wait for the next chapter of [Breaking Bad and Dexter: Pay to Survive ]?
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them (20+ chapters ahead!). No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1