Cold Jesse

The Birth Of Eli Driscoll

I DO NOT OWN BREAKING BAD. ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO VINCE GILLIGAN. IVE WANTED TO WRITE A JESSE IN ALASKA STORY FOR A WHILE NOW AND CONSIDERING HOW MY LAST JESSE STORIES WENT BUST, I FEEL LIKE THIS COULD BE A REDEMPTION.

Alaska. 1 hour earlier.

Jesse Pinkman had kept as quiet as humanly possible inside the truck for 3 days straight. After he'd secured the cash, Ed Galbraith had driven him up through the Rocky Mountains, and then up through the Canadian province of Alberta, and then finally into the great state of Alaska. By the time the truck finally stopped, Jesse was eager to get the Hell out. Ed rolled up the lid and got Jesse out of the secret compartment he'd used to get the former meth cook past the Canadian and American borders. As Jesse got out, he was greeted by the sight of clear blue skies and cocaine white snow; exactly as he had always pictured the great white North.

"This is Alaska?" Jesse asked, partly in disbelief.

"This is Alaska." Mr. Galbraith assured him as he motioned to a used blue station wagon on the road. "40 miles in that direction gets you to Haines.

"It's quiet." Jesse remarked, drinking in the beauty of the Alaskan wilderness

"Yeah, figured you could use some of that." Ed said as Jesse began loading all his stuff into Eli Driscoll's new-ish car. Then, it was time for a refresher on the life and times of Mr. Eli Driscoll. Jesse had been given a file that contained Driscoll's birth certificate, Alaskan driver's license, social security number and all the information about a life that had never actually been. "All right: Date of birth?"

"06/10/84." Jesse answered.

"Mother's maiden name?"

"Stackhouse."

"Where was she born?"

"Kadena Air Force Base, Okinawa, Japan."

"Father's date of birth?"

"02/07/51."

"Your father's second to the last job?"

"Claims adjuster, Dairyland Insurance, Appleton, Wisconsin."

"What's your social security number?"

"141-18-6941."

"Backward?"

"1496-81-141."

"All right, daylight's burning, you know where you're going; a nything else?" Ed asked as Jesse pulled out a letter to Brock Castillo. It wasn't the explanation that the boy deserved for Jesse having cost him his mother, but it was better than nothing. Ed read through the letter and then put it back in the green envelope.

" Hold on a sec...seal this up, please?" Ed asked as Jesse licked it shut. " I'm going to Mexico City in about a month, i'll mail it from there. Anyone else you wanna say goodbye to?" Jesse shook his head. He'd already said his goodbyes to everyone else who mattered: Skinny Pete, Badger, his parents. It would have been cool to see Jake one more time, but it was probably just as well that the boy forget about Jesse completely.

"Not many of us get a chance to start fresh." Galbraith commented as he headed back to his truck. " Good luck, Mr. Driscoll."

BB

Haines, Alaska. October 1, 2013.

The wind was cold and the sky was clear as Jesse Bruce Pinkman drove along the Alaskan road. Then he remembered that he wasn't Jesse Bruce Pinkman anymore; he couldn't be, if he wanted to stay free. From the moment he had crossed into the state of Alaska in the back of Ed Galbraith's truck, Jesse Pinkman had ceased to exist. Once he stepped out of that truck, he was Eli Demetri Driscoll: A nobody from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. According to Ed, he'd barely graduated from Spotted Eagle High School and then had enrolled in Madison Area Technical College, only to drop out a week before his first round of midterm
exams. Eli D. Driscoll had then spent his early's 20's doing every sort of low income job he could get his hands on: mowing lawns, shoveling snow, roofing houses, cleaning gutters, working at every fast food joint in town and always getting fired for swiping food when he thought that the coast was clear. Now, Eli was on his way to Alaska for a fresh start on the other side of the country where no one knew what a waste of time and money that he had proven to be. It was a pretty pathetic life that he led, but Mr. Galbraith said that he wasn't shooting for model citizen, Jesse's new identity had to be believable. Jesse couldn't really blame him though; despite how much of a loser Eli Driscoll was, at least he wasn't a fugitive criminal like Jesse Pinkman.

After over an half hour of driving, Jesse finally pulled into the town of Haines. It was a quaint village with several houses and businesses nestled amongst 2 inlets, plenty of forest and right next to Glacier Bay national park. It was going to be a wonderful place for Jesse to live; far away from the ABQ, from the drug trade, and from the Ayran Brotherhood assholes who had enslaved him and murdered Andrea. Haines was like a blank canvas and Jesse had a shit ton of paint and was ready to use it. He had spent the two hundred-forty nine thousand and two hundred dollars on both times that he'd used the services of Ed Galbraith, but the disappearer had agreed to leave him with a small fund of twenty seven thousand dollars. It would be another to rent an apartment and get enough gas, food, and other expenses for about 2 months; by then Eli was expected to have a steady job and be surviving on his own merits.

"All right...my name is Eli Driscoll, it's my first day in Haines, Alaska and I'm ready for my new life without drugs, without murder, without neo nazis, and without that scumbag Mr. White." Jesse said, psyching himself up to start living out his life as normal guy Eli Dirscoll.

"YEAH...BITCH!" He exclaimed as he punched the roof of the car.

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