Chapter 17: Walter White
The air carried faint traces of coffee and medical-grade disinfectant, so quiet that the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock's second hand was audible.
Ethan replayed the plot of American Mary in his mind, trying to determine exactly what stage Mary was currently at in her arc.
In the original film, Mary had dropped out of medical school and descended into the underground body modification world after being brutally assaulted by her professor during what she thought was a mentorship dinner. That horrific event had been erased from this timeline, yet somehow she still couldn't escape her fate entirely?
Just then the clinic phone rang sharply. Ethan pulled himself from his troubled thoughts and picked up the receiver. An unknown New Mexico area code flashed on the caller ID screen.
"Hello, this is Dr. Ethan Rayne."
A low, hoarse voice came through the line, broken intermittently by a wet cough. "Ethan, it's Walter White—your high school chemistry teacher from back in Texas... I'm not sure if you'd remember me."
Ethan froze for a split second, then smiled warmly. "Mr. White? Oh my God, it's been years! Are you still teaching chemistry?"
"Still am, yeah. Ahem..." Another cough rattled through, dry and wheezing. "I remember you absolutely loved chemistry initially, but then you told me it 'causes cancer' and switched your focus to pre-med. How did that work out for you?"
Ethan chuckled and shook his head at the memory. "Ha! You actually remember that. I graduated from medical school and opened my own private practice here in New York."
"That's wonderful, congratulations!" Walter White sounded genuinely pleased. "You're easily two years ahead of your former classmates career-wise."
"Just like I always said, Mr. White," Ethan replied. "Medicine suits me better—no accidental explosions, no exposure to toxic fumes."
They both laughed briefly at the shared memory.
"Ethan," Walter's voice dropped to something more somber, "I have lung cancer—stage 3A according to the oncologists. Mid to late stage."
The air in the clinic suddenly felt heavy.
Walter continued, his voice strained, "They're saying surgery is no longer a viable option at this point. Chemotherapy is the recommended course of treatment, might buy me another year or two if I'm lucky."
Ethan's smile froze on his face. After several seconds he managed to respond, "I'm so incredibly sorry to hear that, Mr. White... and I sincerely apologize for that stupid joke I made back in high school about chemistry causing cancer."
"Don't say that, Ethan. This isn't your fault in any way." Walter sighed heavily. "But you were oddly prescient—how else does a lifelong non-smoker end up with advanced lung cancer?"
Ethan asked carefully, "Mr. White, what's your exact staging right now?"
"Stage 3A—it's metastasized to the mediastinal lymph nodes."
A brief, uncomfortable silence filled the line.
Walter added after a moment, "My wife Skyler and my son are trying their best to process this diagnosis. They specifically wanted me to reach out to you—the brilliant kid from Texas who went on to medical school. So... I just thought I should let you know what's happening."
Ethan drew a long, steadying breath. "Mr. White, if you're willing, I'd genuinely like to try to help. My clinic is small and unconventional, but I might be able to offer something the hospitals can't."
"Thank you, Ethan. I'm still in Albuquerque right now. The oncology team at the cancer center wants me to begin aggressive chemotherapy immediately, but... I honestly haven't made my final decision yet."
"I completely understand your hesitation." Ethan said gently. "Come to New York. Let me examine you properly—there might be alternative treatment options available. I promise I'll make the trip worthwhile for you."
Silence filled the phone line again, nothing but the sound of labored breathing.
"...Alright." Walter finally spoke, his voice quiet but resolute. "I trust you, Ethan."
A few days later, a light drizzle fell steadily over New York City.
The warm lights of the Rayne Clinic glowed invitingly through the gray atmospheric haze.
Walter White sat rigidly on the examination chair, his expression deeply conflicted.
He still wore those same familiar wire-rimmed glasses. Behind the lenses, his eyes looked profoundly exhausted and lost.
"So you're seriously telling me—no surgery, no chemotherapy—and you can somehow cure my stage 3A lung cancer?" Walter asked with obvious skepticism.
"No, Mr. White, I didn't say 'cure' exactly." Ethan shook his head gently but firmly. "What I can promise is that this therapy won't make you suffer the devastating side effects of conventional treatment, and it has a genuine chance of putting your disease into remission. Whether it can achieve a complete cure, I honestly can't guarantee."
"If you weren't my former student, I'd swear you'd joined some New Age healing cult." Walter said dryly.
"I completely understand your skepticism." Ethan smiled patiently. "I left traditional hospital medicine specifically to explore a different therapeutic pathway. This isn't superstition or pseudoscience—think of it as an extension of 'biofield therapy' or 'energy medicine.' I know it sounds like science fiction, but I can demonstrate tangible, measurable results."
"Energy medicine?" Walter frowned deeply, his scientific training rebelling. "That sounds exactly like pseudoscientific nonsense."
"True science doesn't reject the unknown, Mr. White—only the unverified and unfalsifiable." Ethan explained patiently. "I understand how difficult this is to accept rationally, but I'm suggesting you try just one treatment session.
My first patient had stage 4 glioblastoma—terminal brain cancer. I asked him to receive one treatment here, then return to his oncologist for a follow-up MRI scan. If the imaging showed improvement, he could decide whether to continue.
He's already completed his third session. The tumor regression has been documented."
Walter sat in silence for a long moment, his eyes drifting to the warm ceiling light above.
"Maybe it's finally time I trusted something that exists outside the boundaries of conventional science." He sighed heavily. "So how exactly does this treatment work?"
"As I explained—no scalpel, no chemotherapy drugs, no radiation—you simply lie on the examination table and relax." Seeing his former teacher still hesitating, Ethan added gently, "Mr. White, are you willing to believe in the possibility of a miracle just this once? I'm absolutely certain you don't want the chemotherapy experience—the hair loss, the constant nausea, being unable to work or provide for your family, lying in a hospital bed while others have to care for you like a child."
Walter closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. "Let's begin."
Ethan dimmed the overhead lights and activated the ECG monitoring equipment. This time he wanted to carefully observe every physiological response to each healing spell he cast.
Outside, raindrops slid steadily down the glass windows. Inside, the treatment room felt even quieter under the gentle percussion of the rain.
"Mr. White, I need you to relax completely. Focus entirely on your breathing—slow breath in... slow breath out."
Walter gave a soft, slightly nervous laugh. "Understood."
Ethan pulled on sterile gloves, placing one hand over Walter's chest and the other behind his neck at the base of the skull. A subtle golden light began to emanate from his palms, barely visible at first.
"Power Word: Fortitude." The air itself seemed to shimmer slightly. The ECG trace on the monitor stabilized noticeably.
"Dispel Disease." Blue-violet particles of light slipped from Ethan's fingertips, sinking into Walter's skin like luminescent dust. The heart rhythm jumped briefly, then the rate began climbing steadily.
"Flash Heal." Walter's breathing immediately deepened, the chronic tightness in his chest visibly loosening. Each heartbeat grew stronger and more rhythmic.
"Renew." A warm, persistent light settled over Walter's body like gentle early-spring sunlight. His elevated heart rate gradually began to slow back toward normal.
"Prayer of Healing." Golden ripples of energy spread outward through the entire room, bathing everything in soft amber luminescence. Walter winced sharply, his chest heaving with sudden deep breaths.
When the final spell energy dissipated from his hands, sweat rolled freely down Ethan's temples. His face had turned noticeably pale from the exertion.
The healing light faded completely. Ethan released his grip and slumped backward against the wall, sliding partially to the floor.
The ECG monitor continued its steady rhythm—beep... beep... beep...
Walter's eyes snapped open. Instinctively, he drew a deep, experimental breath—and felt absolutely no tearing, stabbing pain in his chest cavity.
He felt as though he'd suddenly surfaced from deep underwater, breathing freely for the first time in months.
The constant stabbing ache in his lungs had been soothed by that inexplicable warm power.
The crushing weight that had been pressing on his chest for weeks had been gently lifted away.
No coughing fit followed. Only crisp, clear, effortless breathing.
Walter pressed his hand firmly against his sternum, feeling the remarkable open space inside his chest where tumor-compressed tissue had been.
"It feels like... someone just opened a window in my lungs."
Slumped exhausted against the wall, Ethan managed a tired but deeply satisfied smile. "That means it actually worked, Mr. White."
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