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Slow Acting Agent

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The hardest part about poisoning Walter White was figuring out what type of poison to use. Marie didn’t have the chemical genius of her intended target, nor the criminal genius for that matter, so it was difficult for her to come up with the right substance to use. Acquiring and using it was a separate matter.

She felt like a fool, opening incognito tabs on her computer whilst Hank slept, searching ‘deadliest poisons’ and ‘fastest acting poisons’. She didn’t fear the interference of the police too much, she could explain it away as research to help Skyler with her new book or if worse came to worse, get Hank to tell them to go away.

The plan had planted its seed in Marie’s mind when Hank had first told her the truth. First came the shock, then disbelief, then grief and rage. And then, silently, as though it were a feather landing on a still pool of water, the plan settled into place.

“It’ll be tough to catch this son-of-a-bitch.” Hank had said, holding her hand in a firm but gentle grip. “But we’ll do it. By god, I’ll do it Marie.”


Marie wanted to trust in her husband. She wanted to believe in his ability to bust the bad guy, she always had before. But Walt was… different. He was sly and manipulative, cunning enough to have kept them all in the dark until now. And though Hank may very well catch him (he was so crafty when it came to entrapping these people), would Walt ever be convicted?

The cancer may get him first, or the cowardly bastard could always kill himself before facing justice. In addition, poor Skyler and Flynn would continue to suffer at the hands of this man until he was captured and how long would that take? Weeks? Months?

Marie couldn’t allow it. She wouldn’t allow it. For once, she’d be the one getting the bad guy.

Poison seemed the most logical way to go about it. It would be hard to trace back to her, and furthermore Marie didn’t think she had the stomach for taking a knife or gun to the man. He had been a family member, a friend for so long, and though she despised him with every fibre of her being, she knew she wasn’t cold-blooded enough to destroy him that way.

So she set to work, whittling hours away with careful research and planning, plotting the demise of the man she had once welcomed into her home with open arms, defended from the anger of her sister. Righteous anger.

She went through them all. Arsenic, cyanide, ricin? No, they were too difficult to formulate or acquire. Eventually, she set her sights on the Calabar bean, famous for its deadly properties and use in witch trials. It was even used in medicine, so she could potentially swipe some from her workplace.

The plan was beginning to form.


But how to administer it?

It seemed too stereotypical, but Marie decided over dinner was the best way. Offer a negotiation of peace over dinner, get him alone, slip some in his food and then let it take effect. If he died in their home, she would innocently claim it was the cancer, a haemorrhage. Even if toxicology did reveal her, she would gladly go to prison for the sake of her family.

So she set a date, ensuring Hank would be out of the house (she ‘heavily encouraged’ a night out with Steve Gomez to “ease his nerves”). She invited Walt over, specifying that it must be only him. And she prepared the meal.

The Last Supper.

He arrived on time, wine bottle in hand. He made for a hug, and Marie permitted it, though the act sickened her and she felt as though she were holding a corpse. The plates were already on the table, and they sat down. He eyed her carefully, as she bit into her food and sipped his wine, as though he were a bird of prey waiting for a rabbit to exit its warren to strike.

The pressure mounted, but Marie maintained the facade. She spoke of Walt Jr, of Skyler, and how she wanted nothing more than the best for them. How she didn’t want to shatter their stability for the sake of a court case that would yield nothing.

Walt smiled at her words, though his eyes looked soulless and cold.
“I agree completely, Marie. Why destroy our happy family over something so trivial?”

“Exactly.” Marie forced out, sickened with each false word. “We can still be a happy family for just a bit longer.”

“Then you’ll make a case with Hank?” Walt asked, and stabbed a forkful of food, shovelling it into his mouth.

He ate it.


Marie could hardly believe it. It had worked, it had worked! She wanted to jump up and scream, but instead she simply shook her head as if she hadn’t heard him. He repeated his question, taking another bite and her fingernails dug into her palms under the table, stopping the wide grin she could feel coming on.

“Of course. I can’t promise anything though.”

“Fantastic.” Walt said with a polite smile. Marie smiled back, and this time it was genuine.


She received a call from him the next day.

“Marie? How are you?” Walt’s voice was slightly hoarse and throaty, as though he were unwell. Secretly, she cheered.

“Fine Walt, how are you?”

“Well truth be told, I was just a little sick. Seemed our little meal last night disagreed with me. Would you mind telling me what was in it?”

Marie rattled off a list of mundane ingredients, paying little attention to the conversation. She was just happy it was working, albeit slower than intended.

“Hm. I think you may have missed an ingredient. Perhaps some type of bean?”

Marie stopped dead in her tracks.

“Yes, Calabar bean I think. Rather deadly poison. Good thing I took some activated charcoal before heading over, hey? Would’ve been a nasty shock otherwise.”

“ did you..?” Marie stammered before Walt’s voice cut her off, infinitely colder and more calloused than the friendly facade he was putting on before.

“I’m not an idiot Marie. A dinner party, alone? Did you honestly think that would work?”

A wave of embarrassment and guilt washed over her, submerging her further into her panic. How could she be so stupid?

“Let’s call this a… misunderstanding. I do hope you meant everything you said last night. You’ll talk to Hank for me, won’t you?”


“Yes.” The words fell from Marie’s lips, but she didn’t feel like she was speaking them. More like a robot, trained to respond to its master’s commands.

“Good. We’ll have to catch up later again soon. Maybe dinner at my place next time. Bye Marie.”

The hang up tone droned in Marie’s ear, like a siren announcing her failure to the world. The pit of despair she was in threatened to swallow her whole. Perhaps Hank would get the bastard. He was their only hope now.

Or she could try again.


Marie didn’t get another chance. The next time she heard from Walter White was through a bugged recording of Skyler’s phone.

“You’ll never see Hank again.”

As she sank to the floor screaming and crying, Marie remembered the dinner. The poison. The knives in her kitchen. And she wished she’d ripped the bastard’s throat out with her bare hands right there and then.

Months later, his death was plastered on every newspaper and TV.

Marie wanted relief and satisfaction, but it wouldn’t come. She sat in her empty house, ruminating on what had led to this insane past few years.

She wanted to go back, to fix this, fix her family. Fix her life. Bring back Hank.

But it was hopeless. What was done, was done.

Still, there was pleasure to be had in his death.

Good riddance, you bastard.