Just breathe.

-Tuesday, May 24, 1960-

Dear Diary,

They're gonna kill me. Holy mother of God. I can't think straight. My writing isn't usually so horrible, but I can hardly write with my hand shaking so bad. Ugh... my stomach feels like goo. My head is spinning, trying to comprehend it all. This morning, when I jumped into Ace's car, I had no idea it would be the ride that would mark the beginning of the end of my life.

Thirty-thousand dollars. That's what I was told I owed. How on earth am I supposed to pay that? I have less than five dollars in my purse right now, and some weeks, I don't even take home a pay check. Sorry - I should correct that amount. I owe thirty-ONE-thousand dollars since I have to repay Ace's 'finders' fee for rounding me up and tricking me into going back there. He says he didn't know about the thirty K. He says that he thought they only wanted toquestionme about Lewis. Well, whether he knew about it or not is beside the point. What he did was outright selfish. How could he take me to see someone so callous? A cartel boss of all people! It was either selfish or stupid, and Ace Merrill ain't stupid - I'm telling you. That's why I don't trust him. I shouldn't have trusted him. And yet, ironically, I might have to trust him.

"If you run, I kill your family," Diego said in his thick Italian accent, his soulless eyes fixed on me. I told him I don't have any family. "Then I kill your frien's. I find out where you work, I kill there. You don't pay? Someone die in your place."

They don't know Patty - yet. But now that they know where I am, they'll easily find out she's the closest person to me, and if I don't get this done on time... Oh, shit! Chris! Shit. My stomach... I feel sick.

OK, I'm back. I had to take a moment to just... breathe. I have three choices here. 1. Don't pay - well, that isn't even a choice. Diego would have his boys snap my neck in a heartbeat, and if it isn't mine, it'll be my nearest and dearest. 2. Find the money myself. Well, technically, I already tried. Banks won't lend to an 18 year old nobody with an empty bank account and bare-bones income. 3... Accept Ace's help. Like I said, I trust him about as much as I trust a blender not to lop my fingers off if I stuck my hand into it, but look, what the hell else am I supposed to do?

Wednesday, May 25, 1960 - 2 am

Just woke from another nightmare. This time, I was in a dimly-lit room, alone with Diego as he sat motionless in his ridiculously luxurious, gold-trimmed leather chair and gazed at me with his dark, soulless eyes. There was nothing behind his face. No brain, no skull, no person. It was just skin and hair. Scared me wide-awake.

I need this money.

For months, I didn't dream. And then, as if a small faucet turned slightly in my head, the dreams dripped in, one after the other, and - I think - in chronological order.

It's 2:30 am and my eyelids sting when I blink, I'm so tired. I'm sitting on our back porch, sipping a glass of cold water and feeling the cool breeze on my face as I bask in the peaceful air cast over the neighborhood. This side of the house is open to an expansive, grassy field that - mostly regrettably - is part of our property. It's an airy, wide-open space to unwind, and the neighbors' houses are beyond it, so it's easy to feel secluded, but… maintaining it is a lot of work. It takes me two hours to mow the grass, and if I get lazy and don't do it, it grows into those long, scraggly weeds which would get caught in the mower, so I need to to pluck the damn things out by hand. I mean, why did they need to build such a tiny house on such a massive piece of land? I sound like I'm complaining, but I'm not. Not really. Because, this is my home. And, at least I have one now.

I didn't intend on writing this as a diary. It was supposed to be a journal of events and that's it. But, sometimes I feel like I just need someone to talk to. Like really talk to. So many secrets, and not one person I can tell them to. Not even Chris. Definitely not Patty. Hmph... well, I guess Ace knows most of them, if not all of them. But he's not exactly the kind of person who would lend a friendly ear. Not unless it might benefit him in some way. At least... I don't think so. I dunno. I don't know anything anymore. I don't even know if he'll show up on time like he said he would, let alone have a life-saving plan up his dirty sleeves. Three days - that's what he said. That's how long I need to keep my mind occupied so it won't go crazy thinking about ways Diego might kill me and get rid of the evidence.

There's something comforting about sitting out here at night with that peaceful air cast over the neighborhood. The pressures of the world seem distant from me right now. It's like I can pretend that life is still normal for a while.