H6: Diario de un asesino

Don't lie. You like that bastard.

Come on, he's my brother's friend.

His friend...

and the hardware store owner's son.

I don't care if he has a store.

I swear, you're the one I like.

- I've got nothing.

- I don't care.

And not about

screwing around either?

You're famous around here,

know that?

If it's the jealousy bit again,

I'm off.

- How many did you f***?

- Bye.

- Where're you going, slut?

- That's it.

I've given you everything, Soledad.

You were first for me

and this is how you repay me?

There's been nobody since you,

I swear...

Don't swear, you b*tch.

Don't say things Iike that.

You're just waiting

to screw another guy.

- You think, I don't know?

- You're sick.

You even insult me.

Shut up, you b*tch.

Shut your mouth.

If I take my hand away,

will you stop?

I love you, Soledad.

But thinking...

you're with another guy

makes my blood boil.

- Do you understand?

- I'm fed up with your hitting me.

It's over.

I don't want to see you again.

And if you touch me again...

I'II tell my brothers and

they'II really take care of you.

Did you understand me,

you bastard?

I'm bleeding.

What do I tell my parents now...

that I slipped in the street again?

- You're not serious about ending?

- Look at me.

Do you think I'm joking?

Good bye.

Let me go or I'II scream.

What'II I do without you?

I told you,

you're never going to hit me again.

It's over, Antonio.

Over for good.

Will you Iet me go?

Can't we work it out?

Do you know how many times

you've hit me?

- You deserved it.

- You're a mother f***er, know that?

It you're not for me,

you're not for anybody, b*tch.

We could have been very happy.

But you ruined it all.

H6

DIARY OF A SERIAL KILLER

These copies are for you,

Mr. Frau.

AII set, then?

AII set.

Here are the keys.

Remember, if you want to sell...

we can get

about seventy-five million for it.

Is everything clear?

Fine, then from now on...

you're the owner of a building

where your Aunt...

had a guest house

for over forty years.

- What kind of a guest house is it?

- Was.

It's closed.

Weren't you ever there?

I think I saw my Aunt

two times in my Iife.

I still don't know

why she Ieft me heir...

when I hardly knew her.

It's not an inheritance.

I told you.

The guest house becomes yours...

because you're

the only surviving relative.

And as to your previous question...

it was a whorehouse.

A...?

Yes, a whorehouse.

Well, Mr. Frau...

The electricity is back on and

the meters updated, as you told me.

Don't forget.

If you want to sell it...

come back and tell me.

Good day.

I began to write my diary

the day I was released.

I had to leave evidence

of my intentions...

so that when the diary

was studied by experts...

and future generations.

They would understand

my mission.

I was sixteen

when I read the biography...

of the famous French murderer,

Henri Landru.

What impressed me was

that although short and ordinary...

he was able to seduce and kill

so many women.

But what I really noticed was

how meticulously he wrote his diary.

I didn't understand

how such a smart man...

could write a diary

with so many details.

He wrote the initials of the women

with whom he had sex...

where and when they met...

the valuables left

after killing them...

and the money he got.

He even wrote down

the cost of the subway ticket.

Amazing.

Didn't he realize

the diary could be found...

by the police

and used against him?

In fact, it was

the only evidence presented...

and it took him to the gallows.

That's why

when I decided to write...

I was prepared

to be meticulous...

so there'd be

no misunderstandings.

The chosen

want their story known...

and I'd not be an exception.

However...

I wanted a control

of my actions...

and accuracy...

so a diary

would be perfect...

in order to carefully study

the cleansings...

and later, the sacrifices.

We met through a dating service.

He wasn't the husband

I wanted...

but I pitied him

and let him write me.

I wanted to get away from home

at any price...

and Antonio Frau

was the only way to do it.

At first, it scared me...

but I thought a man could change

in fourteen years.

Two weeks after his release

we got married.

I was thirty-five.

He was forty-two...

and had a guest house

his aunt left him.

PARADISE:

GUEST HOUSE:

This will be our world.

Francisca.

And you can keep your shift.

It's better than the day shift.

More peaceful.

I must have been so happy...

to get out of the prison that my

parent's home had become...

that I didn't think twice

when he said...

to work nights at the hospital.

I was even pleased to think

I could still see...

the real love of my life...

a married doctor with kids...

with whom I'd had an affair

the past few years.

You can come in.

Relax. I was waiting for you.

I'm the new owner and I don't care

if you sleep upstairs.

Hungry?

I've got some ham and wine.

I sleep here and then Ieave.

I can't fill

all the empty rooms.

Want to join me?

Have a seat.

Like Mozart?

A Iittle old, isn't he?

Depends.

Did you know he composed

his first concert at eight?

And became the best known composer

in the old world.

But he died sick and poor.

And that he was buried

in a common grave?

Nobody went to his funeral.

But today his music

is heard everywhere.

Can I have more wine?

What's that for?

- Did it bother you?

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