He's gone. I can't believe he's gone. Dead for real now, and I can't bring him back. I can't find him again. And I saw it on the news, of all places. It was something stupid and senseless, like a...an explosion in a nursing home. He had gone to visit someone, I think? I don't know, maybe it wasn't senseless...for all I know, there could have been someone after his life. Maybe that was why he was so different yesterday—maybe he somehow felt the shadow of death over him.

I went over there as soon as I saw on the news where it was, but the scene of the explosion was roped off as a crime scene. I couldn't get too close, and it didn't feel safe for me to tell anyone I was family, but what I saw from a distance was awful. Half of his face was burnt off, charred and bloody, with even the shape of the skull showing. He was wearing a perfect suit as always—a blue plaid one...I remember that for some reason...blue plaid...and it was all blackened on one side. That was all I could see before I was hustled out of the room, but by then, my vision was too blurred by tears to see more anyway.

Javier Luis Torres Olivio—Gustavo Fring—perhaps that was not the day you died. Maybe you died many years ago, and only a death on earth could put you back on the path to life. Maybe the God you never knew on earth is waiting to meet you in the afterlife. I'm not wise to understand all these things, but I do know this: Thank you, Gus, for all you've done for me and Silvia. Because of you, I know we're going to be all right. Because of you, I know Silvia can grow up safe. And because of your life, I want to gently, and happily, live.