My name's Jack Morrison. I'm thirty-four years old, or at least I was until three days ago when a semi turned me into roadkill on Highway 61. I'd been drunk then too. That figures. But that's not what got me here, standing in this godforsaken boneyard with a shovel and a prayer I didn't believe in. No, that was a debt. It wasn't the kind you owe to a bookie or a loan shark, though I've had my share of those. This was a debt carved into my soul, the kind that doesn't let you rest, even when your heart stops beating.
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