MERCHANT OF SOULS

Hank’s been down for a while, and he’s been down hard. He’s not the only one, either. Seems like this whole town has seen better days since he was last here. Was it his fault this place went to hell or was it the mayor’s? He can hardly remember. He can hardly remember much about the last ten years for that matter, and not because of some bump on the head, although I’m sure there were plenty.

No, Hank here had himself a bit of a substance issue he used to lovingly refer to as a “substance solution.” If the solution to your problems is losing your job, your wife, and your good name, he hit the nail on the head. But, seeing as how that was not his intent when he began drinking and sniffing all his problems away, I guess you could say, he played himself.

He remembers her name and that they were married, but not much else. Quite a way to start a missing person’s case. At least she went missing in the town they grew up in, at least he can hope for something familiar to jog his memory, despite the façade of the place looking pretty grim. He’s got one friend left in the world, just the kind you want in this situation, too, and he should be here any minute.

In the meantime though, Hank figures, he’ll just look at his feet, and pray to the God he’s been avoiding that nobody offers him a cold one…