Oliver stood on the roof of the clock tower, staring blankly across the city, his elbows resting on the ledge. On one side of him there was a glass of whiskey, and on the other side, the rest of what was left of the bottle. It hadn't taken him long to drink a good half of it, but he was starting to think he was still in shock and not feeling the
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"It's bad enough that they have something on me at all, I don't know what kind of weird things they found with me while I was out, and I've drawn enough attention by breaking out of a morgue drawer, if you show up there and demand my records, no matter how much money you throw at them, they will still know there is something wrong with me."
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