[ WP ] On one night of the year , the dead can return and converse with the living . As a hitman , this is not a day you look forward to .

No matter where I go or what I do, I ca n't outrun them. They are everywhere. In Boston, I see Frankie dragging the cinderblock I chained to his leg suddenly appear in my motel room. Every year on this day, he asks `` Your time to eat the bullet, John?'' `` Stop trying to dodge the roulette ball, pal.'' In Atlantic City, The dirty cop screams `` WHY'D YOU DO IT?'' `` HUH?'' `` DO N'T PULL THAT I WAS JUST FOLLOWING ORDERS SHIT WITH ME AGAIN, BOY.'' In Pittsburgh, the lawyer I shot screams at me about how his twin daughters cry at his grave on his funeral anniversary. In Chicago, The district attorney ghost spins the tale of how his wife committed suicide while he's throwing me around the room.
