Truth doesn’t change, it’s just truth. Pure. But justice? Well, that looks different, depending on what side of that invisible line you’re on.
Thing is, a ghost called me. From inside this prison.[T. Porter: I wish I could help you find your client, Mr. Deaver. I can’t very well call up a ghost.]
Some folks get away, spend the rest of their lives trying to forget this place. Maybe they do forget, for a while. Some never leave, no matter how hard they try. Most of us are trapped here for a reason. Everyone in this town has some sin or regret, some cage of his own making. And a story, a sad one, about how we got this way. “It wasn’t me, it was this place.” That’s what we say. But that’s a story, too. It doesn’t change a thing. Maybe something turned you into a monster. Or maybe you were one all along. Doesn’t matter. You’re here now. This is who you are. This is where you live. This is where you’re from.