I died in New Orleans.
My ex-husband tracked me down and murdered me in a rage. But instead of a bright light leading me to the other side, I met the man at the crossroads. He was digging the graves for all the dead in his city, but he refused to dig mine. Instead, he claimed me for "the Vicious."
I awoke in my ratty apartment covered in dried blood. Am I live, or dead? Who are these strangers following me? I must be dead. These men have skulls for faces, and only I can see them.
They're here to make me... Vicious.