I filled the bucket with warm water. I was ready to clean. I loaded it onto my cart and wheeled it down to room 3C.

Boss didn’t like this part of the job. It was reserved for those he wanted held close, under his thumb, because we knew each other’s secrets.

He didn’t like things messy either. I remember when we were little, he always washed his hands, and wore dress clothes, keeping them meticulously clean. He paid me to keep his room clean, polished, neat.

I was paid now, employed by my brother, to clean up after him.

Room 3C wasn’t too bad. The mess was in one area. I’ve seen far worse. I squirted bleach into the warm water and began scrubbing the carpet.

The pungent odor filled my nostrils. It smelled clean, it invigorated me. I had learned to love to clean. Nothing makes me feel more satisfied than reeking of bleach on the drive home. I have earned my keep, my brother’s trust.

It was the foul, metallic stench of blood I couldn’t stand. Blood made me gag, and gunpowder.

I eradicated those smells.