“We really appreciate you doing this. I understand it’s a strange request in this day and age.”

The woman in front of me offered her most polished smile. Not a speck of her muted lipstick had smudged across her teeth. I think I would have liked her more if it had. Her manicured hand rested over her heart, concealing the chunky green necklace she wore.

I forced a small smile in return. Think of the money. “I’m happy I can help.” The woman—I believe she said her name was Margaret—turned and motioned for me to follow her.

“We set him up in the rear parlor. It’s a smaller space, but we wanted people to have privacy  while they visited him. We should be able to squeeze in though.” Her heels clacked on the hardwood floor as she led me through the house. My eyes scanned the paintings and vases that decorated the walls and shelves. I was sure they all cost more than I made in a month. My fingers itched to knock over a vase, unlevel a painting. I held back the urge. Think of the money.

Margaret stopped at a half-open door and hesitated. Her eyes flitted from me to the door. I wondered if she was hoping I’d offer to enter first. After a moment, she pushed the door open and motioned for me to enter.

It was always weird to see a dead body. Especially the kind that had been cleaned up. It looked like it could just be asleep, except something kept pinging in the back of my head, warning that there was something off. The body in front of me used to be an old man. His mustache was trimmed and combed to perfection. I couldn’t begin to guess how much the suit he was in cost, but I was sure the number would make my eyes bleed. The body rested in a polished casket that gleamed under the light. There was a chair to one side of it, but it looked like most of the furniture had been moved out of the room, leaving only faint dimples in the carpet.

I glanced back at Margaret before taking my seat by the body. She seemed very determined to not let her eyes fall on the centerpiece of the room. She gave me a (decidedly less polished) smile. “I’ll let the others know we’re about to begin. Please wait here.”

I waited for Margaret’s heel clicks to vanish down the hall before leaning over the casket. The body sported a fancy suit and layers of makeup, but that was it. I slumped back in the chair. It was probably for the best. If there had been a ring on a finger or a watch on a wrist, I might not have been able to resist. The more signs of comfortable excess I passed in the house, the more my fingers itched to dart out and claim some for myself. I forced myself to take a breath. Think of the money. Not that my pay would be a fraction of what these people had.

A few minutes passed before footsteps crawled down the hall. People filtered into the room, all impeccably dressed and vaguely resembling each other. Some made eye contact with me, others couldn’t look anywhere but at the body. Some eyes were red and puffy, but most weren’t. That didn’t surprise me, but the number of people did. I was beginning to think they’d start spilling back into the hallway when Margaret reappeared, flanked by two final witnesses.

The first, a man in all-black, was clearly the priest. The second, a woman in slightly less black, was probably a maid of some sort. She carried a silver try with one of those fancy covers I’d only seen on TV. The two of them shuffled to their spots, the priest at the head of the body, the maid across the casket from me. Margaret stood just inside the doorway, as if she was a bouncer stopping anyone else from entering. Or leaving.

The priest cleared his throat and began to speak. “We are here today to mark the passing of Franklin Langford. A father, a brother, a son, he lived a long and remarkable life.”

I did my best to appear alert as the priest droned on. I glanced up at the maid. Her eyes bored into me, mouth thin with disapproval. I had a feeling she could see my considered theft written across my skin. I pressed my fingers into my thighs. Let her glare. I wouldn’t feel guilty about wanting to take a piece of the hoard.

“As a part of this final goodbye, we shall help absolve Franklin of his sins.” Every set of eyes shifted to me. I turned to the priest, sensing my cue was near. He held my gaze for a moment before continuing. “Child, do you consent to helping this soul be freed of his sins?”

“I do.”

“Then we shall begin.” The priest nodded to the maid, who lifted the lid from the tray. Then she slowly passed it over the body as the priest said something in Latin. She held it there, an offering and a challenge. I looked to the priest, who nodded for me to accept the tray. I gripped it tight, suddenly terrified that I’d drop it on the body. Once I’d set in on my lap, I studied its contents—a small porcelain plate and, on top of that, a rather plain looking sandwich.

The air had left to room. Dozens of eyes were fixed on me. I picked the sandwich up and began to eat. The bread was a little dry. I wasn’t sure if that was an insult to me or the dead guy. Could they not get some good bread to transfer the guy’s sins into? The cheese was good though, and I could tell the tomato was delectably ripe. I ate as fast as I dared. I didn’t want to look rushed, but I didn’t like eating with so many eyes on me. Swallowing the last bite, I looked at the empty plate. All in all, it was a mid-tier sandwich.

The priest bowed his head. “It is done.” The others followed suit, a sigh echoing through the room. So that was where the air had gone.

The tension gone, a new life filled the room. People began turning and chatting to each other. I let the sound wash over me without listening. I traced the edge of the plate. I didn’t feel more sinful, just more full.

In a blink, the tray vanished from my lap. I looked over to see the maid at my side, her eyes ever-judgmental. Before I could speak, a hand wrapped around my arm and began to pull me away. I swiveled to see Margaret beaming down at me. We were in the hall before I could fully process what was happening.

“Oh, thank you so much for this. I really appreciate all your help.”

“No problem,” I managed.

“I’m sure this all seems rather old-fashioned, but my father was a very particular man. His funeral was no exception. He planned the whole thing out years ago. Said he wouldn’t trust anyone else to get it right.”

I had no idea how to respond to that. Thankfully, Margaret didn’t seem to expect a response. We stopped at the door, where she plucked an envelope off a small table. She handed it to me before opening the door. “Sorry to be so short, but the rest of the funeral is for family only.”

“I understand.” My fingers pinched the envelope, feeling the bills inside. “I’m, uh, sorry for your loss.” I stepped outside. I heard the door shut behind me before I reached the bottom of the stairs. 

I waited until I was down the street before opening the envelope. Crisp green bills looked up at me. They still smelled brand new. I ran my thumb over the top of the stack. A little rich-person weirdness, and I was set on rent for the next two months. Think of the money indeed.

I was halfway to the subway when I started to feel off. My vision went swimmy, and hot prickles danced across my scalp. I stumbled over to a wall and fixed my eyes on the ground. My stomach gave a threatening gurgle. Had the sandwich been off? I breathed through my mouth, bracing myself to puke all over the sidewalk. My vision had almost completely blurred. I’d never had food poisoning do that to me before. Was I going to pass out? I couldn’t really feel my body anymore, other than the hot prickles lancing through me again and again.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I’d hoped I’d get some relief from the limited dark my eyelids could provide. Instead, I saw an image, as if it was carved into my eyelids. There was a woman standing in front of me—about my age. She had a long brown hair and wore a nice dress. She looked a little tipsy. I understood that I had called out to her, and she’d turned around to see what was wrong. I also understood, when the knife came into view and pierced her gut, that it was my hand holding it. As the woman opened her mouth to scream, my other hand came into view, closing off the sound. I pulled the knife free, then plunged it into her chest. Again and again, until the woman was still on the ground, and the once-glinting blade was choked in blood. I took a moment to wipe it clean before tucking it away. I looked over the body, my fingers twitching. After a moment, I leaned forward and snatched up the sapphire earrings it wore.

My eyes flew open. I’d fallen to my knees at some point. As my vision came back into focus, I realized I had thrown up, the remnants of a sandwich splattered in front of me. My gaze drifted from the puke to my hands. They were bony, fingernails nibbled to the quick. Not the hands that held the knife. Those had been big, powerful hands. Hands I’d seen peacefully crossed, no longer capable of murder.

I used the wall to pull myself up, almost stepping in my puke. Despite getting rid of the sandwich, I still felt something heavy and sick resting in my gut. Whatever poison the food had transferred had found a new home in me.

I thought of the man in the casket, of all the eyes in the rooms staring at me. How many of them had known? I’d thought I was so clever taking the job, playing along to make a quick buck. So easy it almost felt like stealing. As I stumbled my way toward the subway, I realized I was the one who’d been conned.