An annoying beeping warned Laura that the time had come to wake up. She hit the snooze button, but was jostled awake again by the sound of a car passing her window on it's way to the interstate. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. A groaning figure rustled underneath the covers next to her and, like always, it had most of the blankets wrapped around it. She moved an arm to try pushing the prone form, but she stopped and sighed.

  "Greg wake up, you're supposed to help Mr. Bailey in the shop this afternoon." The figure grumbled and turned over. "Greg I have to go to work soon and I want to know that you'll do what you're supposed to do today."

  "Yeah, yeah, I'll do it." Laura could hear him yawn and then sigh before he began to doze again. Not knowing what else to do about him, she got up out of bed and slipped out of her pajamas. She posed in front of Greg for a moment. She had a nice body, she was fairly tall, had strong legs, good-sized breasts; any man would be happy to watch her pose for them. Unfortunately there weren't very many good men in Paradise; and frankly she was beginning to think that Greg wasn't exactly up to par either. He didn't even open his eyes for her, he just lay there and quietly drooled on his pillow. Laura sighed again and walked over to the closet to get her work clothes.

  The bathroom mirror was covered in a thin film of dust and smoke that she wiped away with an open hand. She turned on the faucet and coughed as her fingers recoiled from the stinging cold of the water. After a few moments she felt an invisible tear form in her eye as the temperature of the running liquid refused to rise.

  "Greg, the water heater is broken again." She didn't receive an answer and she closed her eyes with another sigh. She knew what he would say anyway, that he would fix it later; and that meant she wouldn't be able to take a shower now. She felt her shoulders cramp and her neck developed a familiar pain. Laura did her best to dip her hands in the uncomfortably chilled water and tried to wipe the grime of yesterday's work off her face and arms. She came home late the night before and didn't have a chance to take one then, when she knew the water would be warm. She had a sudden image of the steam on the windows from Greg's hour long soak and she scowled.

  Laura stood up and took in deep breaths, banishing the unpleasant thoughts from her mind. She patted herself dry with a wash cloth from the sink and picked up the outfit she had chosen for herself off the towel rack. After dressing, she took her toothbrush and tried to squeeze what she could out of an empty tube of Colgate. After a few minutes, she rinsed, gargled, and spat. She ran a brush through her tangled hair and did her best to make herself presentable. She was always proud of her appearance, being a very attractive girl growing up and now a beautiful young woman, and it was one of the few things that still gave her comfort. But it did little to lighten her mood. The dark circles under her eyes reminded her of the pain she had put, and was about to put, her body through during the coming hours. She set her brush aside and tip-toed back into the bedroom, trying not to wake her boyfriend. She opened the door and slipped into the hallway leading to the kitchen.

  Laura hopped into her socks as she opened the door to the refrigerator. There she found an almost full carton of milk hiding behind a wall of various bottled and canned beers. She carefully took out the milk and reached for a box of Cheerios on an open shelf. Her hand brushed against it and she could tell by the way it easily rocked back and forth on it's edges that it was empty. She took it down and shook it, listening for the hope of a few kernels of nutrition left.

  There were none. She tossed the cardboard shell into the almost full garbage can and picked up her keys. Laura didn't bother untying her shoes as she slipped into them. The thin cotton of her Keds squeezed her feet with the memories of work days passed. As she stepped out through the front, the screen door creaked and almost swung off it's hinges. She carefully set it back and made a mental note to oil and tighten it when she returned home. She went to her outdoor shed.

  The sun was climbing over the hills as she put her various cleaning supplies in her old and beaten Toyota truck. The paint was in it's last stage of fading and a number of holes had been worn away in it's sides. With her mops and brooms secured in the back she looked over her agenda for the day.

  Her heart sank, nine places to clean in all, five of them before she had enough time to have lunch. Laura kept meaning to take a break from her work, but Greg needed his beer and she had a tough time saying 'no' to the people in town.

  Her friends in town. Some friends, with them it was always, 'but Laura, you always clean my house on Tuesdays,' or 'I really need it done now Laura,' or 'Last week you said you would do it for me Laura.'

  "I never said I could do anything for anyone last week, damn it!" No one heard her rant. If Greg had, he wouldn't have cared less. She wished she could just sleep in for once, but she couldn't bear to let anyone down. Even if it meant sacrificing every waking moment serving and catering to everyone around her. Laura clambered into the truck and turned the key into the ignition. After a couple of false starts the engine turned over. As she let it warm up she took the last piece of gum from an old pack on the dash board and quietly chewed her breakfast.

  "I didn't say anything about working last week." She wrapped her fingers around the shift stick and set her car into first. She pulled on to the road and began to drive into town.

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  Laura tried to massage the pain that was shooting through her neck with stiff fingers. She extended her arm and looked at her nails with red eyes. She had sinfully treated herself to a manicure about two weeks ago at the local barber shop. It took an extra four dollars and a lot of begging since she had to get it after the shop's hours; but it had been worth it. She hadn't felt as good about herself since before she could remember after that. Laura had been taking extra care of her hands ever since to keep them as pretty as possible; not an easy task considering her line of work.

  Two of her nails had chipped slightly and most of the others were stained with numerous chemicals, but they still had an overall healthy look. She picked up the bucket from it's little niche and draped the handle over a mop. Laura lifted both and squinted in the morning light as she walked towards her first job of the day. The name on the mailbox was faded but it had once read "The Jones Family" in it's younger years. Laura knocked. After a few seconds, it opened and Bonidle Jones stood there with a toothy smile.

  "Hello Laura, it's very good to see you this morning."

  "Hello," an odor hit Laura straight in the face as she struggled to finish her greeting, "Mr. Jones." She tried to blink the stinging fumes away without seeming impolite and she wasn't sure if she was being successful.

  "Right this way, we have quite the job for you today." Laura stepped inside, hitting the tip of her mop handle against the frame of the door in her slight blindness. "The wife and I were gone this weekend and the twins had themselves a rocking, little shindig while we were gone." Her eyes were finally beginning to acclimatize to the air and her vision began to focus. What she saw made her wish she was still partially blind.

  There was a small amount of fire damage in one corner. There was no indicator of what had started it, but it was evident that someone had tried to douse it with eighty proof Brandy. All of one curtain and half of another were staining a wall with their graying ash. Popcorn, chips, pretzels, and discarded jello shooters had been pressed into the thick carpeting by dancing feet. A couch had been knocked over and no one had bothered to fix it. Two lamps were broken and tiny shards of exploded bulbs glistened in the light from an open window. Liquor bottles were strewn about, some still half-filled with fluid that had dripped out where it could from tilted necks.

  "Oh my God."

  "What did you say Laura?" Bonidle turned to her but she was trembling and speechless. He just shrugged and began walking away. "But the real kicker is over here." His voice was far off in the distance. It echoed a few times and the third time it drifted in her head she realized it was an invitation to follow. She stepped into a hallway that had been stripped of it's paint. Strips of it had been peeled away by drunken hoodlums who were trying to impress each other in contests of stupidity.

  The smell that had stung her eyes earlier had come back in full force; an inadvertent tear ran down her cheek in an effort to keep her eyes moist. Laura saw the blurry outline of her current employer through the doorway to the bathroom. Used to the putrid aroma, he just stood there with his hands on his hips, nodding with a sense of grim pride. She walked in.

  The light yellow walls were cluttered with disgorged bits almost unidentifiable. Expunged chunks of hastily eaten pizza and cheese flavored snacks were stuck to the mirrors as they had dried in long dripping strips from the splattered circles of projectile vomiting. The bathtub was stained with the vile substance as it had collected in a green and purple ring that outlined where a weary partier had passed out in his drunken stupor, and in his own puke.

  "Yep." Laura put a hand over her own mouth and looked up after Bonidle's exclamation. "That Worthen sure is a piece of work.

  She didn't know who Worthen was, and she didn't care to know after that. "He was the one we found in there." He pointed back at the tub but she couldn't bring herself to look again. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to your work. The wife and I are going into town and probably won't be back until later." He turned and walked back out into the hallway. "We'll leave your money on the counter for you." Laura gagged once as she struggled to say something, the fumes entered her lungs again and forced her to stay quiet. She coughed and took in a quick breath.

  "Mr. Jones?" She didn't receive a response. After another moment she heard a car engine rev with life. Outside a dirt-encrusted window, Bonidle Jones jumped into the passenger seat of his new truck as he and his wife pulled out of their driveway. She was alone. "I guess I'll go get the bleach then." Laura stumbled out of the bathroom. She kept rubbing her reddening eyes as her feet struck an occasional leftover from the party of the Jones' children. The air outside the house was a welcome adjustment and she took in a few deep breaths before moving to her own beaten up truck. Her bottle of industrial-strength bleach was almost empty from overuse, but she had a few good drops left in it. She took that and a few extra bottles of water with her inside after rolling up her short sleeves up to her shoulders. Her arms were thin but toned from constant exertion of her daily toils and tanned from her laboring under the hot sun during some of her outdoor cleaning jobs.

  As Laura walked back in the house, she took a detour through the kitchen out of morbid curiosity. Beneath a half empty can of Pabst Blue Ribbon was fifteen dollars. What she normally charged, what the townsfolk were willing to pay, for an hour of housework. She had intended to ask for an additional charge for the severity of the current task. The thought occurred to her that that was why Mr. Jones had left as quickly as he did; but she banished it quickly, knowing that dwelling on such things wouldn't change her situation.

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