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By night, I worked as a death cleaner, a specialist who cleaned up messes for the wealthy. By day, I was the poor bullied kid at school. On this particular day, I got a new job. When I arrived at the scene, the dead person turned out to be Rosalie Duncan, the very girl who'd shoved my head into the toilet stall that morning. She lay motionless beside the swimming pool, her blood staining the entire pool water red. Someone nearby was still yelling loudly, "Hurry up and clean this up! We're still waiting to throw a pool party here. What a bad luck."