Michael watches impassively as the lead embalmer, Reed, makes his way out of the mortuaries parking lot. The wheels spin too fast as the sleek car turns onto the road. Typical Reed, leaving Michael to clean up the mess he left in the embalming room under the excuse of being too creeped out to work after the sun went down. Michael takes a slow drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the concrete and snuffing it out with his boot.

As he made his way back into the embalming room Michaels shoulders tensed. Not that he was afraid of working alone in a mortuary, just that he wasn't too thrilled about being alone right now. Usually the silence would soothe him, but not tonight. Not when that inescapable feeling of dread loomed over him, twisted in his gut, and left him breathless. Michael's hands worked meticulously as he cleaned, his eyes hazed over deep in thoughts that continued to spiral.

He wasn't afraid of death. You couldn’t work in a mortuary if you were. Michael had made peace with it, embraced it, even. Maybe a little too much at times. But sometimes, when the room got too quiet and the lights buzzed just right, the dread crept in. The thought that one day, he'd be in this room again, only not as the assistant. He’d be the body. On this very table. Still and cold. Just like the one he moved earlier, right before the gurney came to wheel them off to the crematory and....

The sound of a car speeding down the street snapped him out of it. God. He needed to get it together. Needing a break, he flicked his gloves into the waste bin and made his way down into the office. Once inside he reaches into one of the drawers of the heavy oak desk, pulling out a small box filled with the recently deceased personal items. He began sorting through the box looking each item over before bagging it and labeling it. A heavy leather wallet with a faded photo inside, a luxury brand watch that's still ticking, nothing he hasn't seen before but it's not until he picks up a ring that he pauses.

It was a heavy antique gold ring with garnets that glinted in the dim lighting of the office. Michael turned it over in his hands observing it. Then without really thinking he slides it onto his index finger. It fit snugly in place. He held his hand out, admiring the way it looked so natural on his finger. "Maybe..." he mumbled to himself. The ring screamed old money as did everything else in the box. Not like anyone would notice. Not like the deceased would miss it... Catching himself in these thoughts Michael shook his head and pulled the ring off of his finger, dropping it onto the desk as if it had burned him.

Michael had money. His family lived in Bel Air. So why was he debating on looting a dead man’s ring? For another cheap thrill? For yet another thing to feel guilty about later on? He couldn't understand it himself.

He quickly bagged the rest of the items and put them back into the box. He couldn't catch a break tonight. Between the looming dread of death and the guilt of nearly pocketing a ring, it was too much. So, he did what he usually did when his feelings were too much. Finished work, went home, and shut down.

Michael stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom as the clock ticked by. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow the dread will leave his shoulders, and maybe tomorrow he'll stop thinking about the ring.