“Eh... excuse me.” Officer Green finished the sentence he was writing in his favorite black-ink pen,and glanced up without much concern.“Yes?” he asked, a little annoyed. It was almost time for his shift to end. He had already beenthinking about the warmness and ease of his home, instead of the cold stress of his job.“I've come to confess to the murder of James Vaughn and Lisa Weatherwright,” the man said in theeven tone, a deep sadness in his eyes.* * * * *The orange sun blazed forth with a ferocity far surpassing its usual heat. Sweat ran in tiny streamsdown his forehead and arms, clearing away the dust that lay caked upon his body, but the gardener didn't seem to mind. His hands moved slowly, methodically, his eyes never wavering from his task.The rest of the neighborhood buzzed around him. Dogs barked, cars honked, men and woman left for work, children left for school, but the gardener remained in his garden, stoically pruning and planting. Now and again a stranger might stop and complement his garden, but the locals knew better than totry and converse with the gardener. It wasn't that he was mean, necessarily. Just... different.Mrs. Waternoose picked up her knitting and moved towards the one window in the house that east,so that she could do her work by sunlight, which was the only light by which she could see any more.She opened the window with a creak, disapproving it's dirty state, in order to get some fresh air into thestuffy house. The sounds of the early morning died down as the sun approached high noon, and it wasthen that she could hear the steady, soft
of her neighbor's spade.Poor Jonas! She thought to herself. He hadn't been the same since the incident. He used to be sucha passionate, bright young man. Now he was obsessed with his gardening. Father Thomas said it wasthe one thread he could hold onto. There was no use talking to him about it. He gave that same blank stare back. Father Thomas said that conversation would come with time, once he accepted the incident.Father Thomas had talked to Jonas a few times. The Father was the only person Jonas would talk to.Jonas had never been a religious man before, but he had a clear respect for God and the local parish.Before the incident he had been such a nice young man, doing odd jobs for the parish free of charge.She sighed again and squinted. Her eyes were getting steadily worse. Soon, the doctor said, she wouldhave to give up knitting. She didn't like the doctor much. He was young and naïve, always giving out bad news and never offering solutions. She wished Mr. Waternoose was still alive. He would give thatyoung doctor a piece of his mind, telling her she had to give up knitting. But it was true, she knew that.I guess I'm like Jonas, she thought, too scared to give up the one thing I'm good at. Afraid I'll go crazyfrom the loneliness.There were some people that thought Jonas was crazy, or at least unbalanced. But those peoplekept quiet, recognizing the intense sorrow that he experienced, pitying him in his condition.The gardener himself paid little attention to the others. He knew they thought him strange. Hewasn't blind. The looks he got, those of mixed fear and sympathy, did not pass without him noticing.Sometimes he wondered why, but most days he didn't think about it. He knew he was sad... and angry.