*~* Thirteen Years Later *~*

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   "Thank you, Ahjumma," I say as the elderly woman at the register hands me my bag.  

    "You're welcome, young man," she says just as kindly, offering me a gentle smile, her worn eyes crinkling at the sides. "Mi Yung-ah sent you to buy a lot today, did she?" She pats my shoulder empathetically.

      How nauseating. 

  I smile back, and nod my head. "Deh, but don't worry. She's the one that's housing me at the moment, so it's only reasonable that I do a few errands for her every now and then."

   She nods and makes a shooing motion. "Well then you should get back; you know how Mi Yung doesn't enjoy being kept waiting."

   I nod again. "Take care!" She waves goodbye at me as I leave the store, the bells from the door tinkling as I walk through. Maintaining my smile, I wave back, and it is only when I have fully departed that I let it drop. 

   Living in a new area means new beginnings. And in a small town as the one that Park Sa Rang lives in, it means that whatever you do, whatever you say, will make a great first impression on the people that already live there. If you are good to them, they will be good to you, and they will tell others to act as so. 

  Which means, no matter how disgusted or irritated I feel whenever someone greets me or pats me on the back in an act of friendliness, I must not show it. 

  For when the time comes, and I am taken as a witness for a murder, no one will ever suspect me. 

  I place my bag inside the basket of my bicycle and jump on, then start pedalling down the street. I pass dozens of tiny corner stores and then enter the neighborhood where I live in. 

  I'd recently gotten a place in the basement of one of the local Ahjummas': Shin Mi Yung. She was unsure of letting me stay inside of her home at first, for I am a lone young man with barely a background to inquire of, but she softened and let me stay with her when I told her that my parents had passed a few years ago in a car crash. If there's one thing that life taught me while growing up, it's that pity does you wonders. 

   When I reach Ahjumma's house, I park my bike at the gate and chain it to one of the poles, grabbing the bag as I come inside.

   Ahjumma is gardening, as ususal. She has on a large sun hat with a light blue bow wrapped around it, and the breeze makes her loose pastel clothes flutter gently. There is a pair of green gardening gloves on her hands, and she wields a shovel as she plants a group of flowers into the soil; small, delicate things what I recognize as "baby's breath."

  She looks up as I walk up to her, small, wrinkled face crinkling into a smile. 

  "You're back," she comments. "Did you remember to bring the seeds?" 

  I nod and smile back at her. "Deh, Ahjumma. Here they are," I say as I hand her the bag. She takes it and peers inside, then smiles wider. 

  "Yeh, this is exactly what I need. Thank you, Daehyun-ah." 

  I nod and bow slightly. "No problem." 

  But before I can go into the house, she says, "Daehyun." 

   I turn back to her and force on another false smile. "Yeh?" 

   She smiles back and eyes the camera hanging from my neck. "You took some more pictures?" 

  "Deh?" I ask, then look down at the camera. "Ah, yeh. This town is in the countryside, which makes it very beautiful." 

   She nods. "I'm glad you think so. I hope someday..." She looks up at me with gentle eyes. "I hope someday that you will be able to show me the pictures that you take. You're a nice boy, Daehyun-ah, but you always seem to be so distant. You should become more open to people." 

  There's a silence as I struggle to answer her. 

  "Ah..." I start, then purse my lips and look downwards. "Deh. Maybe someday I'll show you them." 

  She smiles at me again and I can finally enter the house. 

  You should become more open to people. The words glide around my brain. Of course, they have no effect whatsoever. 

*~(~*~(~*~(~*

   The only things that decorate what little space I have in my room in the basement are the few books I put in the tiny bookshelf that was provided for me when I moved in, and the papers I've taped up on the walls, containing a few of my ink drawings. 

   I'd gained a liking to drawing when I was a boy, waiting for my dad during long nights and all there was in the house to occupy my time was a stack of scrap paper and broken pens and pencils. It's practically the only other thing that I've obtained an interest towards other than Park Sa Rang.

  Park Sa Rang. 

  I feel my hands bunch up into fists, just as they had that day at the court hearing, when she was testifying against my father. When she brashly came to visit my father's shrine, where no framed photo of him stood. Just thinking of her name makes my blood curdle, and my head want to explode. 

   My room is moderately sized, veering more towards the small side. There is a small mat on the floor where I sleep, with a tiny dresser and a bookshelf lining the front wall. 

  I open one of the compartments of the drawer. There isn't much clothes inside of it; I didn't bother to bring much belongings with me when I came - the less there is of me, the less people will have against me in the future - but buried under what I do have is a large manila envelope, within it, a collection of photographs.

  They are mostly pictures taken of the sky. My mother had adored the sky, which was a piece of info that I'd uncovered about her some time after my father passed. It was only then that I began to really pay attention to it. 

  There are pictures of the sky at nighttime, at daytime, and mostly of the transition of both times: where the sun sets and where it rises. 

  I pull out a small stack of photos from my sweater pocket. There are around six or seven of them there, freshly processed. The first is of a minuscule flower shop, with the single word, Petals, written at the top in bolded flowing font. All sorts of flowers surround it - in pots, in small patches of soil, and some even bloom in vines, which climb up along the sides of the shop. The shop is painted in light colors of blue, pink and cream, like something out of a fairytale.

   The second is of an young man, very tall and strong-looking for his age, who sits at the porch steps of the shop, patting down the soil in one of the flowerpots. The data I have collected of him is that his name is Bang Yong Guk. He works part time at the flower shop, and he is the oldest of a family of four siblings, other than himself. He is twenty-three, older than I by three years, and older than Park Sa Rang by four years. His relationship towards her, however, is yet to be unveiled. 

   The rest of the photos are of her.

  She has definitely grown through the past thirteen years. She is no longer the small pig-tailed girl who cried at the witness stand whilst wearing a bandage round her head. She is not exactly tall, but she has grown particularly well. The pastel colors she wears as her clothes are still apparent, but her long honey golden hair is pulled into a small, rushed bun, and on her head she wears a white, woven sun hat, blocking the sun's rays from her as she works in the garden. 

  I don't know why there are so many people in this town that adore flowers so much. Frankly, I think they are a waste of time and effort. Why plant and nurture and care for something that is bound to die anyway, without even a sole purpose to play in life? How will they help anyone? All they will do is grow, look charming to the eyes for a while, and then wilt and  die off. Useless. 

  I am repeating the words of my father over and over in my mind. But anyone must admit, they make a lot of sense. 

  I finger the last photograph I'd taken before I left to buy Ahjumma's seeds. Only the outline of her head is shown, while the camera focuses on a sign hanging at the front door. 

  HELP WANTED, it reads in clear, flowing handwritten script. Other contact info is listed at the bottom of the sign.

  I chuckle softly to myself. 

  I'm here, Park Sa Rang, I think. I'm here to fulfill my promise to you. And thank you. Thank you for making this so much more easier for me. 

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Park Sa Rang's POV: 

  "Yongguk-ah," I call out, dragging my sleeve across the sweat on my forehead. "Could you come here and help me with this please?"

   He enters the shop smiling, sweat glistening off his shoulders and down his arms. Because the door is so small and he is so tall, he still has to duck before he comes in, so that the top of his head doesn't hit the space above the door. The two of us are still working on a way to heighten it, so that both he and other customers don't have to deal with forehead bruises any longer. 

   "What can I do for you?" he says in a cheerful tone, sliding his gloves off and wiping his hands with a cloth.

   I motion towards the sacks of soil which lie in the corner of the room. 

   "I need to bring these to the back of the shop, but they're too heavy," I explain. 

  He nods, then grins at me. "Well then, we wouldn't want your hands to be hurt, now would we? How else would you be able to play music?" 

  I smile and shake my head gently. "Just please help me." 

  "Deh, Boss-nim!" he says in a loud tone as he grabs all four sacks at once and slings them over his back. He doesn't even break a sweat.

   I laugh as he whistles away.

   "Thank you!" I call to him and he makes the "okay" sign with his fingers without turning back. 

  When he returns, he comes back with two mugs. 

  "What are these?" I ask, though I already have a pretty good idea what they are.

  "Tea. You bought so many different kinds last time, but you never drink any without me to remind you of them." He shakes his head and clucks his tongue at me. 

  I smile sheepishly and take the mug he holds in his outstretched hand. 

  "Thank you," I say again. 

   He motions for me to sit down at the front desk and when I do, he leans his elbow on the table and sips his tea in front of me, as we do every day. 

  After a relaxing silence, I decide to speak up. 

  "What are we going to do about that?" I ask, motioning towards the Help Wanted sign we put up around two weeks ago. "No one has called or applied yet." 

  He reaches over and pats me softly on my shoulder. "Someone will come, don't worry." 

   I sigh and stir my tea thoughtfully. "I hope you're right." Then I look up at him, a pout blooming across my face. "Can't you get one of your brothers to help out?" 

  He laughs and shakes his head. "I don't think that's possible. Himchan's busy with university, Youngjae's always lost in his own world of music, and who knows what Jongup and Junhong are up to nowadays." 

  I laugh with him and take another sip of tea. "Well, it was worth a try. I just hope that someone will come soon."

   Before he can respond, the sound of the phone ringing makes the two of us jump. Drops of tea accidentally spill over Yongguk's arm, but he brushes the droplets away without a word, all attention on the phone.

   We both look at each other, apprehension in our faces.

   "Do you think...?" I start.

   "I think so," he answers, and after a look and nod from me, he picks up the phone.  

   I'm holding my breath as they speak. We really need a new worker. Yongguk-ah has other part-time jobs that he has, since he has to work hard to pay the rest of his brother's tuitions, so he doesn't have as much time as he would like to spend at Petals. And I need a good worker to help me around the shop when he's not there.

  I can only hear his side of the conversation. 

  "Yoboseyo?...Deh, this is Petals, how may I help you...the sign....you want to apply?" He looks at me with a grin and I give him an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign. He returns to the conversation, newfound fervor in his voice. "Deh, of course you can come by tomorrow! You can start working if you'd like! I'll explain the jobs you'll have to become familiar with and..." 

  He continues on, and then writes some of the person's contact information down on a pad I present to him. And then he hangs up and he laughs as he watches me jump around. 

   "Happy?" he asks. 

  I nod my head vigorously. "Deh. Very. So how does he or she sound?" 

   "He sounds very responsible." 

  "That's great! What's his name?" 

  He passes me the pad where he wrote in the person's info. "See for yourself." 

  I take the pad from his hand and let my eyes explore its contents. 

   "Jung Daehyun," I read aloud. Then I lift my face to Yongguk's and grin. "I can't wait until he comes by tomorrow."

Thank you for reading the second chapter of "Love in Murder"! Please leave a comment at the bottom and subscribe if you can!
~TheNightCircus~