He had been sitting in the park bench opposite Miss Frances for some time now, merely observing her. It was, in his estimation, something of a sad case. Her family had asked him to keep an eye on her. They were worried. Of course the would be. She had suffered a major trauma in her life, and people often had a hard time with these things, especially if they were unable to come to terms with them.
He couldn't help but feel a little shady in these circumstances, taking money to spy on those who were in such a condition. The family had been clear that they didn't want him to get directly involved. Observe, catalogue, report. That was what he had been paid to do. Even so, watching this once brilliant woman's mind slowly begin to unravel without interfering was one of the most difficult things he'd had to do.
He had started the investigation by going into her home one day while she was out. He'd taken a look through some of her personal possessions, really looking to get a feel for the person she had been before the 'incident' as the family referred to it. She had a very obvious love of poetry and a collection of classic literature which heavily contradicted what he had assumed about her based on her appearance. She wasn't too stylish, but she dressed well enough. Middle class, the teacher type, good looking in the girl next door kind of way. He'd pegged her as the basic type. The Pumpkin Latte and selfie Millennial generation. She had political literature and publications available on her coffee and dinner tables, a small collection of various teas, and a series of romance movies readily available. Feminine and sophisticated, what a girl.
Mostly her daily activities were mundane. Working, running errands, coming home to her apartment. It was a pretty regular cycle so far as well. But the there were days like today, days when she spent hours talking to a gold fish and babbled about flying into the sun. He hated having to write those things down, hated that he had so far stayed true to his word to leave her in peace. If only someone could speak sense to her, if only someone could remind her that the life she imagined was all in her head. If only someone could draw her out of her mind, maybe there was a chance that woman he had begun to investigate was still there somewhere.
But for now, he observed and took notes, watched her closely and waited for any indication that she was perhaps a danger to herself or those around her. That was when he might interject himself without breaking his agreement with her family, might meet her, might put into action the steps she would need to begin taking to get herself turned around. For now, he had to wait.