Friends and family have likely noticed I haven't been all that chipper lately.

I'm supposed to be objective, dispassionate and observational, not participatory.

In all honesty, though, I have been finding myself shocked, emotional and angry, probably not unlike you.

Things have been setting me off, even little things. It doesn't take a psychotherapist to tell me why, either.

Ever since Cherokee County's nine-day nightmare began, I haven't slept all that much. I've lied awake practically every night, my head spinning with questions, my heart filled with sorrow for three area families, and my stomach aching.

I'm angry that such unspeakable evil found its way to Cherokee County.

I'm angry that five people were taken from us.

And I'm angry that the person police say was responsible seemed to get off too easy for all of the heartache he caused.

I've covered cops, courts and crimes practically my entire career as a reporter and I've rarely had trouble separating my own humanity from the job I needed to get done, at least when it was appropriate.

But this situation has bothered me like few others. Kline Cash, 63, didn't deserve this fate. Hazel Linder, 83, didn't deserve this fate. Gena Parker, 50, didn't deserve this fate. Stephen Tyler, 48, didn't deserve this fate. Abby Tyler, 15, didn't deserve this fate. Their families didn't deserve this.

Cherokee County didn't deserve this.

Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. I've cherished that concept my entire life, especially as a court reporter who has often wondered if police collared the right person, and sometimes seen that they didn't.

But police say there is no doubt Patrick Tracy Burris, a career criminal who has spent most of the past two decades in and out of North Carolina prisons, was the person responsible for Cherokee County's nightmare. While full details of all the evidence against him are still trickling in, I'm willing to believe them even as the story continues to unfold.

Burris won't have a chance to exercise his constitutional rights to a jury trial and to confront his accusers and, at this point, I don't care.

Perhaps all of this is why other things have been bothering me more than they normally would, such as other stories we haven't been able to tell you about because Cherokee County's nightmare took precedence.

Take, for instance, what happened to Gaffney firefighters the night of July 4th.

The Gaffney Fire Department was called out numerous times to respond to brush fires sparked by fireworks. It was somewhat expected, since conditions are so dry right now. But what happened to firefighters at two locations, however, made my already simmering blood boil.

At one, a fire truck reportedly was blocked by a large group of people who wouldn't get out of the way.

At the other, firefighters, in no uncertain terms, were assaulted.

When firefighters tried to get out of their truck, some as-of-yet unknown participants in a reported fireworks war decided that it was somehow appropriate to launch fireworks at people who can be called upon to risk their lives any minute, any hour, any day. I'm told one mortar shell struck the side of a fire truck from Station 15, the East Gaffney fire station, sending sparks all around and firefighters running for safety.

Fireworks were launched at a second fire department vehicle, too, and I'm told they were even launched toward responding police officers.

You've likely heard a lot about criminal profilers in the past few days as police searched for the serial killer. So I'm going to offer you a profile of the person or people who would do this to emergency personnel:

This person or people would apparently spit on U.S. soldiers coming home from Iraq, would push elderly people off the sidewalk, would desecrate a church, and would slap their own grandmother in the face.

If they want to prove me wrong, all they have to do is turn themselves in to police or tell police who was responsible.

And to top it all off, this utter insanity occurred while people across Cherokee County were living in fear for their lives or the lives of their families and children, many locked in their homes, calling 9-1-1 every time something sounded like a gunshot, or someone prowling outside their homes.

People were rightly on edge. I don't know how some people thought it was right to push them over.

The 4th of July should have been a time that people came together in the best of spirits, to remind everyone that we in Cherokee County are strong, that we would overcome the evil that had landed on our doorstep, that we would stand together to shed light and remove the shadows of doubt, fear, anxiety and godlessness.

The vast majority of Cherokee County did just that, at prayer services, in their homes, at their dinner tables, at their workplaces and even during Fourth of July gatherings where fireworks were safely enjoyed.

At least in two cases, however, that didn't happen.

I didn't do it. I had no part in it. But I offer my apologies to the Gaffney Fire Department, to the Gaffney Police Department and any other emergency responders that were subjected to this.

You deserved better.

We as a community deserved better. In the past two weeks, I can only think of one person who deserved worse than what he got.