I Am Jack’s Lack of Conscience
Jack watches people’s lips move but doesn’t bother to listen, their words are their parent’s words, their grandparent’s words, their ancestor’s. Jack’s the type of guy that will cut anyone off mid-question to answer, because he already knows what it’s going to be and he knows what he wants. What he would like today is a cup of hot cocoa, and for the waiter to not be stingy with the marshmallows.
Sitting outside the café he can cattle-watch as he cools off his drink. The herd moves up the sidewalk, down the sidewalk on the right side, mimicking their four wheeled counterparts, in a marginally disorganized manner. People who stand alone fidget with cell phones, with pockets, or wear sunglasses to hide that nerveless glint in their eyes. Surrounded by opportunities to reach out and connect without the need for bars and people waste it. Early on, Jack learned not to try. To let the people slide by like cool ice tea down throats on summer days. Fear had ripped them of their spines, of a consciousness that could save them from their fear of murderers.
Jack doesn’t fidget, though he is alone at his table, he does not wear sunglasses to hide his eyes. He stares into each person’s face that passes close by and sees the walls go up. Some look down, unconscious of the submissive gesture and he wonders at such a time in the world that there could be so many Betas running around. Where had all the Alphas gone?
His hot cocoa finished, Jack got up from his seat. He had spotted a tuberose colored dress, and he caught the faint whiff of the flower, tasted its herbal flavor on the back of his tongue along with the chocolate. He watched the flow of the dress move through the crowd, watched her move in a zigzag along the sidewalk. Jack paid his bill and left through the side gate, a leviathan in disguise among the crowd. He passed by muted business suits and designer labels to follow the white dress to her destination. Bubbles of space seemed to appear around each of them, the nearly choked instincts of the crowd forcing the people to think twice of stepping between Jack and the sight of her auburn hair. Soon enough they had entered the public park, a length of ten paces kept between them as they walked along gravel deeper into the trees.
Jack appreciated that she never looked back, that she never had to question his presence or affirm herself that he was there. As hunter to prey, she was doing her part to uphold their silent contract. Turning leaves surrounded them when they finally stopped, and that first cool breeze of fall blew past them both.  
“Hello.” Her voice was as soft, as fuzzy as the outside of a peach, and her fawn eyes were so trusting as she finally looked back at him.  
Jack was also one to never mince words.
“Goodbye.”
The silencer kept the nearby dog-walkers from rushing to investigate, and the silent disapproval of the trees could only be understood by the wind. Jack walked over to her body, admired the way the scarlet of the blood decorated her dress so nicely, and couldn’t be spotted in her hair. Jack left the park, returned to the herd and blended in, ready to collect and move on to the next job.
.