The Façade of a Stranger

Pale moonlight poured over the city bathing houses and shops in a faint morose light. Amongst these buildings a narrow cobblestone road zigzagged furiously, making numerous sharp turns, as if it were masquerading a labyrinth. On one of these streets I emerged from my favorite pub. The brisk nighttime air cooled my skin as the lingering taste of the piquant alcohol began to slowly dissipate from the surface of my tongue. I brushed the remaining breadcrumbs from my dark trousers and straightened my long frock coat in vague wariness of my outer visage. And as I glanced up after completing my task my eyes fell in awe upon a petite young lady about my age if not a bit younger.

Her hair fell down in velvet brown coils that washed against her ashen cheeks and down towards the middle of her back. They bounced vivaciously as she strolled along the cobble stone path leading away from the center of West London. The poor girl had a tired look to her as this part of the city gave to most that lived here; nonetheless this did not hinder her beauty in the least. Pondering absentmindedly, I wondered if I should pursue her, and after musing about the idea for a few moments I decided to do just that.

“Good morning, miss,” I commented politely as it would be dawn in a few hours. She was startled, but as soon as she peered at my formal habiliments she calmed down. She smoothed her hair down in a vain attempt to keep her intractable curls tame and smiled, albeit the smile did not reach her tired gray-blue eyes.

“And a good evening to you, sir,” she said, mimicking my polite disposition.

“I was wondering if you could help me towards Eastern London,” I asked sheepishly, “I came here for a drink and seemed to have lost my way.” She hastily agreed and I could see greed form in her eyes. A pickpocket? I questioned, mentally. Well, I guess there is only one way to find out. I followed her willingly as she lead me in what was most likely the path opposite to the one I inquired about. A half hour later she ceased in her movement. I arched my eyebrow in question as I glanced at my surroundings. A dark alleyway? If my assumptions are correct and she is a commonplace thief then this is incredibly cliché, I contemplated.

“Hand over all your valuables!” she hissed, half whispering so we would not be discovered, as she swung around to face me. She held up a small pocketknife in her hand, presenting it in a threatening manner. I flashed a look of dismay and she grinned fervently.

“Just kidding,” I said smoothly, and before she could change her expression to one of confusion I was upon her. As I pushed her back against the wall – my hand grasped around her dainty throat – I reached into the inner pocket of my coat and swiftly pulled out my knife. The movement was so familiar to me that it had become almost second nature. The touch of the smooth hilt of the dagger against my rough, worn hand had a calming effect to me that not even all the brandy in the world could accomplish. At this moment all the worries and uncertainties that had accompanied me earlier vanished into thin air. This was what they called true bliss… but then it was over before I knew it. She was on the dusty ground below, dead, with an expression that presented a mixture of fear, confusion, and possibly traces of regret, which was now frozen in place on her ashen face. I slipped out the handkerchief that rested inside my outer pocket, shook it out, and then began the task of wiping the blood off of my dagger. Afterwards, I placed my favorite weapon back where I had it earlier and began working on the blood that began to stain the skin of my hands. How troublesome, I thought, irritated. The only downside to my hobby is this, but I guess it is worth it in the end.

A stifled gasp brought my attention back to reality as I swirled to stare at the perpetrator who broke me from my thoughts. A gruff looking man with a bottle of liquor between his dirty hands stared at me with bemusement. It’s as if he has never seen a dead body before, I thought lightly. I finished with my handkerchief, which had only accomplished moving around the blood stains instead of wiping them away, and then I stuffed it back into my pocket. I glanced back up at the old man noticing his face was gray with horror. I tipped my hat politely in greeting and then began to depart towards my abode. I was beginning to feel signs of fatigue and I did not want to be tired for when I had to awake for work.

“J-Jack?!” said the old man in a gasping voice. I did not hesitate for a moment in my stride, but did remark cryptically:

“I guess.”

what was with the last line? I didn't get that and that just confused me. Do you mind if you could explain that part a little further?