Although sociopaths and psychopaths both disregard the safety and rights of others, the similarities between them end there.

Psychopaths have difficulty developing an emotional attachment with others. They form shallow relationships with the intention of manipulating the other in a way that benefits the psychopath. Regardless of how much they may harm others, psychopaths observe no guilt regarding their behaviors whatsoever.

People are viewed as nothing more than a potential means to achieve the psychopath’s objective or to further his goals.

Psychopaths are generally perceived by outsiders as being charming and trustworthy. They often hold steady jobs. While they tend to be well-educated and may have a genius-level IQ, they often learn a great deal of what they know on their own.

When a psychopath engages in criminal behavior, they tend to do so in a way that minimizes risk to themselves. They will carefully plan each criminal act to ensure they don’t get caught, having contingency plans in place for every possible outcome imaginable.

The behavior of the sociopath, on the other hand, is more impulsive and erratic. They have difficulties allowing themselves to become attached to others, although some may form an attachment to a person they feel is like-minded. Unlike psychopaths, most sociopaths don’t hold down long-term jobs. A normal family life is an uncommon thing for a sociopath.

When a sociopath engages in criminal behavior, they typically do so impulsively. They do little to calculate the risks or consequences associated with their haphazardly planned crimes.

Sociopaths may become agitated and anger easily, sometimes resulting in violent outbursts. Those types of behaviors increase a sociopath’s chances of being apprehended.

Because psychopaths minimize their risk, plan to the point of excess, and act without impulse, they are the best choice to be an operator in the program.

The man sitting in my office possessed the worst possible characteristics of each disorder. Remorse, guilt, and empathy were things he never felt. Yet, he took the uncalculated risks of a sociopath. His violent outbursts were often the result of impulsive behavior.

One would never guess his diagnosis by talking to him, or by looking at him. He was kind, charming, and attractive. Always tan with a lean muscular build, he wore his sun-bleached hair long enough that he constantly needed to sweep it away from his face. He could easily be anyone’s neighbor or the guy sitting next to you at a coffee shop.

He whistled when he walked, and always took time to stop and tell anyone who’d listen one of the thousands of jokes he’d memorized. He was a master at manipulation if there ever was one.

“Would you like to explain what caused you to go outside the boundaries set forth in your assignment?” I asked.

“A good number of things,” he explained. “My decisions were in the best interest of the program’s anonymity, and the security of the Nation.”

“There were risks taken that—”

“I was there,” he blurted, unsuccessfully attempting to hide his frustration. “You weren’t. For me to explain it to you would be like trying to explain algebraic equations to a duck.”

“Why don’t you give it a try,” I said.

He leaned over and peered under my desk. “Do you have a pet duck?”

If I did, I damned sure wouldn’t let him near it. He’d torture it, eventually kill it, and get some odd sense of satisfaction out of it. Then, he’d lie to me about the circumstances surrounding the murder.

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “I was meaning the assignment, Mister Shephard.”

He grinned. “Oh.”

While contemplating his response, he glanced around the room. Shephard was cold, calculating, and manipulative. He was a master at controlling others. Through his false expression of emotions and his ability to act in award-winning fashion, he convinced those around him of the lies he so easily concocted.

After taking a precursory look at everything in my office, he met my gaze. His bottom lip was jutted out and quivering.

“The assignment was to eliminate the target away from home by any means that could be perceived as natural. After performing three days of surveillance, I determined that his time at his office was never spent alone. A woman, who I assumed was his secretary, remained there until he left, regardless of the time of day he chose to leave. This left his home as my only viable option.”

He drew a long breath and continued. “The master bedroom of his two-story residence was located upstairs. In hope of mimicking a fall down the stairs that ended with a broken neck, I entered the home under the assumption he was alone. The assumption proved false. Risk assessment is a critical part of each assignment. I weighed the risk, made a decision, and completed the task.”

“The file indicated he was married,” I argued. “The target being eliminated away from the home minimized exposure, and in turn, minimized risk. The outline of the assignment was clear. You chose to modify the instructions in your intel sheet without authorization. The target’s wife was guilty of nothing.”

“In a perfect world, it would have happened differently. Sadly, I don’t operate in a perfect world. I’d sure like to. In this profession, it simply doesn’t happen. We’re forced to adapt and overcome.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m pretty upset about how this played out, Doctor Rhoades. I wanted it to go differently, not only for me, but for you, and for the deceased.”

His incessant lying was frustrating. I remained emotionless, hoping to convince him I trusted and believed him.

Causing him to think otherwise would be detrimental to my health.

“You entered the home under the belief that the target was alone?” I asked.

“I did.”

“What led you to believe the home was occupied by no one other than the target?”

“I observed the wife leave through the front door of the residence. Based on her attire and actions of the two previous evenings, I assumed she was going for a run. After a short wait, I entered the home. To my surprise, she was inside, apparently after reentering through the back door. In lieu of making it look like a botched robbery, I chose to orchestrate a murder-suicide, of sorts.”

A robbery would have been more believable to the local authorities. A murder-suicide—that included the neighbor—looked more like a love triangle that had fallen victim to jealousy. The thought of him spending three days calculating how he intended to murder the target, his wife, and the neighbor sickened me.

I flipped through the field report. Upon reaching the page where the murder scene was detailed, I traced my finger along the description of the victims’ placement in the home.

“The neighbor,” I said. “You failed to mention her.”

He shook his head in mock sorrow. “The neighbor, for lack of a better term, was a casualty of war. It makes me sick to think she had to be included. I keep asking myself why, and all I can come up with was that it must have been God’s will.”

The only God Shephard believed in was himself.

The report stated the women were wearing Lycra workout pants, sports bras, and running shoes. I suspected a portion of his story was true, the main difference being that he consciously waited until all parties were in the home before he entered. The more the merrier was his motto when killing was involved.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done something sinister. Shephard frequently left multiple dead bodies in his wake. It was never as simple as someone getting in the way of a mission. His supplementary killings were well-planned, sickeningly composed, and thoroughly enjoyed.

I hated to admit it, but the sociopaths and psychopaths in New Dawn’s operation were critical to the survival of the program. Their lack of emotion allowed them to complete the most complex missions without question.

Even so, Shephard’s decision to orchestrate a murder-suicide that included the neighbor woman placed everyone in the program at risk. Local investigators would undoubtedly pick the crime scene to pieces. If their findings led them to us, it was one more unnecessary mess that would need to be cleaned up.

Proving the inaccuracy of Shephard’s story wasn’t necessary for me to deem him a liability and suggest that he be eliminated from New Dawn.

My report would clearly spell out the complexity of his mental health issues and the risks associated with continuing to use him as an operator. To ensure I protected the interest of New Dawn, I’d deviate from the chain of command, bypass AD Wallace, and go right to the director with my findings. This time, Shephard would be eliminated.

I would make sure of it.

“Have you had any problems sleeping?” I asked, although I knew the response would be a lie.

“I haven’t slept a full night since,” he responded. “I keep seeing the women’s faces when I close my eyes. Especially the neighbor. My heart goes out to her family for their untimely loss.”

I had no desire to hear more of his lies. I’d do anything for a client that was willing to listen, be honest, and consider my recommendations. Shephard’s attempt to manipulate me was falling on deaf ears.

“I’ll request a sleeping pill prescription and make a recommendation that you take some time off,” I said. “Maybe thirty days.”

His posture straightened. “Time off?”

I made a few notes in his file and flipped to the next page. “For you to recover from this horrific incident.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said in a monotone voice.

I looked up. His laser-sharp glare pinned me to my seat. The veins on either side his neck bulged. His face, however, remained expressionless. Trusting him was impossible.

“I think some time off will be beneficial,” I said. “Just a few days to clear your head.”

“I think that’s a bad idea.” His glare intensified. “A really bad idea.”

My muscles tensed. The underside of my desk was fitted with a panic button. If pressed, guards would enter my office and extract Mister Shephard. I realized in the amount of time it would take for them to arrive, I’d likely be on the floor with a broken neck.

I rested my hand beneath the button. “Mister Shephard, I think time away from the program—and the difficulties it presents—is fitting, especially considering the trauma you’ve been through.”

“How about a week?” His face softened a little. “I can go to the beach. Thirty days is too long. Striving to make this nation a safer place soothes my nerves.”

I was beginning to wonder if he could go thirty days without killing. The sadist in him was probably yearning to squeeze the life out of someone as we spoke. That someone was likely me.

“I’ll make the recommendation for a week off,” I said. “How’s that? We’ll readdress it at the end of that week and see how you’re feeling.”

“Just a week?”

I forced a shallow smile. “That’ll be my recommendation.”

He exhaled and relaxed his muscles. “I can live with that.”

I unclenched my fists and swept my palms along the thighs of my slacks. I’d seen all of Mister Shephard I cared to see. Our session was over.

So were his days as an operator.

“I’ll include that in my report.” I reached for my pen. “Have you experienced any short-term memory loss?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

I checked the box marked no. “Long-term?”

“Nope.”

I checked the no box. “Suicidal thoughts?”

“Afraid not,” he said.

I marked yes, quickly closed his folder, and smiled. “I’ll see you on the twenty-eighth.”