"S-Sir, your nose… it's bleeding." The woman spoke quietly with an increasingly cautious expression.
Finally looking around and realizing what had happened and where he was, Caesar offered an apology.
"I apologize, I suffer from PTSD. I was looking for a realtor. Would you happen to have any tissues?"
The woman looked at him with that pitying look commonly reserved for war veterans.
"I'm Melissa Graham. I'll be your realtor, come. If you'd like the bathroom is just past the reception desk along the left wall. We can speak in my office after you're finished, it's just there."
She pointed to an office situated along the corner of the building. Caesar nodded, "We'll do that then. If you'll excuse me."
Caesar made his way to the bathroom. Turning on the faucet and cleaning his nose, he looked at himself in the mirror. For a moment, the reflection didn't feel like his. He stood at 5'10", bright hazel eyes already beginning to lose focus the longer he stared. Pitch-black hair hung loosely to his shoulder blades. His tattoos peeking out of his hoodie's left sleeve like fingers reaching for the same salvation he's looking for. 'Fuck, I need to get this shit under control. I can't just casually be thinking of torturing people for information like that shits normal.'
After spending some time in the bathroom to organize himself Caesar made his way to Melissa's office. "I apologize for my earlier outburst. I'm Caesar Kateb."
Melissa responded with the careful confidence of someone trying not to light a bomb. "No, no, it's quite alright. I may not understand but I'm sure, you've been through a lot. Setting that aside, welcome to Upper Eastside Real Estate. What type of property were you looking to buy? We've got everything from townhouses, apartments, and if you were looking for land we have some beautiful properties upstate."
"I was looking for a property that was made for livestock and agriculture.
I'd like to be in the Hudson Valley area.
I'd like the property to contain around ten acres though I'm open to more or less with my absolute minimum being 5 acres.
My budget is $25,000,000 and I'll be buying outright."
Melissa stared at him for a brief stunned moment. "We have plenty of farm properties. With your budget we could look at securing more land." She pulled out a large folder before going through it and picking 5 properties.
"These are farms that have been cultivated previously and offer plenty of land access as well. Specifically, this one here."
She pointed at one of the listings. "As you can see you get quite a bit of builds for farm use. It's currently being maintained by the sellers with the previous crops removed so that you may use the land."
Caesar looked at the photos carefully. "Would we be able to take a look at the property today?" "Of course," Melissa responded, gathering her things. "The property is about 45 minutes away."
~~~~~
45 Minutes Later
Farm House
Pulling up to the property Caesar was greeted with the vast open land and the cluster of building at the end of the dirt trail. 'Wide open views, plenty of structures, pastures for cattle, sheep, and other livestock. This is workable.' For a moment, it felt simple… then the thought shifted. 'Too open, the buildings sit too close for comfort. It's not ideal but it can be changed. Expanded.' Melissa spoke up. "Here you have the farm. Sitting on roughly 20 acres, the main house is 3,200 sq ft with two levels and a small detached garage fitting the barn aesthetic that holds four cars. The other buildings support the farm. Storage, equipment, livestock. The silo for grains and other crops." They proceeded to tour the property with Caesar making mental notes of all the additions and modifications he could make to secure the property and surrounding land. After an hour long tour Caesar had made his decision. "I'll take it, the property contains everything I was looking for and more." Melissa looked at him and nodded. "I'll make a quick call so that everything is prepared." Then walked away to make the call.
~~~~~
18:15
Farm House
"Finally… mine." Caesar got out of his car retrieving some items he bought after buying the house. Lost in thought he entered the main house and aimed right for the master bedroom. 'I'll just call it a night.' Putting away his clothes and other articles, he picked out some loose grey sweats before proceeding to head for the shower. He turned the water on, temperature set high before getting in. He enjoyed the water running over him… however, that didn't last long. As he sat under the water, his thoughts ran amuck. Memories bleeding and blending with his own, one minute he was in the shower. The next, he was out in the field interrogating a known suspect with Geneva Convention Rules completely ignored then he was in a firefight trying to cover his team and the civilians caught in the crossfire then he was patching up a comrade who he knew wouldn't make it; Those memories hit him the hardest, every unwilling moment he watched the children or his teammates get gunned down in front of him.
After an uncertain amount of time, Caesar shut off the shower. Silence didn't follow. It never did. For a moment, he just stood there. Chest rising unevenly, water still dripping from his hair, tracing slow lines down his face. He didn't reach for a towel. If he did… he might choke it. The way he did to men in memory. He stepped forward instead. The mirror was fogged over completely. Opaque. Still. Merciful. For a second… he almost left it like that. Then his hand came up. He dragged his hand across the glass. A small window cleared in the center. Just enough to see through. Just enough to see him… or something wearing him. Caesar leaned in slightly, breath shallow. His reflection stared back. Bright hazel eyes, but unfocused… like they belonged to someone who wasn't fully there anymore. His nose still showed the signs, red smears of blood glistening just under his nose. No longer bleeding, just lingering. Like the stains he imagined every time he looked at his hands. No longer merciful. Cruel in its honesty. His hand rose again. Pressed flat against the mirror. Hard. Too hard. The glass creaked faintly under the pressure as his fingers spread. Tension running up his forearm. Like he could force himself through it. Break it. Or drag whatever that was out of it. "…" The reflection matched him perfectly. That was the problem.
It shouldn't.
Not after what he just saw. Not after what he just felt. A flicker then… a field. A scream. A man begging. Blood, so much goddamn blood. His jaw tightened. 'That's not me.'His hand pressed harder. 'That's not…' The reflection didn't change. Didn't crack. Didn't distort. It just stared back at him. Calm. Familiar. Like it belonged. His breath hitched. One thought cut clean through everything else. 'One bullet fixes it.' Caesar recoiled like he'd been burned. His hand dropped from the glass instantly. He turned away from the mirror without looking again, he wouldn't risk it. Barely drying off, he dragged on a pair of loose grey sweats with rushed, unsteady movements. He needed out.
The door opened before he fully registered moving.
Cool air hit his skin. It didn't help.
His hand found the box on the dresser just outside the bathroom doorway. His fingers closed around it tightly. He stepped out onto the porch, breath still uneven, pulling in air like it might anchor him. It didn't. The rocking chair creaked as he dropped into it, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Still gripping the box. Like it might slip from his hands. For a moment, he just sat there. Trying and failing to slow his breathing down. His hands weren't steady. Not shaking wildly. Worse. A fine tremor. Constant, controlled. Like invisible shackles keeping him steady. He flipped the box open and paused. He sighed, "…right." A cigarette slid free between his fingers. Slower than it should have.
He brought it up.
Then froze.
A flicker… blood. A voice. A hand forcing someone down. His jaw tightened. Gone. He finished the motion like nothing had happened. The lighter clicked. Once. Twice. Frustration built before it caught on the third. The flame steady against the backdrop of his shaky hand before he corrected it. He took a drag long and deep.
The drag hitting harder than it should have. Grounding. Reminding him where he was. He held it a second longer, then exhaled slowly. The chair rocked slightly as he leaned back. Eyes half-lidded. Not relaxed. Not even close. "…" The silence settled around him. His grip tightened on the cigarette. Not enough to break it. Not yet.