Reese picked his way into his kitchen and flicked on the overhead light, blinking in the sudden brightness and shaking his head. Slipping out of his jacket, Reese tossed it onto he kitchen table, quickly followed by his hat, soft gloves, belt, cravat and vest. He stretched upward, feeling his joints shift and pop in his ears, and undid a few buttons on his shirt, untucking it along the way to the icebox to fish out a wrapped sandwich he prepared that morning. When coming back home Reese either had no time or no energy to cook, so he did so in the morning and reheated it in the oven in the evening. As he ate over the sink, however, a chill slid down his spine and brought up a shiver through his body, and he looked around. Usually he knew when he was being watched. His body reacted to the invisible gaze upon him even when he didn't realize it. Someone was near. Or at least, there was a peeper somewhere outside. He took his food with him as he rechecked the front door's three locks and deadbolt, then the windows' locks, and closed the dark violet curtains. Rubbing the back of his neck, where the tingling sensation had gathered, he shuddered when it finally left and went to the fireplace, tossing the last bit of bread among the half-burned logs.

Reaching up, Reese picked up the ornate wooden case from the mantle and slotted it over the rifle. From even up close it looked like nothing more than a decorative wall piece, with silver furnishings to make the pressed designs stand out well against the dark wood. He nodded to himself, going into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine from the cabinet and a glass, and trudged to the topmost floor. He didn't mind leaving the curtains open here, because rarely did anyone want to clamber up the side of another building to stare at him doing nothing of interest. In the upper floors he picked his way to a room he had draped in carpet and cloth, keeping everything from echoing or reverberating too annoyingly for neighbors. In this room was a desk, a violin case, and an actual cello on its stand in the corner across from the window. He did play, switching out with his double on long shifts, though it meant bringing an extra bag with him to work when he traveled to the concert hall.

Sitting in the chair near the small side table, Reese uncorked the half-empty bottle and filled the glass a third of the way, pausing to take a drink and stare at the light tan wallpaper across the room. He would have liked something stronger but the idea was off-putting, because that meant a possible hangover in the morning and hangover-Reese was impossible to work with. Setting the glass aside he pulled the cello off its stand and unclipped the bow from the back. He didn't really read music, wasn't even sure how to do so, but he could copy and emulate musical pieces after a few listens and practice rounds, and make his own music through extensive trial and error. Reese decided against trial and error this time around and began gently sawing out a deep tone he'd practiced many times before. It let his mind rest, drift even.

His latest target would be leaving the city in two days. He needed a chance. The guy was dealing in child trafficking and needed to be taken out. If he was out, that meant the money was gone, because he had no heir in his will and the money would be given to the bank. They would struggle and eventually become sloppy and that meant the whole thing would begin falling apart. At least it was one good thing for him to put on his roster. One positive in all the negative. Reese closed his eyes and tried to get over the feeling of being watched---he always had the feeling the place was haunted, perhaps the ghost just liked music. He chuckled to himself at the thin attempt at internal humor and paused to drink half the wine in the glass down in one.