Peter clenched his fists and stared into the floor. The colors didn't seem like they were going to disappear. He had never seen anything like it, and if there hadn't been several needle-like stabs at his well...mind...perhaps he would have admired the spectacle.
Someone lightly put their hand on his shoulder. The pressure was just enough to make him feel solid once again. He focused. The pull, whatever it was, was like fighting drowsiness. He heard his friends trying to talk to him, but the sensation was too great for him to respond. He could almost make out a path, but realized that was silly—an alternate dimension wouldn’t just appear in Minneapolis. Yet, at the same time, he could feel tremendous, encompassing within him. It wasn't warm or flowery, just strong, like a helping hand for his whole being. He pushed back with its strength and almost instantly the pain subsided and he stood once again.
He looked behind to see Katie, her hand still on his shoulder.
Aaron got in front of him, blocking Rachel. “You okay?”
Peter kept his eyes steady, trying to discern if others in the restaurant had noticed. Only a couple of people looked over; most were talking or watching the news. “Yeah. Just a nasty headache.”
Jake laughed. He was standing further away, leaning onto a counter. “Sure, and I'm on drugs. We can go home if you're not feeling well.”
Peter shook his head, slowly, though, just in case of another attack. He didn't want to think about the force he'd just tapped. Then he noticed the TV screen again. Nothing new had happened. The Police were waiting, but he couldn't hear what they were saying.
“Oh yeah,” Rachel said lowly. “That's The Bank of Harriet.”
Aaron nodded. “What of it?”
“My parents have an account there. Funny how stuff like this happens, isn't it?”
Peter tried to make out her expression, but between her slumped shoulders and blank face, he could only see sadness.
“Well, we can take a look,” Katie said. Aaron nodded.
Rachel's eyes widened. “No, I wouldn't...that's okay, really.”
Aaron smiled and nudged Peter. “It's not like we have anything else to do. I just thought we'd wing it. This is much more exciting.” His brown eyes seemed to glow.
The group went to the front and formed a loose line, wallets open for payment. As he took out the cash, Peter barely recognized the transaction. It felt more like a dream. He didn’t feel sick or have shivers, but he felt off.
They walked to the end of the block and crossed over towards the bank. It was only a few blocks away, and the compacting pedestrians certainly showed it.
He wondered what kind of talking to he’d get from his aunt and uncle. They’d never been fans of Peter getting into trouble. Of course, as he’d learned through Aaron’s parents that was common, however Uncle George had barely let Peter go to the city. Peter had been seventeen for a month already and somehow life hadn’t changed that much. Perhaps once he’d become an adult and left the house he’d get more freedom. Uncle George was cautious because he didn’t want to lose Peter. They weren’t related by blood. Aunt Susan was his mother’s younger sister. They were all each other had. And his mother.
“Wow,” Aaron said. He stood on his tiptoes while leaning into the side of a building. Peter shifted his gaze and did likewise: over the crowd of civilians was a taped off area where five police cars sat idly. A gray haired man, sporting a similarly colored beard and mustache, was standing on top of one of the cars. He was holding a loudspeaker. Peter recognized him as the Lieutenant, James Jameson, from the news in the restaurant.
