A/N: This chap seriously kicked my ass through and through. Ok...everyone! I'm not satisfied with the lack of reviews!!
Please, please please...all ya'll gotta give me some love here. I'm tearin' out my hair for this story... please??
Chapter Seven
"Outbreak"
One event, one touch, one feel, one listen is all we need to make a chain reaction, to make a catastrophe of proportions unimaginable. It's inevitable, for the lines must be crossed because why else would they have drawn them in the first place?
Silence crept inside their minds like a wavering ghost, a hovering friend, the eerie glow that was seemed abundant around the apartment. Soon enough, a different feeling joined their minds, the undisputed, inevitable feeling of undoubted fear. Right now, it was unwavering and transfixed, laced with concern and worry, and shared among the four people looking at the sight of the man in front of them.
Peter Michaelson had been roaming around for two hours, painting on papers and various other surfaces of the apartment. Luckily, his team mates had set up obstacles to prevent the amnesiac from drawing any further on the white-washed walls of the familial apartment. Everyone in the room had no doubt, experienced fear before.
Elle felt it when she was five, watching her mother seize in front of her in her hospital bed, thinking that it was all her fault. Matt had it wafted around him when he first woke up from afterlife, his brain intact but he could barely walk or talk the first few days. A wave of it hit Daphne when she found out she was pregnant, all the different scenarios, the inevitable what ifs that could happen. It throbbed in Alice's mind when her mother left her.
But, now, the feeling was simultaneous, as all four of them watched Peter in his death-like trance, with his usually warm, brown eyes transformed into a milky, almost eerie white, that never looked directly into anyone else's, and the steady, stoic composition he had been in for thirty minutes. They watched him in anticipation for some sort of indication he would wake up from his state, but, in the mean time, their eyes observed the destruction Peter had played on the apartment belonging to Sylar and Claire.
Dozens of papers were scattered about, a product of his prophetic drawing, and the documents probably reached a hundred, the way everywhere they looked, there was some parts it. Paint and art supplies were strewn, on the floor, on the tables, on the bed in the guest room, so much so that it seemed like child's play, that an infant had caused this much mess in the home. They had no idea what to say to Sylar and Claire, that was, except the truth.
Elle was sitting on the living room couch, her elbows propped up on the coffee table, and she could've sworn that throughout this entire ordeal, Peter hadn't breathed. His chest was flat; it never rose or fell out of breath. But she could see it now, her blue orbs observing the slow incline of life inserting itself back into Peter Michaelson's lungs.
He then took a huge gasp of air and coughed out air and sudden water from his system, as though he had been drowning instead. Matt immediately rushed to his side, playing the part as Peter's best friend, and it took Peter minutes to recollect and set his brown eyes to the right side.
"What the fuck happened here?" he asked.
"Believe it or not, handsome, you did this," Elle smirked.
Matt helped him up to the couch, where his head lolled to the side for a moment before saying, "What the hell are we gonna tell Sylar? Hell, I don't even know what happened. What happened, exactly?"
"Don't bother tomorrow's questions today, boyo," Matt clapped his hand on Peter's shoulder.
Keys jingled and the sound vibrated through Peter, either it was the nerves of his brother finding his own apartment a mess, or it was the super-hearing he picked up from Sylar that was becoming a much more annoying trait that the world made it out to be. Soon enough, the door opened, revealing a sympathetically-smiley face of Claire Petrelli and a surly-looking Sylar, each of them with three-year-old toddlers on their hands, tugging on the each of their sleeves.
They turned and Peter saw the metamorphosis playing on their faces. Sylar's face had already been set on a not-so-sunny disposition, but his features just hardened and his brown eyes widened while Claire just opened her mouth.
"Mommy, did Peter have a party?" Michael asked his mother.
"No idea, why don't you ask," Claire said, then threw Peter one of those what-just-happened-here-that-I-am-completely-oblivious-to looks.
"Well, buddy, see, I don't know what happened here myself, I'll be sure to tell you when I know, but, it was definitely not a party, otherwise you would've been invited," Peter said, amusingly to Michael.
"Can I help cleaning up?" Hannah piped up. She was one cheery kid, that was for sure.
"Sure, Hannie, knock yourself out," Peter shrugged.
Sylar looked up to his brother; his eyes back to his normal size and asked, "What-?"
"I don't know myself, bro; we're still waiting for the briefing. But what I know is that I blacked out and, well, I did this," Peter shrugged.
Sylar sighed, and then looked at his girlfriend who looked as confused as Peter, and rubbed his temples, muttering, "Isaac. You must have absorbed his power from me."
"Meaning what, exactly?" the amnesiac asked.
"Isaac Mendez had the ability to paint the future, prophetic visions, if you may, and I killed him to get his power. You usually absorb powers without intending to, causing, well, this," Sylar waved his hand over the apartment.
"Huh," Peter pondered, his brown eyes fixed on his brother's.
Daphne came into their discussion, having finished cleaning up and gathering the papers as evidence. The blonde soon-to-be mother had with her a knapsack she brought from Crestblade, and pulled out sheet after sheet of papers. Peter recognized them as the drawings he drew in his sleep then found in the morning, crumpled, confusing and incoherent.
"Listen, guys, Peter's been drawing these for months, about three months after his resurrection," Daphne said, distributing them between the watchmaker and the immortal healer.
"It's the past," Sylar said.
"This is us," Claire saying, holding up a picture of a blonde girl and dark-haired man
"And this…" her voice petered out as she saw a familiar face smiling at her from the sheet of paper, a remnant of their tragic past, of her tragic end. Hannah, with her dark hair and her green eyes, the girl who saved more lives that she ever would've fathomed, and the same girl that was three years old at the time and would grow up to be such a stunning young woman. Claire could only hope that this Hannah would meet a more suitable end.
"Natasha, Flint and Knox, the Bangkok building," Sylar said, flipping through the pages vigorously. "This is everything that happened to us, to Peter. There are even childhood pictures, and Nathan. This is everything Peter forgot."
"Will you guys please stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Peter waved a hand to get acknowledgement.
Claire drew an apologetic nod, before Peter continued with saying, or, rather, asking, "So this is, this was, my life? Even the two babies in front of the house, with the man and woman?"
"That's us," Sylar clarified.
"So this means I do remember," Peter tilted his head, "sorta kinda?"
"Sorta kinda," Daphne nodded. "A part of you still remembers and it's doing everything to have you to remember, too."
"Whoa," Peter said, ruffling his hair in bewilderment.
There was a knock on the door, and everyone turned in their spot, their heads craning, wondering who the hell would be at the door. Perhaps it would be one of Peter's old friends, much to the current Peter's dismay, he had enough of people asking him who he was, and he thought Molly Walker would've distributed the news.
Claire offered to get the door and then it revealed a two people. A young man, no more than 25 and a blonde woman, both of them were donning suits, like they worked for the government, or, at least, the police. The blonde looked familiar to Claire and the regenerator searched the face for signs of the past then she caught it: it was Agent Hanson.
The woman who questioned her at Homecoming, after Jackie's death and had been…Matt's partner, she was standing at the door way, holding up a badge, stating she was with the FBI, still. "Good afternoon, miss, we're looking for Gabriel Gray?" she asked.
Peter set a glare to his brother, cocking his head, as if it was an inaudible question of what did you do, Sylar? But the watchmaker merely shrugged, defending himself, knowing full well that he hadn't done anything, he hadn't done anything for the past four years that would raise an eyebrow or cause someone to barf out at his crimes. Damn, he hadn't even stolen a keychain, why would the police be on to him?
But, nonetheless, the man put on a glorified smile and said, "Hi, I'm Gabriel." Little did he know he was staring directly into the face of the woman he had pinned against the wall with his most used ability: telekinesis. Too much time had passed, anyway.
There was little Matt Parkman could comprehend about the situation. Audrey Hanson was investigating Alice's mother's death, that he knew, and that she knew Matt once upon a lifetime, when he was still alive for the first time and when he was in the FBI, that he knew, too. But what he didn't understand, or comprehend, or wrap his mind around was that she still cared.
If she was Peter's friend, that would be understandable, because it seemed that Peter was the anchor that kept all his friends on the ground, but this was Matt, the guy who was extremely humble and he would fine and happy if he lived his life in oblivion, and Audrey Hanson still cared. The telepath sat across her, his hands entwined together on the table as the two of them, Audrey and the young man introduced as the striving detective from Quebec Anthony, were briefed in a short matter of time with the facts that Matt already knew full well and were spinning his head with.
Peter was hovering over him, cursing and hovering, muttering, "Great. Suits that know us."
"Pete, just shut it," Matt snapped at him.
Matt was never aggressive to Peter, never even shown an ounce of anger to the man that his wife considered a son, a part of their tightly-knitted family but Matt certainly had his reasons for this occasion. For days, both of them had been hurdled into this world where everyone knew Peter, everyone loved Peter, and Matt had been happy. That was, until he realized that Peter was shooting down everyone that was presented to him, while he himself would've gladly embraced the chance for his past.
"We were hunting down Sylar before you fled cross country to New York City, the man who ended up killing you," Audrey said, glaring Sylar down.
"No need to hold a grudge, Agent Hanson, I'm a changed man," the watchmaker said, calmly. "Look around, a serial killer wouldn't possibly hold himself in an environment like this, i would've bolted and ran, but, see, I'm still here."
"Prove it," the blonde detective spat at him.
"Isn't there enough evidence to support me? I have a girlfriend who's an immortal healer and two kids, three and well, do you think the old me would've stayed? Nah, I would've just killed Claire and left the kids alone," Sylar said, leaning in his seat.
For a man who had been convicted of dozens of crimes spanning the states, he was oddly calm, perhaps he knew that no matter what, even if they caught up with him, they wouldn't catch him and put him away. Four years of retribution might not seem like repayment of a year of serial killings for the cops, but it was enough for Sylar.
"You said you wanted to see me, why's that?" Sylar asked.
"Well, we were actually looking for Alice, but she showed up dead on the database and you're her last living kin, which it seems is also a lie," Anthony looked at the two siblings who were presumed dead by the world.
Alice, seeing the confused looks on her comrades, explained, "When Lincoln adopted me, any trace of me was wiped out, I was dead. He wanted to protect me." She then looked at Anthony and asked, "Why were you looking for me?"
"This," Anthony pulled out something from his brown suit, a key, shining with rusted bronze of the years.
Alice took it from his hands, and felt it in her palms. Something triggered inside her, for this was the last evidence her mother had left her, from 21 years of abandonment, her mother gave her a key. She didn't know whether she should be flattered or insulted by the gesture from her mother's grave. The jumper twirled it through her fingers, getting used to the feel of it, wondering what door it opened.
"Can I see that?" Sylar asked her, breaking her out of her silence.
She nodded solemnly and watched as her brother inspected the key closer, peering his brown eyes to it, like a scientist might to a microscopic object. He took out his phone, and, with the camera built in it, he snapped pictures of the key from every angle.
"Why'd you do that?" Alice asked.
"To send to our resident boy genius," Sylar smiled and sent the pictures directly to Micah Sanders' phone.
Not two minutes later, the computer in Sylar and Claire's living beeped on, its screen glowing with information. Claire quickly sat down on the swivel chair and opened an email by Micah.
"The key is from the National Bank. It was hard to differentiate where from, but I found that it's from the New York branch," the regenerator read aloud.
"That's an hour from here," Alice said, looking down at the key in her hands.
"So what are you gonna do about it?" Peter stood in front of her. "Are you gonna go?"
"Yeah," Alice said, slowly, looking up to her comrades. "But I'm not going alone. You and Matt are going with me."
This went against Peter's wishes but he knew he couldn't say no, because Alice just lost her mother and, no matter how much of an asshole he was, he should go. Besides no one knew just how fragile the situation was, and one soft pull on the thread could set Alice off. Matt, on the other hand, just nodded.
"Fine," Peter sighed. Alice tucked in the key inside her jeans pocket and put both of her hands on the men, ready to teleport. Before they disappeared, she could hear a chuckling Peter say, "Beam us up, Scotty."
The bank, from the outside, was a beauty. A looming building, of shining mirrors, of painted walls of cerulean and white, with trees and trees decorating the atmosphere outside, it was the friendly neighborhood bank. Men and women in suits came in and out of the building, while civilians did the same through the sliding doors.
A car parked outside was observing its surroundings, judging when was the right time to get out of the car and walk through those doors. The car's inhabits were a redheaded girl, most of her hair hidden in a baseball cap and a blonde boy, both of them barely even reaching the legal drinking age.
"What are we waiting for?" the boy asked.
"Riser, just shut it," Dawn snapped. She looked at her watch, and then deemed it was safe enough to go. "Let's go, eager."
The two of them stepped out of the car and went inside the bank. Almost immediately, they went to counter number 6, where a young woman was tapping in codes into the database.
"How may I help you?" the woman asked.
"We're looking for a cow in the river," Riser said calmly. The woman's eyes lit up, and widened her range immediately. The woman was a Chinese beauty, her brown eyes that were associated with the Knights, and she smiled.
"Roger," she called her partner. "Man the counter, please? I have to deal with these two." Roger nodded obediently and took the next customers off the young woman's hands as she directed Dawn and Riser to the left of the bank.
"I was waiting for acknowledgement," the young woman said, leading them into a room, one of those staff rooms, where people took a break, but, now, it was empty. The windows opened up to the world, and there was fresh coffee on the tables, which Riser was salivating for. There were pros to their road trips, but the major con had got to be that food – good food- was scarce for them.
"The raid was successful, as we're told," Dawn said, sitting down on one of the chairs.
"I got that news, too," the young woman said, serving both of them the coffee.
"What are your names? I haven't been contacted in so long; it seems they've forgotten about me."
"Nah, the Knights never forget their own," Riser said, leaning in his seat. "I'm Riser, the girl's Dawn. Numbers 6 and 9 at your service."
"Charmaine Cho, number 25," the woman introduced herself.
"I take you know about the visitors coming around today?" Dawn asked Charmaine.
"I've been briefed, yes," the Chinese woman nodded.
"And back up?" Riser asked.
"All ready to go at the sighting," Charmaine said.
"How many?"
"15 at the most, most of them are heirs."
"Well, then," Riser said. "I hope you're ready for a fight."
It was like a dungeon, of shining metal and bolts and money and valuables. Peter, Matt and Alice were on one of the bank's lower grounds, after being greeted by a pretty, petite Chinese girl at the counter, to whom Alice had given the key to for recognition. The hallway was paved with marble tiles, Peter's feet glided on the surface as his brown eyes trailed on the many safes piled up one against the other.
The room at the end of the hallway contained two or three people, opening, what it seemed, to be contents of their own safes. The room was glass-paned which offered virtually no privacy, perhaps it was extra precaution, making sure none of the bank's clients were harboring illegal drugs or severed heads in their polished, shiny safes.
The man guiding was elderly, certainly one of the veterans of the bank, with a wrinkled suit and a face to match. He didn't smile; he was one of those unresponsive employees whose life only depended of their jobs. The nametag that plagued the left lapel of his suit proclaimed his name was Steve, an appropriate name for him. They reached the middle of the hallway, where Steve stopped and nudged at Alice, whose fingers were still twirling on the key, indicating it was this case, this safe amongst all the others that Sophia Mare had left behind for her daughter.
Peter's sister-he still had trouble grasping that concept-walked in front of him and while she stuck the key in the hole, the amnesiac glanced his best friend beside him. Matt gave him a weak smile playing on his lips, not knowing what was inside and how it would unravel the young woman in front of them. Steve left them alone in their own company, his presence leaving the room, his footsteps away from them. Out from the safe, Alice pulled out a box, one of those old toy boxes from childhoods knitted with love and oatmeal cookies.
"Come on," she said, nudging to the back room that had vacated since they opened the safe.
The room was cold, in much contrast to the outside world that was heating up from both global warming and just plain summer love. Peter sat on one of the chairs available, a plastic seat which he leaned into, while Matt took a chair and moved it so he was sitting next to Alice and Peter across. The amnesiac grazed Alice's knee in an adoring manner, he knew he couldn't project his feelings that well in words but he knew how to work in body language and right now, he felt anything Alice needed was some form of contact.
One by one, the jumper began to clear out the content of the box. A bunch of pictures framed in brown, of a young girl of seventeen, holding a girl wrapped up in a pink blanket like a croissant, and the same girl, older now, hardened by the years of being a teenage mom, with a toddler in her arms in a cluttered apartment. Silently, suddenly, Alice began to cry, tears streaming down her ivory cheeks, a sign of maybe nostalgia, and grief and mourning, and the hold Peter had on her became more and more insistent, rubbing on the skin covered in her jeans.
"She kept in contact," she suddenly said.
"What?" Matt asked.
"This," Alice pulled out a figurine, the face hardened and dusty and the clothes on the doll torn and tattered from the years of not taking care of it.
"What about it?" Peter asked.
"You gave it to me for my tenth birthday, four years after my mom left me. I remember losing it when I was, like, thirteen, but why would she have it?" Alice slurred, her words pondering as much as her mind was about the situation. In her mind, memories reeled like a black and white film, that day at the park with Peter, and Lincoln taking her away from him, the first bit of normalcy she had tasted since she was six. Before they had opened the safe, she was fingering the bronze key, now it seemed her hands were attached on this doll, her fingers rubbing the material of the doll's clothes.
"Maybe Lincoln gave it to her?" Matt asked.
"It doesn't fit, why would…" Alice's voice petered out.
Then she began scouring the box, pulling out everything of her childhood, until she reached the very bottom of the box, a brown file, stamped on it, saying it was evidence. Alice laid it out on the table before them and Peter hovered over her, seeing what was inside.
"This file, it's about the Knights," Matt said, his fingers on the same symbol that arrived with the damned glowing letter.
News articles and pictures with eyes blocked out with a black box decorated the file, and fell out constantly, as Alice tried to find some sort of evidence it. "'Nurse from India strangled and left with a mysterious symbol that has authorities baffled'," Alice read from a news article. The picture at the side of it was worn out, but it was in good enough shape to make out that the symbol was the Knights' infamous one.
"'Teenagers from Washington found dead in a nearby park'," Peter read the next one. Once again, the picture showed the two teenagers lying side by side, with a recognizable sign on both of their stomachs.
"What is this all about?" Matt asked, confused.
"My mom was investigating about the Knights. All of these people were doing the same, I know I've heard the name Fred Miller before, he was one of the kids that were killed in D.C. Lincoln told me he wanted to stick it to the man and a week later, he shows up dead. It's not a coincidence," Alice said.
"What does that mean?" Peter crossed his arms.
"It means that my mom didn't leave me because she didn't care about me, it was because she cared about me too much," the jumper looked up to her half-brother. "These people were doing the same thing my mom was doing and they ended up dead. She was trying to protect me."
"If she was trying to protect you when you were a kid, why did she give you this? The Knights could send a wild goose chase for you for this, the information you have," Peter said.
"Maybe she thought we'd find out more," Alice gave a weak smile.
Charmaine Cho was a bright woman, she certainly had a future in front of her, a road splayed in front of her eyes, even if it is laced with gray areas dipped in turpentine. But she knew the tactics of her job inside and out, she memorized the rules, burned it into her brain, because she grew up with this responsibility, she was an heir and she wasn't going disappoint her predecessor.
"They're out," she muttered into her phone.
The two words set the bank into an unseen, calm frenzy. Every inch of the floor was monitored by a person associated with the Knights, and, suddenly, everything moved. One person moved, and it was like a chain reaction for the whole floor, inch by inch, they littered through, waiting for the elevator door to chime open so that they could nail their targets.
Truthfully, Charmaine was a little doubtful about the Knights' way to handle this particular case, sure, she hadn't been briefed fully, she was not one of the head honchos of the group but she put together what she knew and what she heard about and it ultimately ended up in the bin. They couldn't have possibly thought they were handling this right, letting the girl actually get the information was a bit sloppy. They were the Knights, they've been doing the same job over and over for a hundred years, not like the Company, which sunk under pressure three years ago, and they didn't have a chance to screw up.
The world was in the imbalance in their eyes, she knew that and God knew every other Knights out there knew, but she wasn't all sure she had all the faith in the world to put in their hands. She straightened up her position, her back more upright, no one could possibly notice her affiliation to the moving people on the floor.
Finally, the elevator door opened, revealing the band of three, the girl squished in the middle of the two, strong men and, as expected, and the folder in the girl's arms. Charmaine triggered at the sight and silently said, in her mind, "Showtime…"
Alice wasn't dumb, she certainly wasn't Einstein by a long shot but she wasn't an ape. And she knew, just when she stepped onto the main floor of the bank, where counters were open and clients were asking, something was up. There was nothing out of the ordinary to indicate just so, but she knew something was wrong; something was out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was an instinct, or just all those years working under Lincoln's wing in Crestblade, all she knew was that all three of them weren't safe.
"Hold on to me," she said to her friends.
"What?" Matt asked.
"Hold on to me, we need to go," Alice merely said, barely even an explanation to the telepath's question.
But before Matt could even consider taking Alice seriously, something took him down. Or, say, someone. And this just blew the whole place into catastrophe, men and women held up guns, that they kept under their incognito uniforms, and all of them wore the similar face: shoot to kill, an expression Alice knew all too well.
A man, with curly hair, about in his forties, lunged for Alice and the file she kept securely in her arms. Peter protected her by shooting the man with one of Elle's electric balls, straight in the chest, and then the man fell to the floor in death. The bank was in chaos, everyone was running from the scene, out of the doors, the employees screaming and holding up their hands as if it was a normal arrest that was staging in front of them, not what it really was.
"Ready?" Peter asked his sister, while she securely put the folder in a bag in the corner and slung in behind her back.
"As I'll ever be," she nodded.
The opposing team charged at them, if this was any other situation, it would put a laugh on Peter's face, the way they were running towards them, but this was fight, and, by damn, he was kick every ass that they encountered. Matt was being held up against the wall by the same person who knocked him to the floor, but the telepath had the upper hand as he punched the person repeatedly until his nose was broken and blood was splattered, on both of their faces.
It was admitted victory when the man dropped to the floor, limp. Matt was watching the scene, and thanked God he had great partners in fighting. Alice was disappearing every two seconds and taking every person that was dumb enough to shit with them. Peter, on the other hand, was having a much more epic battle than his sister was, he was taking down three people at once and Matt knew that no matter how strong his best friend wanted to be, he still didn't have the will.
"Need a hand?" the telepath asked, as he punched one man with the dishwasher blonde hair through the gut. The man got back up from the floor, and Matt instantly knew he was one of them. How? Easy, the man had hands made of ice like Bobby freakin' Drake. Matt groaned as the man's ice hand pummeled through him, hitting him, hit after hit on the face. Not only was he cold, his face was turning purple and green all over like a sick and twisted version of a kid's drawing.
"Get the fuck off of him!" Peter yelled at the man and fired two blue balls at the man's hands that melted and caused the man to scream in agony.
Those blue balls weren't Elle, no, they were rounder, more powerful, Matt had never seen anyone with a power like that…where did Peter absorb that from? It seemed that the new information was nothing when two other people came running towards the two of them. It was quite comical to the number of people attacking them, it was like they kept multiplying and doubling, all for the sake of taking the three of them down.
But it seemed like already two of them was nearing that point. Alice was on the other side of the bank, near the entrance of the bank and she was on the floor, being kicked mercilessly by two men, like a teenage girl by the side of the road. Alice was spitting out blood right about then, but she kept fighting back, she kept punching the men as hard as she could, as high as she could, just so that they would admit defeat to her. Matt was sure that they were after the file she had discovered but it seemed like the two men were just enjoying killing her with every slow, torturous kick and blow.
Peter, on the other hand was taking every hit from the men he had to, but he fought back harder with every ounce of power left in him. his face was decorated with blood, the warmth flowing down his chin, onto his chest, splattering over him, over them, while Matt had the advantage when his challenger was under his mercy while both of his friends were being charged around like dogs. Peter was dying. The people over him were snickering and smirking once the amnesiac fell to the floor, dead.
Once the man Matt had under his grip was successfully unconscious, he ran to his friend's aide. To get the two people hovering over Peter to get lost, Matt messed with their brains and, soon, they were falling to floor. "Come on, Pete, wake up," Matt said, shaking his best friend. Not five seconds later, Peter Michaelson blew a new breath and his eyes trailed the situation, finally, his brown eyes landed on Alice.
"Fuck," he cursed as he got up and charged to the attackers.
Peter didn't say anything, didn't blow any demeaning, vulgar curse words at the men, he just attacked out of brutality. His hands turned into a metal armor, which was much stronger than the coat of his skin, and the job was done, though Alice lay limp on the floor, blood everywhere, she didn't have the super healing powers Peter did.
Again, Matt was taken by the question of whose power Peter had displayed just then, he had been with Peter every step of his life and he didn't know anyone that had that ability, but the question proved not a priority. Peter picked Alice up and carried the unconscious girl in his arms, made sure that her knapsack still contained the file, and said to Matt, "Hold on to me."
Before Matt knew it, the chaos at the bank, the bodies lying on the floor, the screams that echoed on every surface of the walls, were gone and, once again, he was enveloped in serenity.
A/N: Whoot!!! Review!
-Aly