Peter picked up the phone. He was ready to punch in a number for a cab when a gust of wind rattled the window. He slowly turned.
The afternoon was breathing. The lowering sky tossed fistfuls of rain down at the glass and steel and concrete of the city. The trees were whistling with wind. It was dim, and those with business that took them outside scurried along with their eyes fixed on the pavement.
A fine day for flying.
"We agreed we aren't doing that anymore," Peter said to himself sternly.
We? More like you agreed, he thought. Don't drag me into your prudish decision making. If it's not 'we' when I decide to get Tandy Bowen in a web with me, then it's not 'we' when you decide to stick to the ground.
Peter struggled.
Thought of the danger.
The risk.
Then the wind thrummed against the window again.
That's opportunity knocking.
Peter caved. Five minutes later he was in his mesh and airborne. Releasing his web, he sailed through the dimness of the blustery afternoon upside down, whizzing through the sky, his mind whirling across the city around and below him and mapping out contact points, routes, casual as breathing.
"Wahoooo!" he couldn't resist saying as he fired web, felt his half forgotten sacs punch out the stream, felt it bow with the push of the wind before slapping home. His arc flattened sideways and he was hissing along over traffic, faster than traffic, and he fired out another hissing stream. The web hit and contracted, its elasticity tugging him through the air even faster as he aimed for more distant targets, his senses in high gear keeping him intact as he ghosted above an oblivious city.
Peter Parker felt alive.
He dropped down on the roof of the condo that Beck had directed him to. He stripped down, folded his mesh to a flat black patch he adhered to the small of his back. Then he dressed in his civvies and dropped off the roof. He saw Beck's button, pushed it, the door clicked and he went in.
A minute later he was knocking on Beck's door. It was opened a moment later, and Beck stood there. He smiled at Peter, "Come on in," he said. He was wearing khakis and a turtleneck, he had a glass of wine in one hand. The whole place smelled of turkey and stuffing.
"Happy Thanksgiving," Peter said as he stepped in. He felt suddenly awkward. He glanced around.
The condo was comfortable; not wealthy, but well off. Indirect lighting was the order of the day, and the furniture looked more comfortable than showy.
"Hey, you're a young man, that means you know about electronics," Beck said as he headed towards the kitchen. "Would you see if you can get the DVD player hooked up? I've had a hell of a time with it," he said.
"Sure," Peter shrugged, relieved to have something useful to do. He went over to where the television was cranked around, wires dangling from it's backside. He took one look and his senses knew what went where. He got busy with it.
In the ten seconds it took him to figure it out and put everything back in place, Beck came out of the kitchen with a plate full of food. "This is for you," he said, "and I'll have some pecan pie. Never could stand pumpkin."
"Fair enough," Peter grinned.
"I don't have a real table, so we'll get cultural and eat like the Japanese," Beck said, tossing Peter a cushion. Then he headed to the kitchen to get his dessert as Peter settled in and got started on the turkey and stuffing and mashed potato. He listened for a second to the classical music playing softly in the background. Vivaldi. Huh.
Beck sat down and made himself comfortable. "You've saved me from a long evening of reading," he said wryly. "I don't even have papers to grade, how about that? It's nice to have some life and color." He had another mouthful, disposed of it, and continued. "I'm from Michigan, and I don't have any family there I care to visit. How about you?"
"Oh, I'm from New York," Peter said, "I live with my Aunt. She's in the hospital."
"That's right," Beck said, nodding thoughtfully. "How is she doing?"
"A lot better," Peter said, nodding. "Her surgery is scheduled for next week."
"That must be a relief," Beck said.
"You can say that again," Peter nodded. "I was really worried. She was touch and go there for a minute. I guess she got her prescriptions confused and took the wrong thing at the wrong time and it was just too much for her."
"That's an easy mistake to make," Beck shrugged. "I am lucky not to be on any medications. Scary stuff, drugs." He looked at Peter again. "You look beat."
"I didn't sleep so good last night," Peter said, looking down at his plate. "Bad dreams, I guess."
"I used to have trouble sleeping," Beck said. "That's what got me interested in self-hypnosis."
"Really?" Peter said.
"Sure," Beck said easily. "Do you know what's troubling you?"
"Well, you know," Peter said uneasily. "Stuff. I don't know."
"Ah," Beck said, nodding sagely. He shrugged. "Well, the offer's open. I'll hypnotize you if you want, make it easier for you to sleep. I took an oath, you know, that I can not reveal what I find out from a hypnotized person if I don't have permission."
"Really?" Peter said.
"Mm," nodded Beck as he took a drink from his wine glass.
"I've never been hypnotized before," Peter reflected. Beck smiled to himself.
"I know it's a scary prospect if you've never done it before," Beck conceded. "Put it from your mind."
Peter looked thoughtfully at the table. "So you could put in, like, what, a suggestion to help me sleep better?"
"Something like that," Beck said with a nod. "A post hypnotic suggestion that when you get into your bed you go right to sleep."
"Sounds like it's worth a try," Peter said, raising his eyes to meet Beck's.
"Really?" Beck said, raising his eyebrows. "If you're not comfortable with it—"
"Hey, I'm still a young man prone to rash decisions," Peter grinned. "Let's give it a whirl."
"Okay," Beck said. He rolled to his feet and padded into the back room, returning with a pocket watch a moment later. He shrugged and grinned. "Nostalgia, I guess. I like using pocket watches." Beck settled in before Peter. "Okay. Watch the pocket watch. Listen to the sound of my voice." Beck tapped the watch, setting it to swinging. "You are watching the pocket watch. You feel your eyelids grow heavy. You are getting sleepy. You are sinking into the sleep that is not sleep." After about thirty seconds, Beck satisfied himself that Peter was hypnotized.
Beck turned on the tape recorder and put it on the table. "How did you get your powers?" he said.
"I don't know," Peter said slowly.
Beck nodded to himself. "When did you get them?"
"Nineteen ninety two," Peter said. "I was in a coma for months in nineteen ninety one. I failed fifth grade."
"Did you have an accident?"
"No accident," Peter mumbled. "Poison. I opened a trunk in the attic. It had a puzzle box. I solved the puzzle box. A spider bit me." He paused. "Grandpa died in World War II. It was his trunk."
Beck nodded. "How did your uncle die?" he said.
Peter turned his head, looked Beck right in the eye with a look that sent cold shivers racing up and down Beck's spine.
"We don't want to talk about that right now," he said in a low, tight voice. He was terrifyingly alert, aware in spite of the hypnosis.
Beck said, "When I snap my fingers, you will awaken and forget the entirety of our conversation. Do you understand?" He snapped off the tape recorder and slipped it in the drawer on the coffee table.
Peter looked ahead again, his eyes glazing over. "I understand."
Beck snapped his fingers. Then he finished off his glass of wine.
Peter shook his head. "I feel woozy," he said. "What did you find out?"
"Not much," Beck shrugged. "However, you should be able to sleep now." Beck smiled at him. "Seems you didn't have much you needed to talk about after all."
Peter smiled with poorly concealed relief. "Okay then. Well, it's been great you hosting me and all, but I gotta get going."
"You have a good evening," Beck said, rising and walking him to the door.
"You too. Thanks," Peter said with a nonspecific shrug.
"Forget about it," Beck said. "Don't be a stranger." Then Peter was gone, and Beck leaned against the door.
"Curioser and curiouser," he murmured to himself, and he smiled an altogether less pleasant smile.