[ He stands there, looking down at the woman from a few feet across the living room, hesitating to draw any closer. But.... there's something to that answer that is kind of relieving. Some kind of control given to him in a situation where he feels like he has hardly any at all. If it starts to hurt, it can stop.
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He can stop it this time.
Peter lingers for a few more long moments, staring down at the thing drawn on the floor surrounded by flickering candles, heart still hammering. More what ifs are flooding him, worse and worse. What if something goes wrong? Something seemed to go wrong, when his mother did that sΓ©ance. ...But Mom didn't know what she was doing. This woman's a professional. It's different.
After a few moments of fretful silence, he's nodding again, fingers nervously rubbing the sides of his shirt, curling into fabric. ]
Okay. I'll do it. Do I just... do I walk in?