The elderly woman at mass had been a coincidence. Peter had convinced himself of it. A moment of senility, a mild stroke... Old people were prone to such things, were they not?
Still, the timing of old Mrs. Cady's fit was troubling, as was his anger at Floyd. A couple of unwarranted text messages, that foolish, insulting 'gift'...These were things he ought to be able to brush off. Floyd was young and brash, but Peter genuinely liked him, or had until recently. Now he found himself not just annoyed, but loathing him. Just the thought of Floyd had Peter's shoulders tensing, a rush of rage clenching his jaw tight.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of that tension, and looked over at the bartender as she poured a drink. Had it really been coincidence? Peter focused, directed some of that fury her way, his eyes widening as her eyes blanked, mouth going slack as she over-filled the glass, dropping it clumsily in dull dismay.
Another patron noticed, too, and snorted a laugh, sneering at the bartender's carelessness. Peter directed his ire at the man and the laughter rose in pitch and volume until he was braying, dim-witted as a donkey.
It all passed quickly enough, the barkeep stifling a curse as she moved to clean up the mess she'd made, the man stopping suddenly, looking abashed and unsure of what had caused him to laugh in the first place.
Peter watched it all play out with interest. Suddenly, unaccountably, he'd developed some sort of psychic power. A malevolent one, which ordinarily would have appalled him. Not to mention raising serious questions as to his own sanity, and what would have triggered such a bizarre occurrence in the first place, but all Peter could think of was using it to take out some of his anger on that over-sized jackanapes Floyd.