Lost in Purgatory

Chapter 4

He should never have walked into that goddam bar with Amanda Waller. What was he thinking? As Oliver patrolled the fields with their psychedelic-looking flowers, and pretended he wasn't staring at the tiny blonde who'd blown up at him a few days ago, he tried to retrace his steps, to figure out how the hell he'd gotten here.

Fine, he knew how – he'd trusted Amanda Waller. Scratch that, he'd had a drink with Amanda Waller. Like it wasn't obvious anyplace she went to would be completely under her control. And now he was back on Lian Yu, some kind of armed thug for a drug lord. And with orders to "infiltrate", whatever the fuck that meant. Why, why hadn't he gone home after Hong Kong? God, Hong Kong. He'd played so completely into Waller's hands while he was there, had allowed himself to be turned into a killer, and a torturer, and, apparently, the only one who could blend in with Reiter's men. And now he was here, watching over whatever fucked up drug Reiter was producing, with the scum of humanity, and the poor saps who'd gotten trapped here. Conklin had some nerve, calling them 'losers', like they'd chosen to be here. Conklin, now - what a piece of work.

Oliver had been there one hour when Conklin had pointed out the girl to him, and warned him off. And he'd had no intention of getting involved – thoughts of Shado, and Sara, and Akio were enough to dissuade him if he got tempted. Maybe Sara was dead, and maybe she wasn't, but it was his fault that she'd been here in the first place. All he did was fuck things up, so maybe he should just keep out of this one. So, of course he walked straight into her at the first opportunity. He hadn't been looking where he was going, and apparently she couldn't, and it had been like some scene from a bad chick flick. Except he was pretty sure the meet-cute didn't involve the male lead being an asshole. Or maybe it did – Laurel never liked that kind of movie much.

Oliver felt a prickle on the back of his neck – Conklin was glaring at him again. After the 'watch where you're going' incident, Conklin had been on his case, for, as he put it, 'muscling in on his piece of ass'. And because – actually, he wasn't sure what he'd been thinking when he just shrugged, and told Conklin, 'sorry dude, she doesn't like you much'. Maybe it was the fear in her eyes, which she'd turned into anger and let it out all over him. Very pretty eyes, a voice in his head mused. He froze, horrified. No, no, no. He wasn't interested in her that way. It was all about Laurel, right? He was holding out for Laurel. Oh sure, the same voice said nastily. What about Shado? That was just loneliness, he insisted. Plus, a mistake, in the long run. Even if he'd never be able to make it up to Laurel (as he was secretly starting to suspect), he couldn't afford any distractions. Sure, he felt sorry for the girl, whose name he didn't want to find out, but he had a job to do, and he was going to do it. Otherwise he'd never get home.

His resolution lasted a few days of watching the girl working the field on her knees, with that Tatiana chick hovering over her, and Conklin glaring at him. Until he was woken in the middle of the night by the Russian chick. He must have said something to her, judging by her version of hello.

"I am Ukrainian, you idiot. And let go of my arm."

She didn't know how lucky she was – the last person who'd woken him out of a deep sleep had been in a choke hold before Oliver was fully awake. That usually only happened when he was having a nightmare, though. This time he'd been dreaming of a blond woman kneeling in a field of strawberries, and he'd been woken up just as she bit into one, the juice dripping down her chin. No, he had no idea what that meant. He tried to focus on the pissed off brunette who was still shaking him awake.

"I'm up," he hissed. "What the hell's going on?"

As Oliver focused blearily on her, he realised she was holding a packet of slam. The effect on him was like being hit by lightning – he rocketed up, grabbed his MK, and hustled her out of the hut. He was lucky the guys he shared it with were heavy sleepers. Standing outside in the moonlight, he realised that she was terrified, but not of him – of the drug she was holding. She pushed it on him, and rubbed her hands on her clothes, as if to scrub it off her.