Ulterior Motives

Wishful Thinking

​Reagan had to bend over supporting her weight on her knees until the dizziness subsided so she didn't throw up. The cool breeze was helping. Oliver stepped back to give her room to breathe. She did look a little pale. "Are you alright?"

"I will be." She said meekly pulling herself up straight. They were still in New York standing on a rooftop overlooking the harbor. Sunlight dancing on the water; sparkling as the river flowed by. She could see the Statue of Liberty standing proud out on the water. New Jersey on the other side. It wasn't far from her own apartment, maybe a few blocks; somewhere in the West Village.

The brick surrounding the rooftop made her assume they were on the top of some apartment building. Probably lofts. She was tempted to go look over the side to confirm her suspicions but decided against it. She wasn't entirely sure if she should know their exact location. It didn't appear that Oliver had considered hiding it from her but she didn't want to alert him to that fact.

Oliver walked over to the door leading into the building, most likely an access staircase but he didn't go inside. Instead he studied the wall to the side. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for, he reached up placing his hand palm outward on a brick and waited.

Reagan stayed out of the way not sure what to expect. At first nothing happened and then Oliver reached behind him for her. "Take my hand." He said still facing away from her. She stepped forward and did as he asked. He gripped her hand tightly and pulled her through the wall. It felt strange, like stepping through jello; bizarre and gross at the same time. When they made it to the other side, Reagan reached up as if expecting to pull the sticky substance out of her hair but there was nothing there. She felt the sensation subside and no longer felt like her skin was moist. She shivered and the feeling was gone.

They were in a studio of some kind; modern, with exposed support beams and concrete floors. A remodeled warehouse apartment. She loved it instantly even though she would have decorated differently, actually she would have at least decorated it a little. The loft was sparse, nothing to even indicate that this could be someone's home. There was a landing up and to the left overlooking the space. She could see the edge of a bed between the railing and there was a door on the other side to what she guessed was a bathroom. There was a small kitchenette in the far corner across from the front door and windows overlooking the bay took up the entire right side wall, two stories high.

It seemed more than just bare, whoever lived here wasn't here very often. No personal touches, just the necessities. Unwelcoming. There was a basic white leather sofa set arranged facing the windows. It looked new, as if no one ever sat on it or used it, placed here just to take up space. There wasn't a coffee table. No television set or any form of entertainment. Not even books or magazines. There were no pictures or paintings on the walls. No decorations of any kind. Nothing but the couches and a plain, simple four seat dining table also brand new or barely used placed near the kitchenette.

"Peter." Oliver called out. There was a moan coming from behind them. Reagan spun around in surprise, she saw a man slumped against the wall just before Oliver rushed passed her. Her hand immediately went over her mouth to stifle a scream. She felt the subtle ache that subsides after a rush of adrenaline. Her muscles had tensed for a second but she was barely aware of it.

He bent over the man, "Peter." he was wearing the same robes Reagan had to cut off of Oliver the night he had appeared in her home. He was barely conscious. Blond hair was matted to his head drenched in sweat, dried blood flaking on his neck. Suddenly they both were gone and then reappeared behind her before she could even register what had happened.

"He's worse than I thought." Oliver said as Reagan turned in alarm when he blinked them across the room to lay Peter on the couch. He had only reacted, forgetting she wasn't used to using magic for everything but Oliver couldn't risked moving him so carelessly to the couch by hand. The robes were suddenly gone. Reagan gasped when she saw the bruise covering Peter's stomach. It was an array of colors; green, red, black, purple. But it was changing, even as she watched the colors shifted and moved. It made her sick just looking at him. It was unnatural and perverse.