Straight Shot ➳ Oliver Queen

04. Old Friends

C H A P T E R    F O U R

OLD FRIENDS

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My eyelids were heavy and finally, I began drifting off. This quickly became a curse rather than a blessing.

The dream started off normal. I was sitting on my bed in my apartment in California, dressed in a pale blue blouse and black skinny jeans. My red hair fell in loose waves over my shoulders, tucked behind my ears. I had several papers scattered in front of me, probably random papers from articles that I was combing through and marking on with a red pen. It must have been late at night because I had the TV on as background noise and it was playing an old rerun of Friends I had seen a million times.

Aside from the sassy comments of Chandler Bing and the off-key singing of Phoebe Buffay, the apartment was silent. At least, it was silent until a crash from the kitchen startled me. My head shot up and my hair rippled around my face. I stared at the open door with caution.

"H-hello?" I called out, my voice a little shaky and nervous. As if on cue, there was another bang and I jumped, my heart beginning to beat faster than usual.

Carefully, I brushed aside the papers on my bed and turned off the TV with the remote. I stood up and the hardwood floor was cold on the soles of my bare feet. I walked lightly on the balls of my feet towards the door and pushed it open wider. I glanced around the doorframe and stared down the short hall leading towards the living room and kitchen. "Hello?" I called again, but this time, there was no response. I took a deep breath before forcing myself out of the bedroom and down the hall, creeping gingerly towards the kitchen.

Once I reached the two attached rooms, I investigated thoroughly, but there was nothing there. No one was there and there weren't any broken glasses or pictured knocked off of the wall.

Another thud caused me to pivot around and face my bedroom door, which had just been violently slammed shut. There was someone in the house. I began panicking and frantically searching for something to defend myself. I rooted through the drawer under the kitchen sink, where a gun used to be carefully tucked away, but it was gone.

The noises in the apartment were crescendoing and seeming to get closer. I gave up on searching for a weapon, or anything that could be used as one, and made a beeline for the front door. I grabbed the knob and twisted, but it was as if the handle was cemented in place. The harder I yanked, the more the door seemed to close. I tried again, but they were all locked by some sort of invisible force that refused to cease, even when I twisted the locks and wriggled the doorknob once more.

The eerie cacophony lurked closer and I became more and more panicked, eager to break through the door, but when nothing happened, I became frustrated. I kicked the door and began pounding on it with closed fists.

"It won't open, Katie." I heard a familiar voice say from behind me. I was taken aback by the use of a childhood nicknamed that no one had called me in five years. I refused to turn and face the source of the comment. Instead, I pounded on the door more frantically. Surely someone would hear it. "Katie, the door won't open." The masculine voice repeated. I rested my forehead against the door and closed my eyes as if it would all make this go away and as if I would rather face death than the source of the familiar voice.

Finally, I hesitantly turned around, slowly releasing the doorknob and turning with my head down. I looked up slowly and anxiously to lay eyes on a ghost from my past.

Oliver was over half a foot taller than me. He stood with his arms loosely crossed, lazily leaning against the bookshelf behind him. Oliver's hair was a sandy mix of light brown and dark blonde hues, falling into his eyes. I had never liked the shaggy haircut, but I kept my objections to myself... most of the time. He wore a light blue long sleeve button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His khaki shorts fell just below his knees and he uncrossed his arms, casually slipping his hands into his pockets. I instantly recognized the outfit. I don't think I would ever forget what he was wearing the last time I saw him before he boarded the doomed Queen's Gambit.