Jewel of Atlantis

jumped over the ledge of sanity with thousand-pound weights tied to my ankles.' He'd seen some weird shit in his lifetime, and it had finally caught up with him.

He should have known it would come in the form of a split personality. A sexy as hell female personality, at that. Her whisky-rich voice... he'd never heard anything quite so erotic.

Down, down he sank as the sand covering his calves with its gooey wetness. The scent of stagnant water and decaying—he wrinkled his nose. He did not want to guess what was decaying.

Insane or not, he hadn't survived two days and nights of torture to die by stinky sand. No matter what he had to do, he'd save his life—or rather, lives—from this mess.

God, this sucked.

Unwilling to lose a single supply, he tossed his GPS and machete to dry ground. Careful not to jostle too much or too quickly, he removed his backpack and tossed it beside the blade, wishing to God he'd brought a propel wire. But why would he have needed one for such a quick, easy job?

'Jude Quinlin, you lying sack of shit.' He scowled for, what... the third time in as many hours? The expression well represented his views of Atlantis. Meanwhile, he continued to sink, slowly, slowly, the wet sand working its way past his knees, up his thighs. The thick liquid grains were cold, and his body temperature fell a couple degrees. His blood pressure was the only thing on the rise.

Amid the popping and gurgling of wet suction, he searched his surroundings again, this time looking for a lifeline. No branches, no vines were nearby. Only a large white rock, but it was too far away to reach with his hands.

Take off your shirt, the sensual, I-want-you-naked-and-in-my-bed voice said.

He snorted derisively. He was sinking toward death, and his new female personality wanted him to strip. Why wasn't he surprised?

'Want me to remove my pants, too?' he asked dryly. At least he'd picked a hot, nympho chick to be his mind-companion and not a nasally old man.

Idiot! she huffed, a blush dripping from her tone. Take off your shirt, clasp the opposite ends in your hands, and hook the material around the rock

His eyes widened as he studied the distance of the rock again. That might actually work. For the first time in days, he laughed with genuine amusement. He might be schizophrenic and teetering on the brink of total insanity, but he was also a freaking genius.

The woman—it was hard to continually think of such a distinctive, seemingly real voice as merely an extension of himself—sighed, why did the gods have to pick you?

Her dejection caused his smile to grow. 'I could ask myself the same question, babe.'

Reaching behind him, he gripped the neck of his shirt and tugged it over his head. With one end of the camouflage material in his left hand and the other in his right, he leaned forward and tossed the looped shirt at the rock. He missed.

He tried again and missed.

Okay, so he seriously needed to increase the hours he spent at target practice.

The sand now reached his waist. He continued to lean and toss until the shirt finally anchored solidly. He gave a hard jerk and stopped sinking.

Now pull.

'I know what to do.' He pulled, using all of his strength. His arms burned from the strain. The sand grasped at him like strong, greedy fingers, holding him in place.

Grimacing, he continued to hoist up his two hundred pounds of muscle. His shoulders popped, the weight straining sockets and bones. The sand continued to tighten its embrace, burning the wound in his leg. The teeth marks in his neck throbbed against the exertion, perhaps even split open because he felt a trickle of something warm and wet on his skin.

Just a little more... almost... there. The sound of ripping cotton and poly filled his ears. With a final yank, his body landed on dry, solid ground. He sucked in a relieved breath.

No, run. Hurry. The demon has already begun to stir.

Ignoring her, Gray rolled to his back before easing up and into a crouch. As he glanced at his wristwatch, a soft, salty breeze drifted past him, reminding him of the beach vacation he so craved. This area would be as good as any other, he supposed. He'd run out of time.

'Let Operation KTB commence.' He slipped on his shirt, unzipped his backpack and rooted inside. What are you doing? Turn, you fool.

'You need a name,' he said, ignoring her demand and continuing his search inside the bag. Didn't all split personalities have names? If he was going to be insane, he might as well embrace it fully. For now, at least. Once he returned home and told the captain about his new friend, he'd be poked with so many needles it would make an alien probing seem like a sensual massage.

Maybe he'd call her Bunny. Or Bambi.

Please, she cried. You need to hide. If you don't you'll be hurt again and— 'I'm not running. I'm going to kill it.'

She paused, absorbing his words. Listen, Gray. You aren't insane, I'm not a figment of your imagination or a personality inside your mind. I'm very real, and I can help you. I know Atlantis and the creatures here. Listen to me and you just might live for one more day.

Now it was his turn to pause. Her claim made a weird sort of sense. Throughout the years, he'd seen and experienced all sorts of strange things. 'Can you prove it?' he almost said, but stopped himself.

Though he hadn't actually spoken, she heard him and uttered a frustrated hiss. You are such a human. Prove this, prove that Humph! I'm speaking with you, aren't I?

Several alien races communicated psychically, so he already knew it could be done. He just hadn't known it could be done with him. Fact is, he was relieved his brain hadn't experienced full meltdown.

'Where are you?'

Hades, It seems.

He grinned. 'Yeah? Me, too. Want to tell me how you know my name?' He resumed his search inside the bag. 'And how are you getting inside my mind?' That bothered him, a lot, but he had too many other things to worry about right now.

Do you really wish to discuss this now? Time is your enemy.

Again, she was right. He truly didn't have long, perhaps five or ten minutes and he needed every second. 'I'll let those questions slide, but there's one thing I've got to know. Why are you helping me?'

Pause. It would be a shame to mar your pretty face. Good answer. Dare he say irrefutable?

'You know how to take down a demon?' Myths claimed garlic, a stake through the heart, or holy water would do the trick. Wait. Those killed vampires. What the hell killed demons? The Book of Ra Dracas might have very well provided step-by-step instructions, yet he'd paid no attention, seeing the script merely as camouflage for the hidden code about the jewel. Stupid.

There is no reason to fight. I can lead you to safety.

'Poison? Dynamite?' As he spoke, he lifted the items in question.

Heavy silence blanketed his mind.

'I'm not going anywhere, honey, so you might as well tell me.'

His haul, she finally said on a trembling catch of breath. You have to —well, you know.

'Yes, I'm afraid I do.' He bypassed the grenades; he might need those later, and withdrew four sticks of dynamite, as well as his night vision goggles.

That dynamite, won't help you. Demons are strengthened by fire.

'I'm hoping the force of the explosion will slow him down so I can get close enough to him to... you know.' He slapped a clip into his gun and slid a load into the chamber. This was his last round of ammunition, so he had to make the most of it.

Be careful. Please, be careful.

So many emotions layered her words. Terror, regret, hope. Concern. Emotions he didn't understand and