Chasing Atlantis

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons.  The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher.  The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

Chasing Atlantis

All Rights Reserved. 

Copyright © 2013 Kelly Coughlin

v2.0

Cover Photo © 2013 JupiterImages Corporation.  All rights reserved - used with permission.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

-William Shakespeare

The Tempest 1.2

Table of Contents

Prologue

As I lie in bed that night I couldn’t help but think about all the events that took place so far, and all the events that were yet to come. I was imprisoned in my own house, with my own family, for a crime that was as unfair as the punishment. The questions that plagued my mind forced my eyelids open to the dark abyss surrounding me.

Where do we draw the line of love?

Is it at revenge, at lust, at nights without sleep, at family lost, at family gained?

Can love survive if the person they love doesn’t?

Is there an end at which love stops and other emotions take over?

Are we responsible for our actions while we are in love?

I don’t know.

The haze swirled and twisted inside my head until my vague human memory blurred his flawless features. The blue-green orbs faded into dull gray, and were lost to me, for now.

I can’t imagine what I’m in for. I could feel the small flame of hope burning inside me dim with every passing moment of silence. The nausea feasted away at my empty stomach.

I don’t know if I’m making the right choice. I never will. There is only one thing my fragile human mind can process tonight without shattering.

The chemistry between us is strong enough to destroy this place; engulfing it in flames, leaving behind only rubble and stories.

1.

Getting There

It was an unusually hot, humid, summer day, even for San Antonio. That should have tipped me off that this was going to be the vacation from hell. Literally.

I had insisted, no, that’s not descriptive enough. I
begged
my dad to let Greg take me to the airport. Greg Conner, blond hair, blue eyes, tan, all in all the typical teenage god. He could melt glaciers with his smile. In my opinion global warming had more to do with the irresistible spark that radiated from his perfect face than it did with glaciers melting. Not that anyone ever really asked my opinion…

I knew I didn’t love him, and I knew that he didn’t love me. It’s not that anything was particularly wrong with the kid; it’s just that there was something missing from his makeup, something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. That’s probably why it must have shocked him when I asked him to take me to the airport. Hey, I figured it had to be less embarrassing than having my dad drop me off. Ugh! The thought of that incident still makes me cringe. Dad didn’t even ask why I wanted Greg to take me. He just nodded, and mumbled to give his regards to my mother, before he went back to one of his ten thousand phone calls a day. Good ole reliable dad; one of the greatest attorneys in San Antonio. Watching him build a case was like watching a spider build a web. At first the web isn’t much but then after a few hours the web is so intricately designed that even the smartest of bugs falls prey to the cunning spider.

Dad’s personal life was a completely different story. I could tell him I was going to Pluto so that my alien friends and I could watch the earth explode. He would smile,
wink, and ask if I needed any money to get there.

As I sat in the uncomfortable airport chair thinking about everything wrong in my life, Greg was chivalrously getting my luggage safely through security. I suppose he thought of himself as a brave knight in shining armor; helping the poor damsel in distress while she prepares for her long treacherous journey to greet the wicked witch of the east. I didn’t want to burst his little bubble but I was not a damsel, and I have certainly been in a heck of a lot more stressful situations than this.

I was pulled from my thoughts when I suddenly became aware that he was smiling at the airline woman just a bit too much, and inclining his body too close to hers. This infuriated me! My hands clenched together in fists, pressing my nails into my palms. My eyes narrowed into slits and my pulse quickened with every hate-filled second that their brief conversation lasted.

I certainly wasn’t angry at this poor girl who had fallen under Greg’s unique charismatic spell. I was angry at
him
for having the nerve to do this on my last night in city for the summer. Then again, did I really expect anything more from him?

He turned and swaggered back to me. If there was a magazine named
Egotistical
he could be on the front cover. I closed my eyes and carefully smoothed out my features until I almost looked happy. Almost.

“Well, Amy Jane,” he was beaming at me so it made it very hard to hate him now. “I guess it’s almost time for us to part.” He stroked my head as he said this. I supposed he thought this to be a loving gesture. My only response was to nod once. I was too busy concentrating on not kneeing him where it hurts.

Greg placed his hands on the small of my back as we made our way to the security line. There always seems to be even a small line in this airport. We stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments, neither one of us knew exactly what the other was thinking. Finally I broke the silence.

“Well, er, um, I’ll be back in two months. It won’t be that bad…” I raked my hand through my strawberry blond hair. A habit I picked up when I was deep in thought.

He leaned forward beaming. He game me a swift peck on the cheek and locked his arms around me in a big hug. Instead of feeling happy or giddy I was still angry at the slimeball. I somehow managed to pull myself together to give him a brief pat on the back.

“I’ll miss you Amy Jane.” He murmured into my ear. I grimaced in response. Why couldn’t he just call me Amy like I asked him? Why did he have to be as annoying as my family and insist on using
Amy Jane
? Ugh.

I was suddenly pulled back to reality when I felt him shove a note into my pocket. Wow. Maybe he wasn’t such a slimeball after all. Maybe I was just in a rotten mood because I was being forced to visit my mother. An actual gushy romantic love note, where he would spill his guts about how much he does like me!

Even as he slipped away as I made my way farther from him I felt lighter. I almost leaped through the last of the security line without even one caustic remark about putting all the liquids into a plastic bag. I still find this one security precaution questionable, but like I said before, no one ever really asked my opinion.

Finally I couldn’t take the suspense any longer. I reached greedily for the note. Maybe he wasn’t such a jerk….

Or maybe not.
There written in his horrid scrawl was this:

Dear Am y Jane,

I moved on and I think it’s time you did too. Summer is supposed to be about having fun, and I want you to have fun too. I’m really thinking about you when I say this. Please don’t make a scene. Remember you’re in public.

Sincerely,

G.

I read
it once. Twice. Six times before it sunk in. Each time I pulled harder at my hair threatening to rip it out in spots. My whole body started trembling. Not with sobs but with something infinitely more powerful; hate.

I could feel his eyes boring into my back. I could picture him shifting uneasily from side to side, just waiting for what he must have thought was going to be the tear fest of the century. What an idiot. We had been dating, well, we dated for three months, and this imbecile actually believed I was going to cry over him?! Me? I hadn’t cried in over eight years. Why would I cry over such a jerk?

As I stood there a strange calm spread through my body. My hands stopped trembling. The endless list of profanities I was shrieking in my head suppressed to whispers. It was as if water had been poured over a filthy slate to remove all traces of dirt. With this, all traces of Greg were forever washed from my heart, my body, my life.

I unclenched my hands from the note while simultaneously ripping the note into a thousand pieces. I took the pieces and placed them into a trashcan. Without ever looking back I let my rage carry me to my gate. I was still silently fuming as I boarded my plane from San Antonio to Atlanta. It was one of those three-seater planes; one narrow seat separated from the other two. I barely noticed when we reached Atlanta. Somehow the plane had come in late, of course it would.

I sprinted
to my next gate, barely missing a middle-easterner who shouted at me. The woman checking tickets game me a disapproving look as I stood there panting and huffing in front of her. I merely glared back until she nodded me on.

This plane was much larger than the first. It had two seats on either side and three seats in the middle. I sighed as I realized I would be in the middle seat. Even though I was petite I ended up with what must have surely been two of the tallest teenage boys in the world sitting next to me. They hogged the armrests and all but shoved me out of the seat onto the floor. I secretly nicknamed the one on my left, the mythical “big foot” and the blond on my right, “big bird.”

Both of them turned to get an eyeful of me, but were stopped cold when I gave them the death glare. I must have had “do not disturb” tattooed on my forehead because even the flight attendant took one look at me and quickly looked away.

I dug in my purse until I found my MP3 player. I shoved the earplugs in and looked for my favorite relaxation singer, Frank Sinatra. Most teenagers just stare at me, incredulously for liking him. The man is fantastic. What can I say? I closed my eyes and listened to the blaring music the rest of the two hour flight from Atlanta to Orlando.

I was too tired to really be as angry as I was the previous flight. I was mostly just annoyed. I was annoyed at being angry with such an insignificant person, and I was more annoyed that the jerk-off had the nerve to do it to me today of all days! Also more than anything else I was dreading the reunion between my mom, and her, ahem, live in boyfriend of fourteen years. Even more horrible than the reunion would be the two hour drive from Orlando to Vero Beach, where I would be forced to sit in the car and listen to every horrible event that I was going to be dragged to this summer.

Ugh. Vero Beach. More like Z
ero Beach. Where was a good terrorist when you needed one? I would have paid them to take down the plane, or at the very least to stage my own kidnapping.

On the east coast of Florida there is a small, but ever increasing in number, city. It is a quaint little tourist snag with beautiful sunny beaches, and old-timey ice cream parlors. There are more congregations than actual people to fill them. There is literally a street with churches on every corner. Maybe if my mother hadn’t chosen this place for me to spend my summers, I would have liked the city. Sadly it never had a shot.

Before going to the baggage claim, where my unavoidable demise awaited, I ducked into the bathroom to try and do something with my appearance. I combed through my hair with my fingers, but that just made it rebel more. Usually my strawberry blond hair hung straight with soft layers highlighting my face. Today my hair had a wild edge to it, as if it was statically charged, each individual hair pushed away from the rest. My light blue eyes had deep purple bags under them.

“Jeez, excuse me.” I practically yelled at this giraffe sized woman, who nearly knocked me off my feet. I guess that’s what comes of being petite; people don’t notice you as much. I gave up on my quest of looking any better.

Head held high, shoulders back; I dutifully made my way to greet Mom and Steve. It wasn’t hard to find them. Both of their mouths were turned down in a scowl, their noses wrinkled as if they smelled something awful. I faked a smile and half-waved in their direction.

Mom joyfully locked me in her embrace.

“Amy Jane, darling.” Oh no. She must have moved on to speaking like a nineteen fifties movie star. “It has been far too long! You simply must not keep me waiting so!” She pulled me back to scrutinize my appearance. As usual she was drippin
g with diamonds—and disdain for my own meager appearance.

“Hump
h. I simply don’t know how you survive at your father’s house. Your hair looks like a rat’s nest—oh my gracious! Look at those nails! Oh dear, you are so lucky that Steve and I are here to look after you.” I ripped my hands from hers and shoved them deep into my pockets, ashamed and angry.

Steve’s only response was to pat my back and mumble, “Hey.” All three of us looked at the floor while we waited for my suitcase. A strange smirk crossed my face before I could help it. I noted the comical differences between
them
and me. Both Mom and Steve were dressed more for a charity event than they were for picking up a teenager from an airport.

Mom has always looked more like a movie star than a Mom. She was tall, but not lanky, very slender with pale skin. I forgot how ghastly pale she was, she seemed to grow paler with every passing year. Milk looked darker than her. Mom was also perpetually young and gorgeous. I figured she owed it all to
Steven
; the greatest plastic surgeon the Treasure Coast had to offer. The man must be a miracle worker. There wasn’t a wrinkle or laugh line on either one of them.

A cold hand placed on my shoulder made me recoil, and lose my train of thought. Steve was patting my back just a little too hard.

“Good to have you back, er, kiddo.” I caught myself before I rolled my eyes.

“Yea, thanks.” That was all I could bare to mumble. I always felt weird talking to Steven. He looked more like the men advertising for a fine European sports car, than a plastic surgeon. He certainly didn’t look older than his mid twenties. It was disturbing to have—well some sort of parental guidance—that looked like he could be
my
boyfriend.

“Wow, another new car, Mom.”

“Yes. W
ell, you can’t have very well expected us to keep using the other cars, can you? What would the neighbors think?” I slid into the back of a brand new 745i BMW; emerald green with beige interior. It still had that new car smell.

“Oh, doll, I’m so excited to have you home!” Mom was practically gushing now. “First off tomorrow we’re going to dash over to the Grey’s! Oh! And you’ll get to see Adam! You know sweetheart, I have been trying to set you two up since you were mere children! Then after that we simply must—”

“Gee, Mom that sounds swell.” I turned my head to the window to hide my snicker. I couldn’t wait until Mom found a new way of speaking. Even the fake British accent I had been forced to endure the previous summer was better than
this
.

I barely noticed as Mom prattled on about parties and social events that I was going to be forced to parade around to. I wondered if this is what a show horse felt like. The horse would be brushed and polished until its glossy fur shimmered. Then the owners would greedily accept all the credit, like it was their fur that was gorgeous. Did the horse have any dreams or ambitions? Would anyone care? Or was the horse doomed to a lifetime of idleness and boredom because it was pretty…

I was so engrossed in my thoughts that Mom’s high pitched chirp made my head jerk up. I felt my hand suddenly unclench from around my forearm. I must have been digging my nails into my forearm to drown out my family’s trivial details of the horrors I would face.

“I must say dear, you don’t even seem happy at all to see your precious mother.” Her face was set in a pout.

I resisted the urge to call her mommy dearest, and instead I mustered up all that was left of my strength to form an overly sincere facial expression.