Prologue

With trembling hands and a racing heart, Ptolemy slowly raised the rifle. He opened his mouth to speak, but as he inhaled the fear in his body took over. Air quickly filled his lungs, his stomach dropped, and his mouth dried.

"You're overthinking this. Just do it," he thought to himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. "You can do this. They don't know who you are and what you've been through. You have the gun. They should fear you," he continued as a heaviness swelled in his chest. A swirl of confidence and desperation.

Up ahead, the two men leading the expedition hacked at the thick vines and tree limbs in an attempt to force their way through. The dense jungle besting their dulled machetes.

"Kid, bring me the waterskin," one of them called out as he paused to take a breath. As the exhausted man turned around to look at Ptolemy, two things were immediately apparent. First, the young man was standing perfectly still with his head down and eyes closed. Frozen in place. A sign of danger nearby. The second, and more worrying, was the elephant rifle that was in Ptolemy's hands. 

As adrenaline surged, the man's exhaustion momentarily faded. "Hey! Put that down," he commanded as he strode towards his captive with machete still in hand. This command got his partner's attention, who quickly turned away from the vines and began charging at the now armed prisoner.

The shout and commotion awakened Ptolemy and his instincts kicked in. Quickly, he raised the rifle. This time with purpose. He braced the stock against his shoulder and looked down the sight.

"Stop right there!" Ptolemy barked. The two explorers skidded to a halt. "And drop the machetes!"

Neither man relinquished their grip on the blades they held at their side. Their wide-eyes were solely focused upon the double barrel that was pointed in their direction. "I said drop them!" shouted Ptolemy again through gritted teeth and watery eyes.

The seriousness of the situation finally starting to set in, the two men dropped the machetes to the jungle floor. "Look kid," one began.

"I am not a kid," interrupted Ptolemy. "Stop calling me that. In fact, stop calling me any of your nicknames. I'm not 'Kid.' I'm not 'You.' And I sure as hell ain't 'Boy,'" he said, practically spitting the last epithet out to emphasize his anger with its use. He continued, "From now on, you can show me respect and call me by my name: Ptolemy Jones. Do you understand?"

The two men simply nodded. Their eyes still locked on the barrel. With the end of each sentence, the gun's aim shifted from one captor to the other. As if its movement was the embodiment of the exclamation points on Ptolemy's rage.

"Look at me and say it," the young man demanded. He lifted the rifle a little higher to realign his eye with the sight and moved his finger onto the trigger. This was the moment that all of three of them knew that there was no coming back. Ptolemy was now committed to taking a life if needed.

They locked eyes and the two men mumbled "we understand." 

A calm focus took over Ptolemy as he stood there with weapon in hand. For the first time in months he felt hope. He had their attention and they were listening. The anger subsided from his voice. Replaced by a steady confidence. "No. I want to hear you call me by my name. Slowly and clearly, so I know that you know it. It's Ptolemy. Tall-a-mee. Say it."

"Ptolemy," they said in unison as instructed. Hands still down at their sides.

"Thank you." Ptolemy lowered the rifle from his shoulder, but kept the barrel pointed out. He moved his finger from the trigger to rest along the stock. 

"I didn't want to have to do this, but you refused to let me ever speak. Believe me when I say that I do not want to hurt either of you." Ptolemy paused to make direct eye contact with both of them before he resumed, "but I will."

The moment of silence that followed as neither man moved was enough to assure Ptolemy that he was in control.

"I simply need you to listen to me. There is a reason I came looking for you, and it is not the reason I told you. I didn't know if you would trust me if I was honest.

"I recognize now that honesty is the only way you are going to let me make it out of here alive. So I'm going to tell you the truth. I'm going to tell you why I'm here. And more importantly,

"I'm going to tell you about the first time I died."