LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past
The mast of the ship creaked against the howling wind, and sprays of water slammed against the deck, drenching the wood and everyone else in the general vicinity.
“Baton down the hatches and lower the sails,” some unknown voice called over the din.
The ship tipped precariously to the left as another wave slammed into the side.
One of the crewmen was hit by a wave and knocked to the ground. Screaming, he grappled for purchase as the boat tilted. The man, unable to stop himself, slid down into the tumultuous water.
Another wave slapped the side of the boat knocking it in the other direction. Shouts sounded all around but before anyone could save the man, he disappeared into the murky depths of the sea.
Water sliced against my body, pushing me back and forth, as I unsteadily made my way down inside the boat.
Men were running, pushing past me, to get up on the deck. Water poured down behind me, soaking my feet as I walked further into the body of the boat. There was something unholy wrong about where I was but knew on some level that I must be dreaming with one exception. Everything felt real—too real, which of course, did not make a bit of sense.
Shivering from the icy water, and with my breath hitching in my chest from exertion, I kept slogging forward in the knee-deep water, searching.
The problem was that I had no idea what I was even looking for.
The back of a man came into view; he wasn’t yelling or running like the rest of the men. Instead, he stood perfectly still, looking into one of the rooms. He seemed familiar. The why of that was something else that was a mystery to me…until that someone, turned, and looked right at me.
“Gavin?”