Mini Brain Dumps

We’re over 30,000 words in at this point to the novel…. when the heck did that happen? I am so excited to share the newest chapter with you all. And also, sorry for the cliffhanger 😬

If you’re just joining us and haven’t read the beginning of Darkest Depths, you can catch up here: Beginning of the Story

Missed the previous chapter? No problem! You can find it here: Previous Chapter

Now, let’s dive into the latest chapter…

Trigger Warning: This novel contains references to sexual assault and mental health disorders. Reader discretion is advised.

Chapter 14:

The day had begun peacefully, with a serenity that Quentin hadn’t felt in a long time. The ocean shimmered with gentle ripples under the early morning light, a reflection of the calm he’d been striving for since they set out. Standing near the bow of the ship, he allowed himself to breathe it all in—the lull of the waves, the soft warmth of sunlight kissing his skin, the salt-laden breeze brushing through his hair. For a moment, he was a boy again, one hand trailing along the ship’s railing, his father’s hand steady on his shoulder as they stood together looking out over the sea.

He was entranced by the water, watching small schools of fish dart and dance in shimmering patterns beneath the surface. The horizon lay calm and clear, its line soft and distant, an illusion of endless peace where the sky and sea merged in hues of pale blue and gold. But as the sun continued to climb, a subtle shift began to form. Quentin noticed it first in the air—a faint, unnatural chill that pricked his skin.

A cluster of clouds began gathering along the horizon, pale wisps darkening into ominous shapes. Around him, the crew of the Sovereign exchanged quiet glances. Quentin could see it in their eyes—their faces showed a practiced calm, but there was tension in the way their hands gripped ropes and tightened lines, in the furrowed brows and the way some whispered in low voices. These were men and women who knew the sea well enough to read its secrets. Quentin had been on enough journeys to know that when seasoned sailors grew tense, the sea was about to reveal its darker face.

The clouds continued to build, transforming the serene sky into a churning mass of gray. The light that had glistened off the water now seemed harsh, cold, as if each ray were a warning. Quentin stayed near the bow, watching as the once calm waters turned, gentle ripples shifting into darker, more forceful waves. The change was subtle but unmistakable, like the first rumblings of a beast that had been stirred from its slumber.

As the afternoon wore on, the skies grew dense with clouds, casting long, shadowy fingers over the water. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of salt and something else, an electric anticipation that tingled in Quentin’s veins. He found himself gripping the railing tighter as if the solid wood could anchor him against the storm he knew was coming.

A shout echoed from the deck, breaking his trance. Around him, the crew began moving with an urgency he hadn’t seen since they left port. Captain Reynolds stood near the helm, his eyes fixed on the darkening horizon, a grave expression shadowing his face. His deep voice cut through the clamor as he barked orders to the crew. “Secure the deck! All hands prepare for the storm. We’re in for a rough ride, and I won’t have any man or woman unready.”

He watched as the crew scrambled into action, tying down barrels, stowing away loose objects, and securing the sails.

“In the heart of the storm lies the calm of the sailor,” came a voice beside him. Quentin turned to find Jack leaning against the railing, his face calm.

Quentin hadn’t even heard the man approach. “Weird,” Quentin remarked, raising a brow. “My dad used to say that.”

Jack gave a nod, as if acknowledging a shared understanding. “Aye, it’s a saying that’s been passed down through the ages,” he replied with a faint smile. “The ocean gives, and it takes, lad. But the ones who stay calm…they’re the ones it respects.” His voice held a distant, almost reverent tone.

Quentin studied Jack’s face, searching for something—he wasn’t sure what. Jack’s words, his presence, even the cadence of his voice felt familiar. An image flickered in Quentin’s mind, faint but undeniable: a memory of a man standing beside his father on the deck of a different ship, in another lifetime.

“Where did you hear it from?” Quentin asked, the question slipping out as if of its own volition. 

Jack hesitated, his gaze slipping to the horizon. “Oh, you know how it is, lad. Some sayings stick, passed along from sailor to sailor.” But there was something guarded in his voice, a tension in the set of his shoulders.

Quentin’s heart beat faster, an invisible thread pulling memories from the recesses of his mind. “The Tempest,” he said slowly, the name heavy on his tongue. “Have you ever heard of it?”

Jack’s fingers, which had been resting lightly on the railing, stilled. His eyes flicked away, his lips pressing into a thin line as he stared out at the roiling sea. “Aye,” he muttered softly. “A name like that’s hard to forget.”

Quentin felt a strange thrill at the admission, though he wasn’t sure why. “Did you sail on it?” His voice was tentative, his heart pounding as he held his breath.

Jack shifted, and for a moment he looked almost haunted. “That was a long time ago, lad. Ships come and go.”

Quentin swallowed, feeling as if he were on the verge of something monumental. The words came out barely above a whisper, carrying years of unanswered questions. “You knew my father, didn’t you?”

A silence fell between them, thick and weighted, broken only by the slap of waves against the hull and the distant rumble of thunder. Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Aye.” He said, his voice low.

Quentin’s mind reeled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jack looked away, his gaze lost in some distant place. “When I first saw you, I wasn’t sure. You were just a lad, barely taller than a barrel, the last time I laid eyes on you.” 

Quentin started. He looked towards Jack and took in his appearance. He searched every corner of his consciousness trying to think of where he possibly could have seen Jack before. But the answer eluded him. “Saw me?” Quentin asked.  

“Aye, at the docks in Marielle. The day she sank,” Jack said softly.

Quentin’s mind spun, tumbling down the memories that Jack’s words had unlocked. He remembered flashes from that day, disjointed images that had haunted him for years—a storm raging, his mother’s frantic dash to the docks, clutching him so tightly he could barely breathe. He remembered the way she had screamed his father’s name into the sea, her voice lost in the roar of waves crashing against the dock. And he remembered a man—a stranger who had wrapped his arms around her, whispering something, offering her a grief-laden comfort as they both faced the churning water.

“You were there?” Quentin’s voice was a thin thread, barely audible over the increasing howl of the wind. His pulse thundered in his ears as he watched Jack’s face.

Jack’s nod was slow, the weight of memory shadowing his gaze. “Aye,” he said, his voice low and filled with a sorrow Quentin recognized. “I was there. I was the one who told her.”

Quentin felt as if the ship itself were shifting beneath his feet. The moment spun out in his mind, growing sharper, clearer, until it felt as if he were there again—a small child standing by his mother’s side, watching as her entire world shattered. His father had been his hero, a figure larger than life, filled with stories and laughter. Losing him had felt like a void opening in Quentin’s chest, one that had only grown as he got older. And here, now, was a man who held the missing pieces to that loss, a man who had sailed beside his father, who had been there on the day that Quentin’s life changed forever.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Quentin’s voice broke, raw with years of unspoken pain. “You knew who I was. You knew my father, knew what happened. You could’ve told me—”

Jack cut him off, his gaze fierce. “And what good would it have done, lad?” He shook his head, his expression pained. “What would it have given you, knowing the way he went down, knowing the storm that took him? Sometimes, not knowing is a mercy.”

Quentin opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. Jack’s eyes bore into his, filled with the burden of memory, of stories left untold. There was something in Jack’s gaze that silenced him—a depth of sorrow, of regret that ran deeper than the ocean itself.

Jack’s voice softened, a gentleness seeping into his tone. “Your father… he loved you more than anything. He spoke of you often, of the life he wanted for you. And when that storm hit… when it became clear that it wasn’t going to let us go… he fought with everything he had, right to the end. He was a brave man, Quentin. He died as he lived—fighting for the ones he loved.”

Quentin felt the tears well in his eyes, blurring his vision as the wind whipped at his face. He had spent so many years imagining his father’s end, haunted by the thought that maybe his father had been afraid, that maybe he hadn’t been able to fight the ocean’s grip. But Jack’s words offered a strange comfort, a bittersweet reassurance that his father’s final moments had been as courageous as the stories he had told.

The ship rocked violently, pulling Quentin back to the present as the crew scrambled to brace for the storm. Captain Reynolds’ voice thundered through the chaos, his commands sharp and precise as he rallied the crew to secure the Sovereign against the relentless assault of the waves.

“We’ll talk more later, lad,” Jack said, giving Quentin’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “But right now, we’ve got a ship to save.”

Quentin nodded, swallowing hard. 

He felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. With a deep breath to steady his nerves, he plunged into the fray, his hands moving swiftly and surely as he joined his shipmates in their frantic efforts to prepare the Sovereign.

“Alright, Hayes. It’s time to see what you’ve got,” Cate said as she approached, clapping him on the shoulder. Quentin swallowed hard, but before he could respond, Cate was making her way across the deck, shouting orders to the crew.

Cate appeared beside him, her hair plastered to her face by the rain, her gaze intense as she assessed the situation. “Hayes, I need you to hold this line,” she shouted, thrusting a rope into his hands. “And make sure it doesn’t budge. If it goes, the whole rigging could come down.”

Quentin nodded, gripped the rope tightly as he braced himself against the pull of the wind. He could feel the strain in his muscles, the burn of effort as he fought to keep the line steady. The storm was a living force, a beast that seemed to take pleasure in their struggle, its fury unrelenting as it battered the ship.

He hurried across the deck, securing lines and tying down loose items as the wind whipped around him. The deck was a chaotic tangle of ropes and crew members, each one working with a frantic energy as they fought to keep the Sovereign afloat. The storm’s fury was unlike anything Quentin had ever experienced, a relentless assault that seemed to grow stronger with each passing second.

Through the chaos, Quentin caught glimpses of Cate moving through the crew, her voice steady amidst the madness. She caught his eye and they exchanged a momentary smile. 

The ship lurched violently, sending Quentin stumbling backwards. His muscles strained as his entire weight was thrown to the side, refusing to let go of the rope Cate had put him in charge of. He had one job, and he was going to do it right. He was not letting this ship sink.

She shouted something he couldn’t hear, but her hand motions were unmistakable. She pointed to the loose line whipping violently from the mast, thrashing like a live wire. If it broke completely free, the consequences would be disastrous.

He gave her a nod of understanding and began working his way across the deck, moving hand over hand, gripping anything solid as the ship listed sharply to one side. The deck was slick with rain and sea spray, and every step felt like a battle against gravity itself. A wave crashed over the railing, soaking him to the bone and chilling him to his core, but he pushed forward, gritting his teeth against the cold and the fierce, unyielding pull of the storm.

Finally reaching the loose line, he reached out, fingers barely grazing it before a violent gust of wind threw him sideways. His grip faltered, and he was nearly swept off his feet, but he threw himself forward, grabbing onto the line just as the ship lurched again. He wrapped the rope around his forearm, anchoring himself as he used his other hand to secure it to the cleat. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack working alongside the others, his old hands moving with the precision of a seasoned sailor. Their eyes met briefly, and in that instant, Quentin felt a surge of strength, a fierce will not to fail—not just for himself, but for his father, for Jack, for everyone who had placed their trust in him.

Another wave crashed over the deck. He barely had time to brace himself before the impact knocked him backward, sending him sprawling against the railing. Pain shot through his side, but he gritted his teeth, clutching onto the wood to steady himself as he struggled to his feet.

The sound of snapping rope cut through the storm, sharp and ominous. Quentin’s heart lurched as he felt the line securing him to the ship give way. Time seemed to slow as he reached out, his fingers grasping at empty air as he was thrown backwards.

Quentin’s eyes met Cate’s. She reached out as if to grab hold of him, her voice lost amidst the roaring wind, but it was too late. The deck bucked violently beneath him, sending Quentin lurching forward. Time seemed to slow as his grip on the rope faltered. His heart raced, and in the fraction of a second, a memory of his father’s hands guiding him on the wheel flashed in his mind. He reached out, desperate to hold on—but the ship rolled again, the rope snapped, and his hand closed around nothing but air. The wind roared in his ears as he was thrown into the void.

Yet, midst the cacophony, a haunting melody began to pierce through the chaos. Faint at first, like a distant echo, but growing steadily clearer. Then, with a violent splash, Quentin plunged into the icy embrace of the ocean, the frigid waters swallowing him whole as he fought against the relentless pull of the sea. The signing faded into silence, swallowed by the depths of the ocean, and Quentin surrendered to the cold embrace of unconsciousness.

Your Thoughts Matter!

I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Please leave your comments below. Your input will help shape the future of this project and ensure it’s the best it can be.

Thank you for taking the time to read and I can’t wait to hear from you!