Chapter 10: The Final Chapter

I step into the lifeboat, the oars heavy in my hands, the weight of everything finally settling on my shoulders. The night is calm, eerily so, the sea smooth as glass beneath the pale moonlight. As I push away from the SS Leviathan, I can still hear the faint echo of Slade's footsteps above deck, pacing like a caged animal, his mind unraveling hour by hour. I don’t look back. 

The threads of his sanity must be fraying, pulled apart by guilt and paranoia. Subconsciously, I suppose I had willed this to happen. From the moment I saw them together, I knew that Slade and Clyde were incompatible, that their mutual distrust would inevitably lead to violence. All I had to do was give it a nudge, plant the seeds of doubt, and watch them grow.

In our quiet moments, I dropped hints, and twisted conversations to warp Slade’s perception of Clyde. I spoke of how Clyde cluttered the ship with his useless sculptures, how his incessant whistling grated on my nerves, and how his crude, simplistic communication made him seem more like a happy fool than a competent crew member. I knew that framing Clyde as an idiot would push Slade over the edge, making him believe that Clyde’s incompetence was a threat - a threat that needed to be eliminated.

I row further away from the tanker, watching as it fades into the mist, a ghost ship once more, carrying with it the last remnants of the madness I’ve unleashed. I know that soon, the distress signal I’ve rigged will be picked up by the authorities. When they arrive, they’ll find the cameras I’ve carefully set up, the footage that tells a story of two men descending into chaos. But they won’t find me.

Slade will be the only one left. The evidence will be overwhelming—he’ll be the villain, the man who killed his crewmate in a fit of insanity. And he’ll crack, I’m sure of it. He’ll claim he was manipulated, that there was someone else, but with no proof, no trace of me anywhere, who will believe him? He’ll be taken away, tried for murder, and locked up in an asylum, a broken man lost to his own delusions.

As for Clyde, he’s nothing but a memory now, another casualty in a story that was never really about him. But in a way, neither was it about Slade. This has always been about me—about my need to control, to create, to finally step out of the shadow of a brother who never really left me.

When the authorities trace the helicopter, they’ll find the seller in Mumbai. He’ll vaguely recall three individuals—the brash, impatient Clyde, the eerily calm Slade, and a third figure who remained silent, lurking in the background. But I’ve made sure that description is just vague enough to be unhelpful, just enough to tantalise, to add another layer to the mystery.

The story will explode, becoming a sensation—a modern-day ghostship tale with all the elements of tragedy, insanity, and mystery. It’ll be picked apart by internet sleuths, discussed in forums, and dissected by pundits. The footage, the witness accounts, the enigmatic third man who seems to vanish into thin air—it’s the perfect recipe for conspiracy theories. And through it all, my story, my masterpiece, will live on.

As I drift further into the night, I realize the full extent of what I’ve done. In my quest to disappear, to erase myself completely, I’ve done the opposite. I’ve left a legacy that will outlive me, a story that will be told and retold, analyzed and mythologized. The irony isn’t lost on me—it’s exactly what I wanted and exactly what I’ve been running from all my life.

I let go of the oars, lying back in the lifeboat, staring up at the endless sky. The stars are scattered across the vast darkness like grains of sand, each one a reminder of how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of the universe. But for this one moment, I’ve made the universe acknowledge my existence. I’ve left my mark. I’ve won.

Without willing it, my mind turns to my early life, my dad, mum and, yes, my brother. Did I really just leave him there, or did some dark, hidden part of me want him gone?

That thought, that whisper of something buried deep inside, has haunted me. I think his death was my fault. Ultimately it drove me to this, to create the perfect story, to finally prove that I could shape the world, that I could leave my mark, and that I mattered. This, this twisted tale of betrayal and madness, is my magnum opus.

The absurdity of it all makes me laugh. Alone, adrift in the middle of the ocean, I realise that this was what I needed to do all along. To create something that was mine, something perfect in its twisted way. And in the end, it wasn’t just about disappearing or escaping my past. It was about finally becoming the person I was always meant to be—the one who pulls the strings, who watches the tragedy unfold, and who, in the end, leaves an indelible mark on the world.

And that, I realise with a bitter smile, is enough.