Don't Leave Me

Chapter 1

I fight to keep sobs in the back of my throat. My breathing is shaky, uneven; vision blurry from tears; all of my limbs trembling. My whole body wants to break down in despair, but I can't let it do that right now. There are things that need to be done first. "That spike. We should.. take it out."

Pete inches forward and grasps onto the thing sticking out of Charlie's torso. He gives it a forceful tug, but it refuses to let go of the seared flesh. I have to turn away as he wraps another hand around it and pulls harder. As he struggles, I look vacantly at the fence I had been knocked through not even ten minutes ago. I'm still terribly sore from it, and I'm left with a limp, but I know that it's nothing compared to what Charlie had to go through. I could deal with the pain. I hear an awful squelching sound and Pete gagging. I look back to him; the spike is in his hands, and a trickle of bubbly, brown blood leaks out from the gaping wound it left behind. I look away again, though I'm ashamed to do so. I'm unable to escape the smell no matter what I do, however— God, it's horrible. Death, in all its forms, has an odor that will put knots in your stomach, though by now I thought I'd grown used to it. But this corpse— Charlie— there's something about this one that makes every fiber of my being shudder with dread.

Pete tosses the spike away, and it clatters against the bulkhead. I look back. Now he's staring down into the palms of his hands, every inch of them dappled with little scarlet marks. The spike was serrated and had bitten into his skin like a thousand tiny needles. He's quick to brush the pain off. I see Charlie in the periphery of my vision, though it's difficult for me to even accept that what I'm seeing is a human being, let alone my deceased friend. Hardened, black skin, crumbling away at areas to reveal pink flesh, still smoking and oozing. Hair burnt into a frizzy mess barely clinging to his scalp. A mangled, scarcely recognizable face, but one twisted into an expression of undeniable agony. It's awful. All of it is just so awful to look at. But again, I only have to see the aftermath. Charlie had to suffer through the feeling. The feeling of being burnt alive. The feeling of being impaled through the abdomen. The feeling of dying.

After hesitating, Pete reaches out to Charlie and pushes him over, so he's lying on his back. His once-navy blue jacket has been dyed a nauseating shade of ruddy brown by putrid, boiled blood. The malicious stench of death is even stronger now, seeping into every crevice of my weak lungs and festering there. I nearly throw up at the overwhelming assault of sensations, but I swallow it down.

"No.." Pete mutters, running his fingertips across Charlie's chest.

"What?"

He ignores my question, instead looking around him frantically, until he finds the cutlass he used earlier in the battle and picks it up with a shaky hand.

"No..." he repeats absently, eyes locked onto the sword. He's become so distraught by what he's seeing that I'm essentially invisible to him. I look down to the sword, trying to understand what he sees. Slathered all over the blade is a strange, viscous black liquid, unlike anything I'd ever seen before. At just the tip, a splash of vermilion blood. I don't see it. Why is he so torn up over this?

Finally, he pries his focus away and looks up to me with the most sorrowful expression he's ever worn.

"Tom... Did I kill him?" He asks in desperation with fearful, innocent eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

"I.. I stabbed him. I was only trying to.." He sniffles, the expression on his face turning from sorrow to terror. "Oh.. God...!"

The cutlass clatters down onto the deck, and Pete shields his face with his hands, crying. He tries his best to keep quiet but is failing terribly. Panicked and confused, I attempt to calm him, putting a hand on his shoulder as it rises and falls erratically with each pathetic whimper escaping his mouth. I look up around me. People have stopped what they're doing to stare at us, a jury of a dozen eyes piercing into our souls. I.. I can't allow Pete to be subject to their cruel judgement. I stand up and gently guide him onto his feet; he's too distraught to try defying me. I take hold of his hand and make way to our cabin on the gun deck. Once I close the door behind us, he collapses back down onto the deck, wailing and sobbing and uttering incoherent sentences. I'm not really sure what to do for a few moments. Seeing him so heartbroken is bringing my own guilt to the surface; I can feel red, hot tears building up in the corners of my eyes. Did he really kill Charlie? I don't know for certain, can't know. But it doesn't really matter to me. He's dead, regardless. And I didn't do anything to stop it.

"No, no, no, why.." Pete mumbles. "How could I.. Why didn't I..."

I decide to give him what I feel he needs most in this moment: a hug. I kneel down before him, lean in, and wrap my arms around him. Tears begin to roll down my cheeks. I'm trying to provide him with comfort, but really, I'm seeking it out for myself too. Already the intense warmth of his body is putting me at ease, quelling the confusion that my mind is drowning in.

"...Pete." I say in the gentlest voice I can muster, finally soothing his frenzied grieving into silence. He's quick to accept the embrace, burying his face in my chest and clinging onto the back of my jacket with one hand. We cry. We do nothing but cry, for God knows how long. We cry until our faces are red and wet, until it hurts to breathe, until we've nearly forgotten why we're even crying in the first place. We soon fall silent, but neither of us dare to leave our position, lest the anguish crush us where we sit.

Not moving his head away from my chest, he whispers quietly. "We're terrible people."

My eyes wander down to look at the top of his head. My heart aches for him. I can't imagine the guilt that's weighing down on him right now. "Don't say that. The.. the fire was what killed him. It wasn't your fault."

"No... this isn't about that." He pulls away to look at me with eyes watery and full of hatred. Not hatred for me, but for himself. "I realize now that.. we treated him like shit, Tom. Teased him, mocked his interests, excluded him from the things we did. It was never-ending torment. And now he's fucking dead... He died surrounded by people who didn't respect him one bloody bit."

My immediate instinct is to argue against what he's saying, but the impulse fades away as I come to accept that he's right. The things we said and did to Charlie were awful. We were terrible friends to him. 'Friend'... I've considered him as one for as long as I've known him but... did he even think of us in the same way? I... I don't know the answer, and that absolutely terrifies me. And now, we'll never have the chance to rectify our mistakes...

No.

It wasn't a mistake on our parts. We chose to treat him like that.

A sin.

That's what it is. A sin God may forgive us for, but Charlie can't. Shouldn't. All I can do is nod my head in shameful agreement.There's nothing that I can say in this moment, no words in my vocabulary to express the remorse I feel.

"We have to.. treat him well now. We have to make up for what we did to him. What we let happen to him. Even if he—" he chokes on his tears. "Even if he's just a corpse. He still needs to be looked after."

Again, I can only reply with a nod, like some mute fool. Pete pushes himself up onto his feet and wipes his face with the sleeve of his undershirt. He extends a hand down to me and I gladly accept it. Now that I'm standing again, I can feel that the atmosphere of our cabin has already been made profoundly empty by Charlie's absence. He's never going to be in this space again. Never again make smug comments to us while perched up in his berth, never again sit at the desk to write another prose-filled entry of his logbook, never again snore like a hog while Pete and I are fighting to fall asleep. There's a void in my heart now that he's gone, a void much larger than I originally thought he'd leave. All of it makes me feel so utterly alone, as though Pete is the only other person in the universe with me— the only person who matters, anyway. I can't let anything bad happen to him. I have to be better, be there for him, because I wasn't there for Charlie when he needed me most.

"We should get his sheets while we're here. So we can wrap him up." Pete says with a still wavering voice.

"Right."

I watch him pull the sheets down from the swaying berth above him. I want to say something to him, but I don't really know what exactly. I can't find the words, no matter how hard I search for them. He finishes folding the sheets over his arm and looks to me, ready to leave. I exit the cabin and he follows after me. My chance has passed.

We return to the orlop deck. Charlie's still sitting there, next to the crab and the ghoul that rode it, all mired in a grotesque mixture of ash, water, and blood. Other crew members are busying themselves with mopping the blood away, pulling spikes out of objects, moving the bodies of their fallen companions. None of them speaking, none of them making any sudden movements, all of them almost like ghosts, seeming more dead than the corpses they're holding. But there aren't any real ghosts. None that I can see, anyway. Charlie's still just a body, inanimate, unmoving, completely ordinary. He's nothing more than the body of a friend who never knew what it felt like to actually be treated as a friend. We lay out the sheet on the deck next to him.

"I'll get his shoulders." I say. Pete moves into position, crouched over our... friend's legs. I move into my own place and, in unison, we pick him up as gently as we can, but that doesn't stop blackened flakes of cloth and skin from peeling away and fluttering onto the deck. We set him down on the sheet, then step back. Neither of us wants to start the process of wrapping him up. I've watched the carpenters do it a handful of times before, but neither of them are around now to show us how to actually do it. We just stand there, motionless.

"Y'know, you lads don't have to do this if you don't want to." A voice offers from behind, startling me at its sudden presence. I recognize it as Hoscut and turn to see him. He's trying to muster up a warm, sympathetic smile in spite of the tragedy, though his eyes betray his heartbreak. "We could handle it if you'd like."

I want to speak but my tongue is paralyzed. All I can manage is a faint shake of my head. Pete gives him the answer I'm unable to.

"No, it's alright, sir. We can do it."

We need to do it. It's the only way we can atone for our sins.

"...If you believe you're up to the task, then go ahead." Hoscut places a firm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Make sure your knots are tight." The faint smile fades from his face, and he walks off to take care of some duties of his own.

Pete begins to bend down to grab one edge of the cloth, but I have to interrupt him as a thought flashes across my mind. "No, wait." He stops, watching me pick up a cutlass off the deck, the one Charlie used. I bring it over and lay it down next to his body. "He gave his life for the ship. It would only be right."

Pete gives me a small nod before taking hold of the sheet and pulling it across, at last obscuring Charlie's disfigured form from my eyes. We work with more care and precision than we've put into any of the jobs we've ever been entrusted with by the officers. Soon enough, our friend is completely invisible, swallowed whole by the cocoon of dull grey linen we spun around him. I fetch a bundle of rope and wrap it 'round a few times. Once I secure the last knot, I step back to check our work. A frown slips onto my face. It's a bit sloppy, I think, but it's sufficient enough to give Charlie a proper burial at sea. At least, I hope it's enough. I mean, we can't really undo it all and try again anyways. This would have to do.

We pick him up and maneuver up to the main deck. It's slow and painful, what with Pete's cut-up hands and my limp, and again I can feel the icy cold stares of the other sailors locked onto us. But we just have to persevere. Any inconvenience or discomfort we face is no matter; taking good care of Charlie and putting him to rest is far more important. Just as we begin to struggle with the weight, we reach the gunwale and rest him atop it. I look out. That emptiness from our cabin is back again. Everywhere around me is darkness, high up in the skies above my head, far below in the infinite abyss beneath my feet, stretching out into the endless horizon before me. It's a hungry darkness, I decide. It wants to consume every person on this cursed vessel, every troubled past, every optimistic future. All memories erased, all hopes dashed. The darkness doesn't care about any of that, and it isn't going to stop. It's a wicked creature with an appetite that can never be satisfied. I should've realized sooner that this darkness has been here the whole time, waiting to take us, in the form of the very sea that we sail on. I had to lose a friend to finally become aware of it. And now, we're dropping his body directly into its watery maw.

Pete leans in towards the vague shape of Charlie's head and whispers, loud enough for only Charlie's ears and my own. "I'm sorry." I understand one verbal apology is hardly enough to make up for what we said and did to him, but I still hope he could hear it somehow, wherever he is, if he's anywhere at all. I don't know where exactly Jewish people go when they die— I've forgotten Charlie's explanation— but I can only pray that it is somewhere good, somewhere safe. He deserves it.

I look to Pete. He's ready. I am too. At once, we both push, and Charlie slips away into the sinister blackness below. I hear a faint splash and have to step away from the ship's edge, my legs as flimsy as a bundle of twigs. The reality of what we had just done is hitting me. Charlie's gone now. He's just gone. He doesn't exist anymore. He's more than just dead, he's completely erased from our lives, according to the expectations placed upon us; we have to keep carrying on with our duties and somehow pretend his absence doesn't affect us in the slightest. Pretend that watching him suffer a death agonizing beyond all creation won't stay with us for the rest of our lives. Pretend that we aren't going to join him sometime soon, eaten by the monster that extends all around us for hundreds of miles.

"We.. we're going to die, aren't we?" I ask.

Pete looks at me with wide, sad eyes and a barely open mouth. He doesn't say anything, but I have the feeling that similar thoughts have been plaguing his mind. I have to think for a moment of how I want to continue speaking. I don't know now, if we'll ever make it back to England. A cynical, unrelenting entity constricts my chest with its tendrils, whispering into my ear that we won't. The darkness has chosen the Obra Dinn as its prey, and it feels as though it won't stop hunting us until not a single soul onboard is left alive. God, if we're doomed to die on this awful ship, I can only ask you that I'm not left alone for long, in a world without Pete. I don't know if I could bear it.

"It doesn't matter to me." He says, shaking his head.

"What?"

"...I don't care how much time we may have. I just... I want that time to be with you."

I understand exactly what he means by this. It had never really dawned on me before, but it feels right, like that's how we were always meant to be. I was just too oblivious before to realize it. The words I've been unable to find all this time— the whole time I've known him— are coming to me at long last. I reach out and take both of his hands into my own.

"I love you, Pete. Promise me.. promise me that we're never separated ever again." I plead. "I'm scared... I don't want to die like he did."

As the words leave my mouth, I become vaguely aware that people are watching us, judging us, hating us. I don't care anymore what they're thinking, what they're whispering to each other. I just want to feel safe for however long I have left. To hold onto some semblance of happiness, however ephemeral it may be. I reach out for another warm, tender embrace. He's eager to reciprocate, enveloping me with his warmth; it's almost as if I'm hugging sunshine personified. It's already beginning to make the cold, bitter darkness melt away. I can tell by the energy behind his movements that.. he's been yearning for this for a long time. And now that we're truly together after so long, I never want to leave his side. Maybe then, just maybe, we have a chance of making it back alive. I bend my neck down, venturing to give him a light kiss on the cheek.

"Don't leave me."

Chapter 2

"You're late."

The words make me seize up in an instant; the plate in my hands hovers only a few inches above the place from which I had just picked it up. I anticipate Pete to start speaking in my stead as he so often has to do, but the words never come. I suppose it must be me this time. I take a breath then turn to face the man speaking to us, Witterel.

"Sorry, sir. We couldn't sleep very well last night." It may sound pathetic, but it's the truth. That night was far more dreadful than any others I've experienced. Pete hadn't even slept at all, I believe. He had been staring up at the wooden panel above our heads when I finally drifted off, and he still was in that position when I awoke just a few minutes ago. What little sleep I got was restless and plagued with night terrors, reliving that one moment endlessly. It's just a flimsy excuse though, something that has no place on a sailing vessel.

Witterel massages his forehead as he considers the response. "I understand that things are going to be much more difficult for you two from now on, I really do. And I empathize with what you're going through but.. You have duties on this ship that must be done. You've got to be here, ready to act, even if it hurts." A frown dances across his lips for a moment. "Does that make sense?"

I'm taken aback. He isn't scolding us, at least not in the usual way he does it. There's something different about the words he's used, like he's speaking to us as something more than mere members of his crew. ...It's nice.

"Of course, sir. We'll try harder in the future."

"Good, I'm glad." He considers me for a moment. Another frown appears. "I've noticed you're still limping, Lanke. I'd like you to pay Evans a visit after you've finished eating."

"Yessir."

"After that you're to report to Perrott for the day."

I repeat myself, to which Witterel gives me a slight nod and disappears up to the main deck. The tension in my shoulders eases up and I look over to Pete, trying to search for an emotion behind the plain, hollow expression upon his face. I can't find one, and he doesn't seem intent on saying whatever's on his mind. That's fine though. I don't expect him to be eager to make conversation, after last night. I draw the plate in towards my chest. Upon it is a crumbly rock guised as a biscuit and a shriveled, several-hours-old slice of salted pork, a perfectly typical meal in the most atypical circumstances.

We walk along the passageway, hoping to come across a bench that hasn't yet been stowed away that we can sit at. We find one, populated by a lone sailor, seemingly in deep thought over a mug of coffee.

"May we sit here?" I ask.

The sailor raises his head to look us over. "Aye," he croaks.

I slide onto the bench and Pete follows suit. We eat our cold food in silence, trying to ignore the stare of the sailor piercing into us.

"You boys lost your friend last night, yeah?" He finally says after a while.

There it is. I'd been waiting for it to come out. I'm sure that'll be the only thought on people's minds now whenever they set their eyes upon us. Poor little midshipmen who 'lost' their friend that night the wraiths attacked. They don't realize that we both bear the guilt for being responsible for his demise. Underneath the table, Pete's hand finds mine and squeezes it tight.

"...That's right." I answer.

"Thought so. Sorry you had to go through that, he seemed like a fine lad." He takes a long sip from his mug. The next sentence comes out in a growl. "Too damn many men've died cause of those rotten shells."

"Eh?"

The man waves a hand dismissively. "Nevermind. It ain't my place to be talkin' about it nor is it your place to be askin' about it. Just know that I've been through the same experience as you boys, yeah?"

What, lost a friend? This man hardly seems like the sentimental type. "Oh, um.. Sorry to hear that, Mr...?"

"Brennan." He grumbles. And with that, he stands up and leaves before I can even say his name back to him.

The grip on my hand loosens, but Pete doesn't pull his hand away. We get back to working away at our breakfast, still without any words travelling through the still air between us. Sometimes it's better to stay quiet, I realize. It's simpler that way. It's easier to stay focused on the present, easier to minimize how much of our minds that memory consumes.

Once our plates are picked clean, we drop them off in the stack and descend to the orlop deck. Along the way we walk past the fence, still sitting in pieces on the deck, and that spot by the ladder, forever scarred by that demonic inferno; they're permanent, looming reminders of our failures, reminders that I'd wish to get far away from. We reach the surgery, and I knock upon the door. Evans soon comes to greet me.

"Hm? Ah, hello, Lanke... Still limping, I presume?"

"Yes sir."

"I wondered when you'd stop by to see about that. Come on in."

He cleared out of the doorway and allowed me entry into the dimly-lit cabin. "You can take a seat at the bed here and then I'll—" He pauses as he takes note of Pete entering in after me. He then does a rather poor job of concealing the frown on his face from the sight of him. "Er, you can.. sit over there, Milroy." He gestures half-heartedly to the chair at the corner of the room. It matters to me not one bit whether he's upset that Pete is following in after me. We aren't to be apart anytime soon, not so long as we are both on this ship.

"Anyways. Where does it hurt, Lanke?"

"My lower back, mostly."

"Mm. Would you mind me having a look?"

"Err, I suppose not."

I turn around and let Evans carry out his checkup. He grabs the tails of my jacket and gives them a yank upwards.

"Jesus Christ, Lanke, you're as purple as an aubergine down there! How've you been putting up with such severe bruising all this time?"

I talk down to my hands sitting limply in my lap. "I.. I don't know. Just been trying to push through it the best I can, I guess."

"Well, I'm glad you've come to me now." He brushes his hands off then strokes his face in thought before continuing. "I think a spot of laudanum would do you some good. It'll take the edge off."

He turns away to the nearby cabinet to rummage through all of the unusual tools and medicines stored within. He grumbles to himself quietly as he struggles to find the bottles before he at last comes away with one in each hand. He plonks down on the stool in front of me and prepares the laudanum in a cup. The work is slow, he meticulously pours alcohol out then shakes some of the powder in. Then he gives it a stir and holds it out to me, a muddy red liquid that smells... well, terrible.

"Here you go. I will warn you that many men find the taste... disagreeable."

I put the cup to my lips and drink it all down quickly, not letting the liquid rest on my tongue. Still, the bitterness chokes me and a cough sputters out of my mouth.

"Good, you handled it better than most do." He took the cup back and went through the process of cleaning up his supplies, putting them each into their proper places once more. I can't help but note the slowness of it all, really the full extent of what has changed from Wallace's absence. "It should take effect in around twenty minutes. Anything else troubling you, Lanke? Milroy?"

"No." Pete answers.

I scowl at him. "Your hands, Pete."

"They're fine, I don't need treatment for 'em." Pete folds his arms across his chest and looks over to the door.

"What's wrong with your hands?"

"Nothing sir, just some scratches." Pete says, still refusing any eye contact.

"Could you let me see, son?"

A frown twists onto his face, but he gives in and thrusts out his hands to the surgeon, who inspects them closely.

"Hm... These are some rather severe lacerations. How'd you get them?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"...That's fine. It's no matter, really. I'll just clean you up a bit and send you on your way."

As Evans carries out his procedures, I stare deeply into Pete's eyes, hoping that alone is enough to convey to him my disappointment. I hate it when he's like this, always wanting to move on and act like not a single thing is wrong even when something is clearly eating away at him, causing him pain. No regard for his own well-being. He simply refuses to look in my direction though, instead staring down into his hands.

"Alright, you shouldn't have to worry about an infection with these as long as you get some fresh air. Try to spend your time on the main deck when you're able and you should be fine, you understand?" Evans waits expectantly until Pete gives him a nod. "Good. Well, I suppose you boys should go now."

"..Thank you, Dr. Evans."

He doesn't say anything more to us; he's already turned away to tidy up his equipment some more. Pete and I shuffle out of the cabin without another word. Time to report to Perrott, it seems, though I'm unsure how either of us would be able to do anything for him as it stands. We go up to find him at the ship's helm, occupied by some conversation with the bosun, who motions for Perrott to turn around as he takes note of us.

"Ah, here you two are." Perrott motions us to approach him. "Dalton's still taking a rest due to his injury from.. The other day... so we're in sore need of a helmsman. Don't worry, it's an easy job. One of you just has to keep the helm steady, the other has to ensure that we're heading northeast by keeping an eye on the compass down in the binnacle here." Perrott patted the top of the box. "You're to stay on this duty for four hours. Any questions?"

"No sir."

"Good. I'll be off now. I'm sure you two will do a fine job."

Perrott and Klestil stroll off, already back to their previous conversation, leaving us alone with the helm. Pete is the one to take hold of it, leaving me to keep watch over the binnacle.

For a long time we're silent, staring out into the vast ocean expanse all around us. We've been told we're heading home, due to all of the bloodshed we've encountered, but I've found it a bit hard to grasp. Does home even exist, way, way out there? All I see, day-in, day-out, is this water. It's inescapable. As it stands, it feels like Pete and I have merely been given this task to give us false hope, a lie that home exists beyond that horizon. Even if the darkness didn't swallow us all up before then, would there be anything there when we returned? Or just more endless nothing? I become vaguely aware of how preposterous these questions are. Perhaps I'm not thinking straight because of the laudanum.

"We're in control of this ship, you realize that, Tom?"

The strange statement rips me out of my thoughts. "What?"

"We've got the helm. We've got a compass. We can take this ship wherever we want."

"We need to go home though." I grab the helm, making sure it stays steady, pointed homeward.

"I know, I know... It's just.. A nice thought, don't you think? We could go anywhere we wanted to."

Still, even after all this, Pete's infatuation with sailing hasn't died out. Mine had long ago, even before this terrible voyage. I'm envious, almost. I nearly speak but I have to take pause for Witterel passing by us and entering his quarters. No one else should be hearing what I tell him. With the edge that's been put to everyone's mood because of what's happened, surely I'd be accused of mutiny.

"I suppose I wouldn't mind it.. as long as it was just the two of us."

"Of course. Of course it'd be just the two of us. Making our own adventure, finding our own routes. No one to answer to." He stands tall, hands confidently grasped on the helm, a breeze whispering through his hair. He almost seems to be his normal self again. But there's something other than confidence in his expression. I can't quite place it though.

"Sounds nice." Even if such a life were possible, it'd be without Charlie. He would never be able to experience it with us.

"Yeah, it does."

"But home. That would be even better." I tell him.

"....Of course."

We return to silence again and we remain there until Perrott comes to relieve us of the duty.

"Thank you, Milroy, Lanke. You've done a fine job it seems. You're free to go now."

"Do we not have anything else to do..?" I ask.

"...No. No more duties on the schedule for you two today."

"Oh, alright. We'll be off then, sir."

As we walk away, I ponder over the strange things Perrott told us. Our every waking moment is usually dedicated to an array of tasks around the ship; being left to our own devices so early in the day was... unusual. It makes even less sense when I consider we had woken two hours late and the one task we were given was incredibly simple. Did both of us even have to be there...?

Neither of us particularly desire to do anything with this abundance of free time that's been thrust upon us. At least our bodies can keep busy when we've got a job to do. I'd rather be a ghost than wander around the ship without a purpose like this. Our aimless drifting comes to an end once we reach the ship's bow. I lean myself against the gunwale while Pete sits atop it, looking out at the vast expanse. ahead of him. It's hypnotic almost, staring at it all. Your sense of time slips away as you watch the ripples of white crackle through the deep dark blue.

"Mind if I join you?" A voice asks, ending the trance I had slipped into. It's Rod, looking to us like a helpless, expectant puppy.

"Shouldn't you be working right now?" Pete replies.

"No. Mr. Perrott let me off early."

Same treatment he gave us then. But why?...

"Sure, you can join us." I say before Pete has the chance to shoo him off.

"..Thank you." He snakes his way between the ropes and up in front of the ship's bell, leaning his back against it.

"How has it been for you?" He asks. "You know.. without him." While I try to think of the words, he shakes his head and continues. "God, that was a bit insensitive of me, wasn't it? I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine." I assure him.

"It's just... I want someone to talk to about it, yeah? Davey's busy working and even during breaks he's as withdrawn as a clam in its shell. And it'd be improper for me to mention such an emotional thing to Mr. Perrott. I figured you two would be my next best option."

"It can be good to talk about things, especially.. things like this." I sigh. Good for some people like Rod perhaps, but not for us. But it'd be wrong of me to deny the boy a chance to work through his tangle of emotions. "You could speak your thoughts to us, if you'd like."

"Oh, alright, thank you." He fiddled with the edge of his apron as he thought. "Did you know that Charlie and I used to work together?"

"No... He never told us that." Pete says. He finally turns his head, tilted in curiosity, to look at the steward sitting next to him.

"Really?... Hm." He seemed disappointed to hear that. I am too, though it feels to me like Charlie kept lots of parts of himself locked away from me and Pete. "It was my first voyage. To Bombay. He helped me adjust to the work and we would talk about both of us one day being midshipmen, together, on the same ship... Guess it was never supposed to work out like that though."

"No, I guess not."

An awkward silence creeps in. Rod doesn't know what we do. That I had done nothing to save Charlie, and that Pete.. may have killed him himself. And he doesn't need to know. Especially now that I see how much admiration he has for him.

We are all comfortable to just sit together and stare at the ocean surrounding us. The hope that home is waiting out there for us may be fading from my heart, but perhaps those I am with right now are a suitable substitute.

Chapter 3

The grasp on my hand tightens as our whole cabin tilts towards the portside. Although this storm has battered the ship for only a few minutes, already I can sense that it is no ordinary rough weather. It's something more sinister, more shadowy than that. I could be telling Pete that everything will be fine right now, that it still is nothing more than a regular storm. But truthfully, sharing comfortable silence together is much preferable to attempting to placate ourselves with assurances we know not to be true. We both by now recognize that this is the darkness, back again after only one night of respite, here to claim yet more lives for its insatiable hunger. I pray silently that neither of us are among those lives tonight.

A hurried, impatient knock comes from the other side of our door. The warm fingers wrapped around my hand dig in, trying to keep me close, but I have to leave Pete's side to answer the door. Behind it is Davies, with his wide-eyed steward peeking over his shoulder.

"Lanke, Milroy." He gasps, struggling to catch breath but still speaking anyways. "The Obra Dinn.. She's under attack."

"...Are the demons back?" I ask, despite not really wanting to know the answer either way.

He shakes his head. "No. No, it's something.. something far worse."

"Oh." I glance back to Pete, a slight frown etched into his otherwise emotionless face. His hands, tightened into fists, rest on his lap.

Davies just stands there, thinking, trying to find the right thing to say to me. "It is your duty to defend the ship, but there's not much for two boys such as you to do against.. whatever that beast is. You can stay in there if you'd like. You've already done more than enough."

"Th.. thank you for saying so, sir."

He gives me a nod. "...May God help us all." He closes the door, leaving me and Pete alone once more. I look back to him again, sitting there on my berth.

"We have to do something." He says, brows furrowed and lips bent into an even deeper frown than before. His eyes meet mine. There's a lively blaze behind them again, a blaze I thought had been extinguished forever by what had happened only two nights ago. "For him."

All of my energy sapped from my body, I can't bring myself to argue against him. Where Pete is able to find anger and a thirst for revenge, I only can find despair and the desire to withdraw myself from the world. But I can put that desire aside, for I understand what this means to him. "For him."

He's quiet for a while, tugging at the corner of the blanket while his mind races to think of what action we can take, what we can even do against a monster that can toss the ship about like a shuttlecock. We both listen to the sounds of cannonfire and shouting leech in from the passageway outside.

"Gunpowder. We use gunpowder." He says at last, seemingly inspired by the deafening blasts sounding out nearby.

I nod, though I hesitate to follow him as he gets onto his feet. There's something eating away at me. The ship leans onto her hull again, nearly tumbling me over but I catch myself on the bedpost. I realize what it is. "Let's tie ourselves together when we get up there. So we can't fall off."

"Good idea. We mustn't leave each other's side."

Finally I find my motivation to move and I reach out for the handle of our door. But just as my fingers hit the icy cold brass, a man out in the passageway lets loose an awful scream, his soul surely being ripped free from his body by the beast of the darkness. It would've been the most wretched sound I've heard come from a man, if not for...

It all crashes over me again like a wave. His screams ring through my ears, the smoke and the blindingly bright bonfire bring my eyes to tears, the soreness comes anew to my shaking legs, the urge to vomit burns my throat. All of the horrible sensations are back, like I've traveled through time back to that night. I step away from the door. I can't. I can't face something like that again. I can't bear to look down upon the corpse of yet another crew member, knowing how terrible it must have been to have their life torn away from their mortal shell, while I only stand there, unharmed and unable to help.

"Are you alright?" Pete asks, his voice just slightly pressing against the veil of time, hardly audible over Charlie's screams. His hand gently touches mine.

My face must be painted white by the panic gripping my body like a vice. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, trying to bring myself back to the present all in one piece. I focus on the feeling of his hand, the swaying of the ship, the creaking of the wood. The screams come to a quiet, the smoke dissipates, the smell of death fades. I look into Pete's eyes. He's still real. He's still alive. He's still here for me.

"I'll be fine." I say, though the shakiness of my voice makes it sound rather unconvincing. Even I find myself doubting the truthfulness behind my own words.

"Are you ready?"

"...Always." This I know to be true. I'm forever ready to carry out any duties placed upon me, even if my heart longs for rest. A part of me wishes I weren't like this, but alas. We've a beast to kill.

Pete nods and turns to open the door. He looks back to me one more time. "Let's go."

He's so eager to leave, so ready to stare death down in its ugly face. It's strange. I thought I would've been more hesitant in such a mortal situation, but going out there to battle this monster hardly feels more impactful than leaving the cabin to fetch breakfast from the galley. But even compared to my own willingness, Pete seems so... eager to go out there. Excited, even. I can barely drag my feet out into the passageway, visibly scarred by a battle gone horribly awry. But he goes out before me with fervor, scooping up the powder bags scattered about the deck into his arms without the slightest hint of doubt. This monster is hardly of the same nature as those who claimed Charlie's life, but they're children of the depths all the same, adequate subjects for Pete's revenge. I think I know now what the emotion I read on his face at the helm yesterday was. It wasn't mere confidence. It was careless, self-destructive, and dare I say, suicidal bravery. I can't be quite sure of it, but it seems as though Pete is willing to give his life if it means avenging Charlie. Though I understand the turmoil it brings upon him, I hate that he's acting with such intention. We have to stay together if we're to both make it home alive. There isn't the place for me to speak of it though; we're already racing off to the stairs to the main deck.

Behind us voices are speaking; I can't find the concentration to listen to what they say to each other, nor who they even are. I pull myself onto the stairs, rebelling against gravity as the ship heels again. Behind me I can hear Pete groaning, struggling to follow suit, and I turn to see him, to help him stay standing. And that's when it happens. I see it in the corner of my vision. The cannons for a moment become weightless, flying up into the air as the Obra Dinn leans onto her side. Rod's just standing there, seemingly materialized from thin air, too mired in fear to get to safety. Beyond him is Perrott, an expression of raw grief already twisted onto his face. Rod is motionless, not moving from where his feet have planted him, not until the butt of a cannon launches itself squarely into his throat. The sound that creaks out from him coils my insides into tight, nauseous knots. Instantly he's limp, pinned under the immense weight of the cannon, dead before he could even know what happened to him. I don't allow myself the time to mourn for him, barely even the time to contemplate his fate. All I allow myself to think is that at least it was quick.

"No!!" Perrott cries. I can't linger on what he does, instead looking to Pete. All but one of the powder bags has jumped from his grasp and he's struggling to regain his footing. He begins to reach for them, but I grab his wrist.

"There isn't the time." I say. I try with all my might to avoid looking over to Rod. Another person I could only watch die. Another friend, even. I can't bear to remain in his presence.

Pete wrests his focus away from the bags and begins his climb back up the stairs, again trailing behind me. We emerge onto the main deck without another word uttered, leaving Perrott alone with the body of the second boy I was unable to save. Curtains of rain pierce down through the darkness surrounding us, stinging our skin like a million daggers. The subtle crackle of thunder is barely audible over the daggerfall and the groaning wooden bones of the Obra Dinn. I catch sight of a rope dangling atop a line running between the masts and quickly take it up, winding it around my waist. I throw the standing end over to Pete, and he catches it and begins to do the same. Once his knot's secure, he gives me a reassuring nod. And oddly, it does comfort me in a way. We can't fall off the ship now; we're bound together, safe. He can't yet launch himself into his own heroic sacrifice. Yet still I can't see what the beast he wants to meet so badly even looks like. The darkness is so thick that it continues to evade my vision. Perhaps if we moved to another part of the ship we'd finally catch sight of it.

"Get to the main bitt, quick!" I shout, fighting to be heard over the heavy rain. Pete nods once more and runs behind me as I go aft.

A pathetic cry sounds out from behind me, then it soon gives way to a shout of terror. My whole body seizes up, completely frozen where I stand. I whip around and I nearly feel as though my heart has stopped beating in my chest. Perhaps I would prefer if it did at this moment. A tendril of slimy, grey, writhing flesh rips Pete away from me, high, high into the air. His eyes are locked onto me, a desperate hand reached out, impossibly far away for me to take into my own. But I have yet to let go of my hope, nor the rope that's now Pete's lifeline. There's still a chance I can save him. I have to save him. I have to.

I find my footing on the slick deck and tug on the rope with as much strength as my arms can manifest. "Hold on!" Already my vocal cords are taut, nearly about to snap in my throat.

The tentacle wrapped around his legs thrashes wildly, seemingly mindless and uncaring to the rage I feel against it for the atrocity it's committed in taking him away from me. It refuses to let go, no matter how hard I pull on that damn rope.

"Hold on!!" I shout again. I can't let my hope die out just yet. This thing isn't going to win against me, not when Pete's life is at stake. Finally I am given the chance to save someone, and it is the one person most dear to me. I can't mess it up.

He cries out to me again, still trying to reach for my hand despite seeming miles away in the air above me. I pull again, putting such strain on my muscles that it feels as if the bones they're attached to are about to snap.

No.

No no no no no.

I can't do it.

No matter how fucking hard I try, how deep my desire to stay with Pete is, how much of my soul I pour into it, it's all for naught. It's futile. It's impossible to win a game of strength against such an atrocious monster and it was foolish of me to even attempt it. Warm tears trickle down, melding with the chilling rainwater pelting my face. I couldn't do it. I've failed him, just as I failed Charlie. No, what I've done to Pete is far worse. I promised him we'd stay together, protect each other, make sure that neither of us succumb to the darkness. And I went back on my word. I allowed the beast to steal him away, pull him down into that abyss which I despise with every fiber of my being.

I don't want to let it win. I can't let it take him to that place. I suppose now he can get a taste of revenge, in spite of how hard I tried to prevent it. But I'm not nearly strong enough to stop that thing; I'm utterly powerless against such a monstrosity. My eyes find the gunpowder, somehow still in his grasp even as that wretched tendril whips him through the air like some plaything. Then my eyes meet his. There's still a fresh, palpable terror behind them, but something subtle is accompanying it, nearly too subtle for me to see. But it's so often that I've searched the expressions on his face that I can tell what it is. It's the same understanding I've reached, I think. He's going to die. He's realized that. We both have.

I try to blink the tears out of my eyes. This is it. This is the last of him. I can't yet say goodbye to him though, because I promised not to leave him.

"Throw it! Throw the powder!" I cry. I try to look at his sweet face as I say this one last thing to him, but that tentacle seemingly wants misery for me, turning Pete's body to face away from me.

He lifts his arm up as high as he can muster and then thrusts it down again. Before I can even watch the gunpowder leave his grasp, he's gone, consumed in an eruption of scorching, blinding light. I try to shield myself from the blast, though suddenly I find that the deck beneath my feet has vanished. I'm laid all across the deck, the pain from my fall through the fence back with even more ferocity than ever before. But I can hardly dwell on such a superficial thought, nor any thoughts for that matter. My mind has decayed into a complete void, and so too has my heart. All of the pieces have crumbled away, leaving behind for me nothing on this cursed vessel. Nothing to keep me driving onward. All I am capable of is staring into the nothingness above me and hoping that when it finally does come to take me, that at least it isn't nearly as awful as what Pete had to go through.

The things that happen around me are a clouded blur, like I'm watching the events unfold through someone else's eyes. Other crew members' footsteps thunder past me, still thirsty for a battle that I know we can't win. None even take notice of me as I lay here, like I'm just another corpse to be disposed of after the battle comes to an end. Just like Pete. Before my thoughts continue, another pain smashes into my side like a battering ram, my limp body thrown against some shape protruding from the deck as the ship pitches forward. Just as soon as it hits me, I begin to slide down past it, descending towards the bow. Mindlessly I reach out and grab onto whatever thing had struck me, then cling onto it with what little energy I have left. I bury my face in the crook of my arm, trying in vain to hide away from the horror unfolding all around me. I can still hear everything, but again it's as though I'm not truly present in this battle, merely a ghostly bystander hearing it occur from another room. Men are shouting to each other, asking for guns, crying in terror at the monster's form, shrieking in agony as its grotesque arms tear them asunder. A furious succession of thunder clatters through the air. And the rain doesn't cease, crashing down on me in a neverending shower. But above it all I hear a piercing ringing, an echoing reminder of what I did to Pete.

The ringing grows stronger, it's all my mind can make sense of in this cacophony of sensations. The other sounds fade into nothingness, the frigid cold soaking deep into my bones evaporates, the pain permeating my body dulls into a distant memory. My mind fills with the ringing of the bells, proclaiming the arrival of the Obra Dinn's doom.

An eternity seems to pass before my eyes finally snap open. The bells have stilled to a silence. A realization creeps into my mind; all my sensations melted away because they truly had stopped. The storm is passed, the squid is gone, the battle is won. Somehow, against all doubts, there still are some souls not let claimed on this vessel. But not the one that was most dear to me. He's over there, only a few feet away from me, only just outside my field of vision. It's time now, to say goodbye. I dread to turn my head towards him and see at last what he's been twisted into, but I must face it.

He's splayed across the deck, limbs tangled into an awful, unnatural pose. His whole body is broken and blistered, nearly beyond recognition. Wearily, I pry my icy cold fingers from the capstan and crawl towards him, despite the pained screaming of my body to stop. Still, after what I made him do to himself, it's still Pete. I can only barely see him in there, most of his face stripped down to charred flesh and bone. But the one eye. The one dull, lifeless eye. That's all I need to see of his face to know that it's my beloved, my sunshine. And he's left me. I pull him into my arms. Looking into his face feels like death itself, but I do it regardless. As I look into that one eye that remains, I search for the words to say to him and although none feel adequate, I speak anyways, in a broken, frail voice.

"I'm so, so sorry, Pete... I did what I could.. I really did. But it wasn't enough. I hope you... can forgive me somehow." I struggle to stand upon my feet again, his shoulders gripped in my hands. I can't bear to go through the trouble of wrapping him up. Not when I'm alone like this, without him. I drag him slowly, painfully, to the edge of the ship. I see now that the mass of gruesome, sickly grey flesh that stole him away is still twitching and quivering despite the fountain of blood flowing from it. So, that's it then. The revenge that Pete was so desperate for. A mere one tentacle, among eight. I hope that to him, it was worth it. "I hope to see you again soon, if you'd let me. But.. for now, goodbye." I sweep some of the stray hairs out of his face. Another goodbye, but this time no one else accompanies me to send him off into the abyss. I alone have to be the one to commit, to push him off that edge. I take a deep breath. Then I do it.

Immediately I wish I had held onto him for just one moment longer. "Don't..." My hand reaches out for him, despite knowing how foolish it is to do so. There's a loud splash below me and then nothing more than the quiet lapping of the water against the hull. I stay there, trapped in that position, unable to move on, unable to let go of him despite having bid my farewell. Pete isn't there anymore to tap me on the shoulder and help me recall my duties. I'm trapped forever in my own pathetic pity.

"..Lanke?"

Finally, someone to snap me out of it. With haste, I retract my hand and turn to face whomever had spoken to me. I know the voice well, but my mind has been sent into such a disarray that I can't quite put the name to it.

It's Davies, I find. "Are you alright?"

No, of course I'm not alright. I've been battered around by monsters which I can't begin to describe, all my friends are dead at the hands of those monsters, and I'm bound to join them in due time. I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut, forcing out yet more tears I didn't realize I still had. I don't know how to answer him. I can only think of what he told us earlier, to stay in the cabin if we wanted to. He wanted us to stay safe, even if it wasn't exactly within his power to tell us not to give our lives for the ship. He wanted us to not fight the beast, and we did it anyway. And we paid for going against his personal wishes with Pete's life. So foolish. We were such stupid bloody kids.

Why am I even on this ship anyways? Despite my outward appearances, my desire to sail had died out long ago; the only illusion of its return appeared just yesterday, when Pete and I spun that childish fantasy together. It was appealing, at one point, becoming a Company officer. But seeing for myself the wretchedness of sailing life had killed that dream in an instant. The friendship with Pete was all that motivated me to appear at port for each voyage I shared with him. And now he's gone, and Charlie too. At least they both died in the valiant effort of defending a ship they truly cared for. I'm alone now, after their sacrifices, forced to carry the weight of their deaths on my shoulders.

That's right.

No matter how much I despise the Obra Dinn, no matter how much I just want to give up, I can't. I have to keep going in their honor.

I wipe the tears off my face with my sleeve. "Yes, sir. I'm fine."

"Oh, I see." He steps away from me then looks me over for a moment, apparently taken aback by my response. "Well. Could you.. find Dr. Evans, please? There are some men that are in sore need of tending to up here."

My body wants so badly to collapse where I stand and rest, but I can't. A superior has given me a task, and I don't dare to defy him now.

Back to work.

Work, that, for the first time in years, I'm doing without Pete. I'll try to get through it. I'll endure the pain, the loneliness, the hopelessness. I always do.

Chapter 4

"Of course, sir. I'll find him at once." I answer dutifully. I'm only able to stare at the buttons lining his shirt as I speak, lacking any of the confidence necessary to make eye contact with him.

"Thank you, son. I mean it." Davies starts to walk away but stops himself mid-stride and turns back to me. "I.. I'm sorry about what happened to Milroy, truly. I can't even begin to imagine how hurt you must be right now... I want you to know that I'm here if you need someone to talk to about it."

I appreciate his offer, though I'm not quite in the state to take him up on it at the moment. I try to put on a smile. "Thank you, sir... I'll be sure to come to you once I'm ready to talk."

He nods as his eyes are drawn out to the inky darkness beyond the ship's edge. He seems to become lost in it for a moment, unable to pull himself away from it. Finally, he sighs before straightening his posture and heading towards the stern, leaving me alone again.

I turn around, making absolutely sure that I avoid laying my eyes again on that tentacle as I do so. I shuffle over to the hatch and start my reluctant descent, a looming dread boiling my blood. Each step down brings more and more of Rod's corpse into my sight, still sitting there like any other piece of rubble created during the chaos. How could he just be left here, in such a pathetic, pitiful state? Have any of the other crew members even a hint of shame for ignoring him in the middle of the passageway like this? I can't just walk on by and leave him sitting here; I've got to do something about it. I approach him, putting aside the dread I feel from seeing his body for the sake of his honor. I crouch down and press my hands against the rough cast iron of the cannon's body and then, after a deep breath, push against it with as much strength as I can bear to spend. But just as before, none of my efforts go to show for anything. The cannon doesn't even stir from its place upon his chest as I put my whole body into trying to move it. I stop exerting myself and just look down at him. I can't stand to leave him like this but I haven't the choice; I must move on even if I don't want to. I return to my feet and back away from his body, gaze locked onto it. I'm fighting with every shred of my soul to stay present, here in this moment, and not slip away again into a memory of the past. There's no one to ground me and pull me back out if I go to that time, and I can't allow myself to be slowed down in such a way when I've got a mission to attend to, especially a mission as important as this one.

It's discomforting how unscathed the orlop deck is compared to the scarred state of the ship's upper decks. A few bundles of rope have fallen off their hooks, a stool or two upended. It may have well been just another ordinary storm to the ship's underbelly. Again I pass by that broken fence as I walk to the surgery. It embitters me that the shattered pieces are still sitting there, rather than being repaired or simply tossed overboard. It's like the crew's left them there on purpose, just to taunt me, to remind me of my failures. It seems the whole ship will be decorated with the monuments soon enough, never to let me overcome the towering mountain of mistakes I've made. Though just the absence of my two friends is quite enough to remind me of them. I reach the surgery.

Knock knock.

Evans answers me promptly. "Lanke? Is something the matter?"

"Yessir.." I reply, though his question confuses me somewhat. "There's been a terrible battle... Surely you must have heard it...?"

"Yes, of course I was aware of it. I've been staying here in case anyone arrives seeking my help." His little monkey companion leaps down from somewhere and lands on his shoulder, and he pauses to give it a stroke on the head. "I would've gone out there.. but an old fool such as myself isn't of much use in combat, as the other night demonstrated to me."

"..I see."

He turns his focus away from his pet and towards me. "So I'm needed somewhere, I presume?"

"Yes. Mr. Davies asked for you to come up to the main deck."

"Right then." He nearly goes to turn away but a strange twinkle lights up his eyes. "..Lanke? Where is Milroy? Is he not with you?"

Of course he noticed. Of course he's asking about it. "No sir. He—" My voice starts to get shaky. I try to numb myself to my emotions so I can answer him properly. "He's dead, sir."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Er, how did he die?"

I have to resist the overwhelming urge to berate him for asking such a depraved question. "Um, must I really answer, sir?"

"No, if you aren't comfortable with it at the moment." He glances past his shoulder, to a large metal case sitting on his desk. His eyes quickly dart back, seeming as though he hopes that I haven't noticed that stolen glance. "Tell me then, is he still up there? For me to.. examine. I've got to know the cause of death to be filled into the muster roll."

"No sir. I.. I've already sent him off."

"I see. Well, you can be off now. I'll collect my equipment and be up to correspond with Davies immediately." He put his hand on the door, staring down and waiting for me to leave.

I can't find anything more to say to him so I give him a curt nod and clear out of the doorway, and Evans closes it promptly. My duty now fulfilled, I suppose I should report back to Davies and perhaps get another task to occupy my body with, but I can't bring myself to do it, at least not at this moment. I need a moment of repose to think about the friends I've lost, lest I collapse where I stand from both the grief and exhaustion. I shamble up to the gun deck again and my sore feet carry me over to the cabin door. My hand wraps around the handle and pulls it open. I enter our, no, my cabin. I'm the only one left now to inhabit it, not even Pete and Charlie's ghosts accompany me. My eyes wander around, searching for them, trying to find them glaring at me from the corners, but they are absent. They've truly abandoned me for whatever afterlife exists out there, leaving utterly alone on this ship. I've no souls to make company with, living nor dead.

In my wandering, I see that the cabin itself has been sent into chaos, books thrown from the shelves, chairs overturned, Pete's picture frame knocked loose from its place on the wall. It sits just before me, and so I bend over and take it into my hands. It's an old pencil sketch of the HMS Leopard, a ship not too dissimilar to the Obra Dinn, engaged in a lively naval battle. I was never too fond of the drawing myself and couldn't really understand why Pete would want to look at a picture of a ship when he already spent months at a time living on one. There were many things about Pete I never really understood. And now I'll never come to understand any more parts of him. But that doesn't mean I don't admire or love him any less. I crawl up into his berth, which was unoccupied last night, and now will bever be occupied by a living soul ever again. I hook the picture back onto the nail sticking out of the wall and straighten it up best I can.

I absently tidy up the rest of the cabin, returning books to their places, setting furniture upright once more. Once I've finished, I sit down on my berth and give myself a moment to do nothing other than think. Though all that my mind can think of is the uncomfortable silence lingering here, completely different to the kind I was able to share with Pete. This one is cold, lonely, and uncaring. I find myself missing those petty little arguments between Pete and Charlie, yearning for Pete's upside down head to pop in from above and interrupt my attempts at sleep, longing for Charlie's voice, waking us from our slumber after our late night chattering caused us to sleep in. All of those moments which, at first blush, seemed so inconsequential, tiny moments that are as insignificant as the countless grains of sand on a beach. But already I'm terribly aware that those moments are to never happen again, more valuable now than any sea creature or magical artifact that this ship may bear. I'm never going to see nor hear any traces of my dear, beloved friends ever again. They can only live on in my memories, memories that will quickly get swallowed up into the recesses of my mind, growing distant and hazy. The details that, at this moment, are still fresh in my mind will fade away. What their accents were like, how they carried themselves as they walked, the hues of brown that colored their eyes. I close my eyes, pouring all my focus into engraving these details into my soul. I can't let these pieces of them crumble away, I've got to keep them all safe, for I'm sure I'm the only one alive on this earth that took enough care to notice these things about them. Time may try its best to erode their existence away, but if there's any opportunity to delay that then I'll take it. Though, I'm unsure if any of this effort is even worth it. I don't know what to make of it all now; I was certain that the kraken would have reaped every last soul aboard the Obra Dinn but, for reasons that I probably can't even begin to comprehend, we survived. We faced an atrocity armed with unimaginable strength and fueled by unending ruthlessness and defeated it, somehow. Perhaps there is a chance for this blighted crew to make it home afterall.

I didn't think it possible, but some of my energy has returned to me, some of my hope renewed. The war hasn't been decided yet. We can still come out victorious. I should see if there's anything more that I can do to help right now. I stand back up, tall and straight, and come back to the passageway to search for Davies. Instead though, my eyes happen upon a trail of blood.. heading for the officer's mess. And in that direction, I hear discussion. Too muddled for any specific words to be made out, but the tones of voice indicate the discussion isn't a pleasant one. Knots of dread work into my body. I don't have a good feeling about this. Stepping with light tread and ensuring I stay hidden from sight, I creep towards the doorway. My nerves burn with tension but I keep my movements steady, calculated. Once I reach my destination, I press my back to the wall and lean in, trying my best to pick up the men's words with bated breath.

"Enough!" A man says abruptly, slamming a fist against the table and cutting off the other man mid-sentence. I struggle to recognize the gruff, resentful voice he speaks with. "Captain cannot be trusted."

"You have a plan?" No... Davies? It can't be. Not the same Davies that wanted me and Pete to stay safe, the same Davies that consoled me after I lost my love. He simply isn't the sort of man that would conspire against the captain.. is he?

"Yes. We take ship and sail east. Trade wretched fish and shells for gold."

I don't understand it. This victory, pyrrhic as it may be, is still a victory. We have hope to make it back home still, I can practically taste it on my lips. And these men still want to commit mutiny? What has Witterel done to make them lose faith in him?... I can't let their plan come to pass. I've got to do something. Pete tried to put a stop to things when that bastard second mate made escape plans of his own and he'd do the same thing all over again if he were standing where I was. I must tell the captain about this. But before I can even begin to contemplate a course of action, I hear screaming. It's up above me, not at all in reaction to what I've done, but that makes no difference to my tense, high-strung nerves. And all at once, they explode. A gasp slips out of my mouth as my muscles desperately work to peel me away from my position at the doorway and run.

"Huh? Who's there?" The unknown voice asks.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I've been found out. Of course I have, always so bloody clumsy, can never do a single thing right... I have to get away. Witterel needs to know what these two are planning. My feet stamp against the deck wildly, seemingly beyond my control, struggling to run away. At least I've still got use over my tongue.

"Mutiny! Mutiny!" I shriek out at the top of my lungs.

Footsteps thunder from behind me. Still, the adrenaline coursing through my veins chokes me, and those steps quickly reach me. Agony hits me as my ankle rolls out from beneath me, my foot having fallen upon the deck at the wrong angle. The deck below me rushes closer to my vision. I'm laid out flat on my stomach across the wooden planks, and there's no time for me to pull myself back up again. No time to get away.

"Fresh bastard!" A mutineer hisses into my ear.

A sudden weight crushes down on my body, pinning me to the floor and quashing any chance of my escape. I endeavor to get away anyways, using my hands alone to try to wriggle away from the larger man's mass pressing me down. And then, a sting of pain hits me, though the transformation into utterly burning torture is swift and intense. The traitor stabs deep, forcing a blade into my flesh all the way down to its grip. I feel like this alone is enough to let my soul whisper away from my body, though somehow it clings on, and my attacker responds accordingly. He unsheathes his dagger from the wound he carved out of me and then plunges it in again.

And again.

And again.

Each stab somehow seems to bite even deeper and harder than the last. Some send me into writhing pain as the blade grinds along my ribs. Others rob me of my breath as I feel the tip pierce into my lungs. It never seems to end, and I'm convinced that it won't, and I'm to be trapped in this ceaseless torment until my body finally gives in. My fruitless attempts to squirm away come to a stop, and I prepare to accept my fate. But then, a pause from the attack, as the weight of my attacker is suddenly lifted off of me by some unknown force. Is it Davies? The other mutineer? A different crew member entirely? I don't know, and I haven't the time to stand up on my feet to get away, hardly the time to turn around and look at the faces of neither my attacker nor my savior. I've been saved and that's all that matters; now to just get somewhere safe, for I may have only a few seconds before that devilish blade rains down on me once more. I should get to my cabin. There, I'd be able to barricade myself in. There, I'd be safe.

I drag myself forward, nails digging deep into the grain of the wood in my bid to get away. The knife is still embedded into my back and I can feel every single inch of it digging deeper as I contract my spasming muscles. I too can feel a strange, damp warmth wrapping itself around my body. For a moment I struggle to understand what it is but I quickly realize; it's my own blood being sapped from the gashes perforating my skin, flowing down my sides and forming a river along the deck. Right, I have to stop the bleeding, that's what Evans had shown us before. I've no bandages in my cabin but hopefully my blanket would be a good enough replacement for them. Just.. get to my cabin, crawl to bed, and wrap myself up. That's all I need to do.

The crawl is agonizingly slow. The space between me and that door ahead of me seems so impossibly far away, even after all the energy I've poured into it. I'm.. I'm never going to make it. I'm going to die here, in the middle of this passageway, all in my lonesome.

I.. I give up.

...

No.

That may be what I want to do, but I cannot give in. Not yet. I shall never surrender to such shallow desires, not so long as I've got this ship to defend. I pull myself forward with all my strength. It's getting closer. The door now is only a few inches away from me. I'm going to get there.

...

.......

I'm so tired.

I need rest.

I want to sleep.

I only need to get to our cabin and rest for a while. Then, I can wake up the next day, and Pete and Charlie will both be there, eager to assist the officers and learn the in-and-outs of naval life. It's been so hard, trying to make it without them. It hurts me, that they've left me alone for so long, but that's alright. All friendships will encounter mistakes. I forgive them; we can overcome it together. I can't wait to see them. I can't wait to see the warm smiles on their faces. They both have such wonderful smiles. They're waiting for me, in our cabin. I've got to go see them.

Finally, I meet the door and push it open. I approach my berth. It seems so terribly tall from down here, like the looming tower of a cathedral, but that shan't stop me in my attempt to summit it. I thrust my arm up onto it and cling to the sheets. I try with all my might to pull myself up, so that I can finally rest, but still it is terribly difficult. My back burns with a strange stinging sensation, dragging me back down with cruel, sharp teeth. All strength in my arms has been spent, I can't find anymore to try again to pull myself up. Instead I just sit there, looking down at myself, leaning back against the wash basin beside our desk. Why.. what happened to me? My clothes are stained dark by my own blood and even more of my ruddy lifeforce trails out into the passageway, making clear the path that I took that led me here. My hands, they're just.. dangling there, limply, at either side. It's as though I'm not even looking down at my own body, but instead that of a marionette, wooden, lifeless. In the hazy boundaries of my vision, I see feet. I turn my head up to the man they belong to. For a fleeting moment I fear that it's my unknown attacker, come again to finish his twisted assignment. But that fear dissipates as soon as I see that it's Hoscut, with a sincere, almost fatherly look of concern plastered on his face. He didn't do.. whatever had been done to me. He never would. He comes to my side and places one hand on the side of my head, wrapping the other around one of my own. In an instant I notice how.. warm they are, compared to my own.

...I'm so cold.

So terribly cold.

Is.. this it? Is this what it feels like?

Am I.. dying?

I try to bend my neck up to look at him, though my failing muscles struggle to lift my head fully. I'm.. scared. If these are my last lingering moments in this world, I want to ensure that I don't go through them alone. I need someone to be here with me when it happens.

"Don't.. leave me."

Those words... Why those words... There's something special about them, I can feel it in my bones. What is the significance behind them..?

'Don't.. leave... me...?'

...Pete.

Those words were meant for Pete. God, how could I forget? I couldn't even remember the vow I had made to him on that solemn night. I.. I really am dying then, aren't I? There's a ring of darkness building up in the corners of my vision, and my eyelids are growing incredibly heavy, but I keep Hoscut within my sights as best I can.

"Bear up, son. I'll stay with you." He says warmly.

Good.. I.. won't to have to go alone... That at least offers some comfort to me. But still, thoughts of Pete linger in my mind. I failed him. And now he's sinking down into that abyss out there, rotting away, getting erased into nothingness, just like Charlie. They don't even have the honor of being buried in the comforting folds of the soil of their own country. At least soon, I can go join them down there, right? Hoscut will bring me to be with them once I'm gone, right?

God, what will even be told of Pete's fate to his family? I was the only one that was forced to bear witness to it. I've.. I've got to tell Hoscut what I can. They need to know.. that...

"Tell Pete's mother, I.. I tried my best." My words taste like iron. A warm liquid trickles out from the corner of my mouth. My shallow breaths are haunted by a shaky, quiet gurgling from deep in my chest. I push on anyways. "To pull him back... to save him."

"You tell her yourself. Brennan! Bring the surgeon's kit!"

I try to force yet more words out of my mouth, expressing my boundless love for he who was stolen from me. But...

Everything is fading.

My vision. My sense of touch. My sense of time. Everything seems to come to a still.

I'm slipping away.

This is it.

I'm off to join Pete and Charlie. I hope that, after everything that I let happen to them, they are still willing to wait for me, wherever they are in that abyss.

I let my eyes come to a close at last, and let my head slump down into Hoscut's palm. It's finally time for me to rest.

Don't leave me, my beloved. Please. I'm coming to see you soon.

Epilogue

They left me, too. Hoscut and those other men.

"Don't throw 'im over." I remember Hoscut saying. "I'll have yer heads if ye do."

I wanted to scream, and cry, and ask him why he'd do such a thing to me. But I couldn't. I was dead. Am still dead, all this time later. I hoped that the two men he spoke to would ask in my stead, but they didn't, simply walking away and leaving Hoscut alone with me after giving him a short nod. He stayed by my side for a while after that, expression twisted into that of a man who had lost far too much. He pulled the knife from my back. He turned it over and over again in his hands, staining them with my blood as he did so. Then his face snapped into something I'd never seen from him before; an expression of burning, raging hate. He flung the knife into the hallway and stormed off, slamming the door to my cabin behind him.

That was the last I ever saw of anyone. No one came back to visit me, throw me over, anything. My own limp, lifeless shell has become a reminder for me, a punishment for my inability to do anything right. And I'm trapped in it, forced to feel myself crumble up into nothing. One of the first things to leave me was my sight, my eyes having rotten out long ago. Then the feeling of the chilling ocean air faded away as my skin decayed. Then my muscles, heart, lungs, all withered away too, leaving me as nothing more than a miserable collection of bones, longing for release from this tormentful loneliness. All sensations have numbed. All I can sense now is the subtle rocking of the ship as she listlessly wanders the great wide blue. I don't know how much time I've spent like this. It feels silly to say that it's been an eternity, but really, what else is there to call it? Nothing ever changes anymore. I can't do anything. I haven't moved even a single inch from where I died, and yet it still seems as though I've been sent to hell.

A long-forgotten sensation comes to me. What is it..?

Footsteps?

Yes, yes, I think someone is walking along the deck of the Obra Dinn. After so long... Someone has come to save us, we few wretched souls that have been abandoned here. They enter the cabin and approach me; they must be standing right over me. Anticipation consumes me as I wait to feel their hands wrap around my broken pieces and return me to the sea, the cradle of all life, the one place we all strive to come back to one day. And though they spend so much time just standing there over me, I feel nothing. They don't so much as lay a finger on me.

After so long of just standing over me like a statue, they just.. walk away. Like I'm a mere resting point for their own personal preoccupation. They pay one or two more visits to me, but still they do little more than stand and stare. They're gone for a long time after that. Who are they? What are they doing? How have they come aboard the Obra Dinn after she's been left to wander for so many years? Why can't they give me just this one thing I've been wanting for so long? Is it really so much to ask to be able to see my friends again?

Then something entirely new comes to me. For a while, I can't understand what it is, not until the water starts to rush along the deck, soaking into my brittle bones. It's... sinking. The ship, this awful ship that I've been trapped on for so long, is finally sinking. At long last, my prayers are being answered. I'm coming to see them. As I sink down into the depths, a warmth passes over my body, enveloping me entirely, like a hug from a dear friend.

"Tom?"

Oh, to hear that voice again.

"Pete?"

"Tom! It's really you!"

The hug becomes even tighter. A strange feeling overcomes me. What is it...?

Happiness. I haven't felt it in ages. I nearly forgot what it was like.

"You finally joined us." Charlie says.

"I've been waiting so long for you to arrive."

"How long has it been? Do you know?"

"Five years."

"You— You've been waiting for me all that time? You don't hate me for what I let happen to you both?"

"Of course not, Tom." Pete says. He laughs. "God, even in death, you're finding ways to make yourself feel guilty for things beyond your control. You did the absolute best you could. You deserve this."

Part of me still wants to argue against him, but I just can't. I've wanted this for so long— five years— to reunite with my friends. And they're here now. And they love me, still. The three of us are together again. I may have kept them waiting, I may have made a few mistakes along my way here, but that's alright. All I've got to do now is stay by their sides. And that's far easier than what it took to bring me to them.