7 A.M., the alarm began its shrill routine trying to jerk him to alertness. It had to be disappointed because he cut it's cacophony off before it could really get into its groove. He'd hardly slept through the night. It was the end of a chapter in his life. It was the end of the last chapter in another life and he knew it. He hadn't done anything about it because he couldn't and he really hadn't wanted to. There was no way he was going to let that biography end any other way.
The newspaper was there when he opened the front door waiting to be read. It was waiting to shock people awake with its headlines. It had to be disappointed as well because he already knew what it had to say. Sure enough, there it was at the bottom-left corner, below all those articles about politicians visiting places of worship in the hope that the almighty might favour them in the impending elections. As usual, he wasn't going to be bothered with it. Governments would come and go. Always promising and always corrupt. He skipped the dreary details of yet another footballer's affairs, wondering why they would even bother when their wives were so incredibly beautiful. Then he finally composed himself enough to focus his eyes on the unforgiving, glaring black print: "Indian Artist Lost at Sea".
The small article went on to describe the short and eventful life of the woman who'd been his friend for so many years. It gave a brief and totally untrue insight into her life and praised her for her daring but foolhardy ambition to sail alone to the Bahamas from India during the winter. The writer concluded by saying that the authorities were still searching for any signs of her little craft but that it was unlikely to be ever found in the light of the hurricane that hit the region that she was last heard to be making for.
He closed his eyes for a few moments and wondered if he'd be able to live with knowing that she'd managed to choose the time and place for her death. He wondered if it would eat into his conscience that he could've easily stopped her from making that fateful journey. All he'd have had to do was ruin their friendship and blow the whistle on her plans. He would've confined her to a mental institution, but she'd have been safe and alive then - and he'd have lost a friend forever.
It wasn't as if now, he still had her with him. She was well and truly gone. He admired her sense of direction at being able to find the Bermuda Triangle like she'd wanted to. Then, a small smile showed on his face, just at the corners of his mouth - he was betting everything he had that she had been drunk beyond words at the time. It was how she had always wanted it to end - the story of her life.
He opened his eyes. He'd done the right thing. He'd been the true friend he'd always aspired to be. She'd done and achieved everything she'd wanted to in her life - right from greeting every birthday in a shack by the seaside to having slept with the scion of a huge multi-national industry. She'd trusted him enough to tell him of her plans and he'd done everything possible to reason with her, though he knew it was pointless. Once he'd established the fact that it was what she wanted beyond everything else and that she'd do it anyway with or without his help, he'd helped her all he could. The purchase of a craft was easy enough considering the vast fortunes they'd amassed over the years. The publicity was unnecessary but unavoidable considering their fame. The curiosity of the general public was, frankly, quite irritating at times. The plan was so nearly ruined a countless number of times but they'd somehow pulled it off.
They'd researched and found some obscure sailing record that she would be attempting to beat; they'd held a press conference announcing it; they'd allowed the reporters to greedily lap up the fake story. They'd played their cards right. She's gone. Nobody could accuse him of abetting her. She was at peace; and now, so was he.
He'd go on living until he had done everything that needed doing. He'd promised her an art museum in her memory. He had to set up a trust fund to manage her estate and use the money to fund eco-friendly projects around the world. He also had just twenty more years before his appointment with Death. Not that he'd need anyone's help seeing as he already onwed a silver Harley-Davidson and knew how to get to the Amalfi Coast.
He got up and put the paper aside. He had a more pressing matter to attend to. He had to find that friend of her's - the one with all her writings in his safekeeping with instructions to open after her death. He had to find that friend and they'd have to start going through those sheets of paper he knew would be covered with doodles and designs like she kept doing all the time. He hoped there was a Spongebob Squarepants somewhere among those drawings because that would be so like her. He smiled as he walked to the bathroom for a shave. It was time for him and the other friend to meet and compile her biography - the real story of her life.
