Chapter 4
I stood beside rope station next morning. Overcast light stayed flat, gray. Wind pushed cold across deck, rattled pipes, hummed through railings. My uniform still damp at collar. Hair still pulled back, pins tight against scalp. Investigating officer waited near dome structure, notebook open, pen uncapped. Gray hull stretched down beside us, vertical rope hanging beside it, same coarse twist I remembered underwater.
Officer nodded toward bosun. Bosun stepped forward.
Bosun gripped rope with both hands, lifted, let coarse fibers slide. His knuckles scarred, skin cracked from salt. He spoke plain.
"Rope rigged vertically for hull work," he said. "Not escape equipment. Fender line. Mooring line. We hang it here when we buff hull or check plates. Keeps boat off steel. Fixed point, bow cleat to lower eye. Not thrown over."
I watched fibers. Same thick twist from underwater shots. Same dark stains where tar sealed strands. Same vertical drop, taut, not slack, not tangled. Not something thrown in panic. Something installed hours before incident.
Officer asked bosun to show log.
Bosun pulled deck log from chest pocket. Pages damp, ink smudged. He pointed to entry timed 0600.
"Rigged port side fender lines for hull maintenance," he read. "Two lines. This one port aft. Secured at 0615. Still secured now."
Officer photographed rope where it passed through rail. He photographed cleat, photographed lower eye bolted to hull. He photographed texture close, coarse twist, salt crust.
"Bosun says rope existed before you entered water," officer said to me. "You understand?"
I nodded. Breath caught. I forced slow inhale.
"I did not climb down rope to flee," I said. "I grabbed rope to keep from drowning."
Officer stared. Bosun stepped back, arms crossed, eyes on horizon, not on me.
Officer asked for my version again. Ordered, clipped.
I described deck moments before water entry. I stood near rail near dome, heard raised voices, saw movement toward side. I moved toward rail to see, to intervene. Someone crowded me toward rail. Rail hit my hip. My hands slipped on wet steel. I went over.
"I reached for anything," I said. "Rope was there. Vertical. Fixed. I closed eyes at first from cold shock. Then gripped with right hand. Looked upward toward surface. Toward silhouette at rail. I held on because water pulled me under hull otherwise."
Bosun looked at rope, then at water.
"Current runs aft along hull here," bosun said. "Anyone in water without line gets sucked under, chewed. Grabbing this rope was self-preservation, not descent. No one climbs down this rope to escape. Rope burns hands. Too thick to shinny quickly. And bottom end dead-ends at hull eye, not waterline ladder. Escape would mean climbing toward water, not away."
Officer wrote. Pen scratched paper.
"So texture, location match underwater observation," officer said. "Fixed point, not thrown. Consistent with your grip as hold, not climb."
Bosun nodded.
"Escape attempt would use thrown line, knotted line, ladder, not fixed fender line," bosun said. "This rope never intended for personnel."
Officer closed notebook halfway. Looked at me, then at rope, then toward upper railing where figure had stood silhouetted behind cables.
"Physical evidence undermines escape narrative," officer said. "But log entry still says attempted escape. Deck log carries weight until formally amended. My photos, bosun statement enter record. Log stays until review ashore."
I felt cold spread beyond wind. Evidence photographed, explained, still not enough to overturn single line in log.
Bosun loosened rope, retied knot, tested tension.
"Rope stays rigged," bosun said. "Until investigation closes. No one touches it except on order."
Officer told me not to discuss incident with crew, same order as before. Told me to remain available. Told bosun same.
Bosun gave me brief glance, not pity, not approval. Just acknowledgment. He knew rope. He knew water. He knew difference between thrown escape line and fixed working line.
Wind gusted. Rope shivered against hull, twisted, steady. I kept hands at sides, fingers still aching from grip I remembered in dark blue diffused light.
Officer walked aft toward companionway, notebook under arm. Bosun stayed, coiled excess line, secured coil.
I remained near rail, eyes on rope, on hull, on dome above. Evidence now visible, still contested.
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How I entered water remained contested. Rope proved non-escape use, but water entry itself still marked as my choice, not force, until someone confirmed what happened at rail.
Door to superstructure stayed closed behind officer. Next review waited ashore, not here.
