Just finished '10 Years of Nothing—Now I'm Gone' last night, and wow, that ending really got me. I can't say I saw it coming at all, which is a rare feeling these days. The book spends so much time in the protagonist's head, with this slow, oppressive buildup of resentment and quiet despair, that you're lulled into expecting a certain kind of finality—maybe a fade to black, or a subdued, melancholic resolution.
Instead, the last twenty pages completely flip the script. It's not a cheap twist for shock value, though. Looking back, the seeds are all there, buried in seemingly offhand remarks from side characters and small details about the protagonist's past that didn't seem important at the time. The 'nothing' of the title takes on a whole new, chilling meaning in the final moments. It left me staring at the wall for a good ten minutes, replaying earlier scenes in my head, which is the best compliment I can give a book's finale.