When Michaelis finally leaves I take my wallet out of a drawer and put it into my pocket. I leave through the back door, careful not to let anyone see me leave. Just outside I pull out a box that I have had hidden for a while and I pull out an item that I have been saving.
A gun.
It has never been used, and I slip it into the back of my pants, out of the way of my wallet.
I leave my garage and walk aimlessly for a while, not entirely sure of what to do, my energy fueled by my anger over Myrtles death. Eventually I find myself at Port Roosevelt. I continue on to Gad’s Hill and buy a sandwich and a cup of coffee. I stare at the sandwich for a while, then set it off to the side and take a few sips of my coffee. It is cold. Even though it is about noon, I am not hungry, so I leave my sandwich and drink and begin walking again.
I leave Gad’s Hill and walk along the side of the road, staring at the motorists that drive by, wondering if one of them is the one that killed my Myrtle. I see some boys staring at me oddly, so I pick up my pace and continue following the road. I wonder if they can tell I am beginning to plan something.
I make my way to a nearby garage and ask about the yellow car. I continue from garage to garage until I find that none of them are going to tell me anything, so I begin asking passersby. Eventually I find one that has some information.
“You’re looking for Gatsby?” he asks. “He owns a yellow car.”
I nod, sure that this is the right man.
“He lives in West Egg, don’t know more than that.”
I thank him and make my way in that direction.
When I reach West Egg, I stop the first person I see and ask if they know where Gatsby lives. They pointed to the largest house in sight and I make my way to it.
***
I stare at the house. It is amazing. Much larger than my garage and home combined. I swallow and make my way through the gate. I work my way around the house, hoping that he is outside. I don’t want to risk being seen by him or anyone else here.
It is a warm day, nearing the end of summer, and I find him in the back, lying on a pneumatic mattress in the pool. I hide behind a pillar and shakily remove the gun from my waistband.
“Daisy?” I hear. “Is that you?”
I freeze. So not only did Gatsby kill my wife, but he was sneaking on Tom with Daisy as well. I scowl. I had been shaken by Gatsby speaking, but now my grim determination returns. I take a look from behind the pillar and step out in full view of Gatsby.
Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to try to kill this man?
Doubts begin to nag me, so before I can change my mind I take aim and pull the trigger. The shots rings our and Gatsby’s body jerks when the bullet meets its target. He looks up and sees me standing there, gun in hand. Shock fills his face and I panic. I fire several more times, these shots wild, my hand shaking. His body convulses and flops off the mattress.
He slowly sinks under the surface of the pool and I watch as the water begins to turn a bright crimson. The gravity of what I have done hits me, right then.
I have just killed a man.
I am a murderer.
For a moment I consider running, hiding away until this all blows over. No one can really blame me for this. I have good reason. But I know that I will not be able to hide for long. I know I will be caught. I know I will be jailed, maybe even killed.
I consider it, but then one more thought enters my mind.
I miss Myrtle.
I make my decision so quickly that I barely know what I am doing until the moment is almost over.
The gun is in my mouth. The metal cold against my lips, the taste of gun powder residue bitter on my tongue.
I consider for a moment what I am doing. My hand shakes and tears begin streaming down my face. I don't want to die. Then I pull the trigger, and one last shot rings out.
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