Hi everyone! This is my first Great Gatsby fanfiction. I absolutely love the Great Gatsby, I've read it a good fifty times, it's truly wonderful. I have always saw much mystery in Gatsby's death, and I never truly thought Wilson had shot him. I dedicate this to my friend Cissy, hope you enjoy,
Emily Storey

The Final Phone Call

Jay Gatsby. A man of much gossip and rumor. One known for his extravagant parties. He was one always smiling, always calling everyone "Old Sport". But today was not one of these days. Today was the day he would die. Today was the day he lost everything.

He was in his yard, looking out at the stunning green bulb of light at the end of Daisy's dock. A fog rose up from the lake, making it cloudy.

"Gatsby." A rough voice called huskily from behind him. It beamed with a sharp Boston accent. Gatsby turned to see George Wilson. He really wasn't surprised to see him there. He stood quite short, and drunken-like. But what really caught Gatsby's attention was the outline of a pistol in Wilson's front pocket.

"I saw s'you drivin' off in Tom Buchanan's yellow car after Myrtle was hit, you wanna tell me what you were doin' there Gatsby?" Wilson said a bit to loud, his words stuttered a bit and one could smell the alcohol from twenty feet a way. How Gatsby hadn't smelled it until now he didn't know, but it was so strong now it made him feel sick to his stomach.

"I'm sorry for your wife, old sport, but I have nothing to do with her death." Gatsby stepped back avoiding the smell the best he could, "Now what you need is a good nights sleep, how about you stay here and I call up a cab?" Wilson reached for the pistol in his pocket, "Nononono not until you tell me what you were doin' there!" Gatsby swallowed uncomfortably, his blue-green eyes jotted towards his patio door. "I was driving to Daisy's house, she wanted to go home and I-"
"NO!" Wilson roared, in a flash the small handheld silver plated pistol came flying out of his pocket and inches from Gatsby's face.

Gatsby raised his hands and placed them behind his head. "Alright then Wilson. What do you want me to say?" Wilson swung his pistol as if it was a toy, "TOM! He tol' me! He tol' me you hit ma wife! You killed ma wife!"

Gatsby nodded slowly, "ok then old sport, I was in the car. Myrtle came running out, I couldn't swerve and Daisy. She started weeping, I couldn't just stop. She couldn't see your wife strewn across the road."
"NO! You kille' her cause – cause!" Wilson swung the gun again, stumbling slightly, "You killed my wife!" His eyes drooped slightly and Gatsby went forward and reached for the gun, trying to pull it away from Wilson. The gun went off once in the air as the two of them went towards the dewy grass. "Nonononono!" Wilson kept screaming and the gun went off again.

This time both of them went still. Gatsby couldn't breath. Wilson's eyes went blank and his head slumped over on the ground.

"I heard he killed a man once."

And now he had. He had killed a man, and not one in the war. One now. One in the dark. The dawn just barely raising behind him, giving him just a small ray of light to see Wilson. Gatsby sat up, the gun still in his shaky hands. Wilson's plump belly had a deep wound right in the center of it. Blood dribbled from his oil stained shirt and down to the wet grass between them.

For a moment Gatsby couldn't move. He felt he had been shot himself. He even looked down at his own abdomen for a wound, for any trace of blood. There was some, quite a lot, but not of his own, of Wilson's.

Gatsby rushed into his house. Panic set through his veins.

He threw his shirt off and rushed to the phone. His first instinct was to phone the police but as he went to dial the first number he stopped. He couldn't. And he stopped. He paused. Everything paused.

Nick was still awake. He was sitting in his room. His covers were strewn across the mattress.

BBBBRINGGGG, BBBRINGGGG, BBBRINGGGG

The sound of the phone in the sitting room nearly made Nick jump out of his skin.

"Nick? Nick Carroway?"

It was Gatsby. His voice was shaking in panic. "Gatsby?" Nick asked, but he knew it was him.

"Nick, Nick, Wilson, George Wilson is dead Nick. He's dead, I-I shot him."
"What?"

"He's dead Nick." Now Gatsby's voice was extremely calm. As if he had noticed something. If everything had just changed. Nick's name, the end of it at least had fallen short a bit when Gatsby had said it.

"Gatsby?" Nick asked once again.

"Yes, old sport?" Gatsby said, just above a whisper.

"Gatsby, where's Wilson? Have you called the police? This is-"

"No old sport. No I haven't called anyone but you."
"Gatsby-"
There was an audible sigh over the phone. "I lost her Nick. I lost Daisy. I have lost everyone." Nick went to speak but Gatsby went on again. "Nick, this is it. This act. This Jay Gatsby. He's dying Nick." Nick looked at the window toward Gatsby's mansion. "Gatsby, have you been shot?"

"No. No old sport, I have not. I am fine Nick. Just fine. Never been finer. Listen old sport. I'm dying. I have been dying ever since I saw Daisy. Ever since I saw what that Tom did to her." Nick could hear the anger in Gatsby's voice but it wasn't raised. He still seemed so calm.

"We are all dying Nick. All of us. We are all dying of an illness we call life. This is where Jay Gatsby dies old sport." There was a silence between the two of them. After a minute Nick was able to speak. "Gatsby let me come over I-"
"No Nick. It's alright, I'm fine. I'm quite, quite fine."

Then Gatsby's side of the line dropped.

A loud bang of a gun blasted through the air next door in Gatsby's mansion.

Nick's heart felt as though it had fallen right out of his chest. His stomach knotted.

Dear God. He thought, dear god.

Nick let his head fall against the wall. The way Gatsby sounded, so calm, so damn calm.

"Ever since I saw what that Tom did to her." Gatsby had said just minutes before.

Tom in the end killed everyone in some way or another.

He had killed Daisy, the real Daisy. The kind, loving Daisy. She had been turned into a cruel heartless bitch of a woman. And Jordan Baker. She had been killed too. She had been shot right between the eyes. She had fallen for it. For sophistication. And Nick, Nick had been shot too. But now as Nick sat in his sitting room he had survived his bullet wound. He had fallen for Tom and Daisy's slew of spells and potions. But Gatsby. Gatsby had it the worst. He had been shot by Daisy. She had killed him. James Gatz had been twisted and distorted into Jay Gatsby, James did anything and everything for Daisy. But Nick had casted a spell on Daisy. And in return Daisy casted a spell on Gatsby.

And in the end everyone died. Everyone had been shot and bled out into the water. Their eyes looking blankly into the vastness of lies and dark magic the Buchanan's had conjured up.