Part XVI: Love Is the Drug
"...I troll downtown the red light place
Jump up bubble up, what's in store
Love is the drug and I need to score
Showing out, showing out, hit and run
Boy meets girl where the beat goes on
Stitched up tight, can't shake free
Love is the drug, got a hook on me
Oh oh catch that buzz
Love is the drug I'm thinking of
Oh oh can't you see
Love is the drug for me
Late that night I park my car
Stake my place in the singles bar
Face to face, toe to toe
Heart to heart as we hit the floor..."
"Love Is the Drug" - Bryan Ferry & the Bryan Ferry Orchestra
Monday
December 24, 1923
Gatsby watched Nick pace the library of Harper House anxiously.
It was late and the fire crackled merrily as they all waited anxiously. Elizabeth had been in labor for hours, but there was no news yet and Gatsby decided that the best policy was that no news was good news. Watching Nick take another turn in the living room, he couldn't help but to shake his head. Carraway was an absolute mess and it didn't surprise Gatsby in the least. Ever since the poor sport had found out he was going to be a father, Nick had gone into overprotective mode. The poor man could barely breathe and while Gatsby had found it greatly amusing at first, he now wondered if the arrival of an actual child would exacerbate Nick's over protectiveness.
Across the library, Edward dozed on the couch as the soft ticking of a grandfather clock kept them all company. It had been a long year, but Gatsby had learned a few things about patience and applying it to one's life. His whole summer had been about learning patience, but with Rebecca's unwavering support, he'd come to be a better man. Even on the days where he hadn't wanted to get out of bed and he hadn't wanted to show up for life, she'd pushed him gently to do exactly what he didn't want to do. It had taken slow baby steps at first, but he'd learned. Now, nearly six months after Ares had come into his home with a gun, Gatsby was finally beginning to feel like himself again.
New Year's Eve was coming and he hoped that his surprise for Rebecca would be ready. It had taken him a long time for everything to come together perfectly, but he wanted not a single thing to ruin the surprise he had. When word had reached him that Roger Dunham and his wife, Rose, had nearly spent all their fortune, Gatsby knew that they needed money. Tucked along the bay in East Egg, the Dunham family owned one of the largest estates in the area. Seated on thirty acres, Dunham House was impressive. It boasted nearly twenty five bedrooms with a saloon, grand entry way, downstairs quarters for servants, and a kitchen. A beautiful house, Gatsby had paid only a few thousand dollars for it. The Dunham's were so deep in debt and with their creditors breathing down their necks, they had decided to flee the country with the money Gatsby had given them. With Henry Martin's help, Gatsby had given both the exterior and the interior of the house extensive renovations. It would be the perfect way to start over because that was what they both so desperately needed, Gatsby reflected sadly. The house he'd created in West Egg only held haunting ghosts of the past for them both and in this new house, they could create a bright future for themselves without the fear of the past coming to haunt them.
Watching Nick take another turn, he cleared his throat causing the younger man to stop and Edward Harper to sit up.
"Just relax," Gatsby to Nick softly. "Just be patient Nick, these things take time."
"How can you be so calm?" the nervous father demanded. "She's up there and…"
"She's having a child, son," Edward supplied quietly from the couch where he was dozing in and out of sleep. "Elizabeth is birthing a child and it can, no, will take a long time. You'd better sit down so you don't exhaust yourself."
Nick chose to ignore their father-in-law's words and continued to pace. Just seeing his friend so anxious brought memories back to Gatsby's mind. He knew the feeling well and it had been the only thing he'd felt from the time he'd woken up in July. It hadn't mattered that Rebecca had been by his side, no, Gatsby had been anxious and most of all, he'd been scared. The feeling of that fear deep in his chest brought him back to the very day when he'd woken up and had spoken to the doctor about his condition. He could still smell the flowers that had been on the bed next to him and he could still feel Rebecca's hand in his…
Sitting up in bed with pillows propping him up, Gatsby waited on baited breath as the doctor spoke softly to him. Rebecca was perched on the bed next him, just as much anxiety in her eyes as in his, she held onto his hand tightly trying to be of some comfort, but they both knew nothing she did would truly take away either of their anxiety.
"I can't say what caused the paralysis," Weston said calmly as Rebecca looked at him tearfully, "It may just be temporary or…"
She looked up sharply at Weston as he trailed off, "It's not temporary…"
"Only time will tell which condition Mr. Gatsby has," Weston answered her miserably. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Gatsby."
Still holding his hand tightly, Rebecca looked away. Gatsby could see her eyes filling with tears and it stirred something deep within him. His own fear and anxiety slipped away as he reached out and tucked a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear, he let his fingertips graze over her pearl earring dangling from her earlobe before he caressed her cheek with his thumb.
"No tears," he said softly. "Don't cry, my sweet…smile."
Rebecca turned and looked back at him with a forced smile. Her eyes still glittered with unshed tears as she held his hand against her cheek.
"There it is," he smiled at her gently. "There's that smile I love."
Gatsby turned and looked at Weston, "Can we have a moment?"
Weston nodded and left them alone. Turning back to look at Rebecca, he caught a tear falling down her cheek and brushed it away with his thumb.
"Don't cry," he whispered softly to her again. "Please, don't cry."
"How can I not?" Rebecca asked tearfully, "This is my fault. You might never walk again. This is my fault. How can I not cry? You should have just let Ares shoot me."
"Don't say that," Gatsby said firmly. "Rebecca…"
Another tear slipped down her cheek as she smiled sadly at him, "Jay…you don't…"
"I love you," Gatsby blurted out without second thought. "I love you and there was no way I would let Ares ever hurt you again. I promised you that and I told you I wouldn't break anymore promises."
"But…but…you might never walk again!"
Pulling her down to him so that her head rested on his chest, Gatsby pressed soft kisses to the top of her head.
"You are alive," he told her softly. "You are safe and we are both alive. That is all that matters. I would do what I did again in a heartbeat if it meant that your heart kept beating. Don't you understand? A life without you isn't something I could ever live with."
...July 30, 1923…
Letting himself be wheeled through his own gardens was almost humiliating, but seeing how happy Rebecca was just walking beside him and holding hands eased any humiliation he felt. Doctor Weston wasn't sure if his spine had suffered temporary damage or if the damage was permanent. Either way, Gatsby was luck to be alive. The bullet had missed his liver by only a few centimeters and Weston had told him privately that if the bullet had hit his liver, there wasn't much that could have been done. The blood loss would have been so great that it probably would have killed him.
The idea of narrowly escaping death almost made Gatsby shiver with fear as he looked up at Rebecca and watched her look out at the flowers surrounding them. Afternoon tea was being served outside and Gatsby didn't mind it. Seeing the way Rebecca's eyes lit up seeing the flowers and nature was the only thing he needed. It didn't matter that his back ached something fierce or that he was beginning to feel exhausted from simply getting ready for the day. All that mattered to him was seeing her smiling face in that moment.
Afternoon refreshments had been laid out on the stone patio overlooking the bay. Shaded from the blossoming trees, the white iron table was covered with a lace cloth and various pastries. The sight of two chairs made Gatsby feel only bitterness as it reminded him of his chair. He'd never truly be able to sit next to Rebecca properly again. He'd never get to go dancing with her. They could never go walking in central park like he'd once done with her...
No, he'd always be confined to the damn chair.
"You're not happy about something," Rebecca said softly as Crawley wheeled him to sit next to her chair.
Now that Rebecca was seated, they were at least eye level and it made Gatsby feel only a little better. He wasn't sure he was ever going to get used to having to look up at people to have a conversation. At six foot, he was used to have people look up to him, not down. Crawley and a maid disappeared into the background as Rebecca began to serve them both a glass of iced tea. The warm breeze caressed his skin as the tantalizing scents of flowers mixed with Rebecca's perfume in the air. A stray curl at the nape of her neck taunted him as the wind danced with it. The bitterness he'd been feeling moments ago trickled away as he watched her. Her actions were soothing and comforting a way he'd never felt before as he resisted the impulsive urge to reach out and wrap the stray curl in his fingers.
"Mr. Wolfsheim won't be joining us," she said again as she looked over him. "Something came up and he called earlier. My new maid only told me just before we came out."
Gatsby was silent for a moment. He knew why Wolfsheim wasn't coming. Ares Patrick was still alive and the beating he'd taken the night before from one of his own men had nearly killed the son of a bitch. Wolfsheim had simply gone to make sure that the scum was still alive. No one was in any rush to end Ares. Gatsby was rather fond of the idea of dragging out the suffering and final days of the man's life. When the end came, he knew that the revolver sitting in the drawer up in his study would come to great use. It had been the only possession of Dan Cody's that he'd been able to secure, and Gatsby could still hear Cody's voice in his head telling him to use the revolver and her bullets well.
"How is this new maid of yours working out?" he asked her as she set a cold glass of iced tea in front of him and situated that plate of pastries between them before helping herself to her own glass of iced tea. Gatsby watched her for a few moments before she cleared her throat.
"She's coming along, I suppose," Rebecca admitted. "She's not as good as Tilly, but I think with a little practice she'll improve."
Her hesitant words brought a smile to Gatsby face. He couldn't understand why, but he knew that she was down playing whatever faults her new maid had. He knew from his own valet, Blackburn, that the new maid would never be able to fill the shoes Tilly had left behind. The girl was young, barely twenty and she was petrified of Rebecca. Why the girl was afraid of his wife, Gatsby didn't know. He did know that he wasn't going to pay someone to be incompetent with the most precious thing in his life. Words had already passed between him, Blackburn, and Crawley about the maid. New candidates were being screened and Gatsby didn't care if he had to go through a hundred girls to find the perfect maid for Rebecca, he would do it. Perhaps he set the bar high in his requirements to Crawley and Blackburn, but he wanted the best and only the best for Rebecca. Watching her reach for a pastry, the smile on his face grew to a grin as he thought about the future plans he was making for them.
"I have a surprise for you," he told her softly as she looked at him with an arched brow.
"Surprise, what surprise?"
Taking her hand in his, Gatsby brushed his thumb over the back of her hand before raising it and pressing a soft kiss to it, "Do you remember that man I introduced you to at the party?"
A dark look crossed Rebecca's face before she quickly hid her pain from him, "There were a lot of people there that night. Who are you speaking of?"
Before Gatsby could reply, Crawley stepped into their line of sight and cleared his throat.
"I beg your pardon for interrupting, Mr. Gatsby, sir," the old man said. "A Mr. Henry Martin is here to see you."
Behind Crawley stood the flaming haired man and Rebecca remember the man instantly.
"Mr. Martin?" Rebecca asked looking at the man with shock. "From the party?"
"Mrs. Gatsby," he said with a smile. "It's lovely to see you again. I was rather hoping you could help me."
"Help you?" she asked again looking at him with a puzzled expression, "How could I possibly help you?"
Gatsby gave a slight wave of his hand and dismissed Crawley as Mr. Martin settled himself down into the vacant chair next to Rebecca.
"You see, I'm designing a garden and I'm at a loss. I was rather hoping I could use your ideas as inspiration, Mrs. Gatsby," the man said quickly. "Naturally, I will give credit where credit is due, but I could only think of you for help. You seem like a woman who knows exactly what she'd want in a garden and I want nothing more than your help, if that is possible."
A smile brightened Rebecca's face as Gatsby sat back in his chair with smile mirroring her own. Just watching her talk to Henry Martin about exactly what she'd always dreamed her own gardens to look like brought a pleasure to him that he'd never felt before. Not even all he'd done for Daisy had ever brought him such happiness. A smile was firmly fixed on Rebecca's face as she animatedly described to Henry everything she could possibly imagine. A book of flora opened between them as she flipped through the pages excitedly showing Henry every flower she'd ever wanted and exactly where. To her, it was all hypothetical. Gatsby wasn't quite ready to reveal his plans to her yet. Accepting another glass of iced tea offered to him by Crawley, Gatsby continued to watch with pleasure as Rebecca unknowingly planned the gardens in their future home.
...August 30, 1923…
With each passing month his feelings for her had only deepened. In such a short time, Rebecca had become like oxygen to him, something he couldn't live without. Sitting and listening to her play the piano, Gatsby had long since resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to walk again. Along with walking, Gatsby wasn't going to be doing any kind of physical activity. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine what it would be like to be intimate with Rebecca. His mind could almost conjure up exactly what it would feel like to have her skin under his lips. The soft noises she would make...
He could see and hear it all, but opening his eyes brought back the harsh reality that Gatsby was sure he would never be able to accept. His mind could paint the clear picture of what it could be like to be with her, but he never could really be with Rebecca in any way that mattered to him. Yes, he could hold her hand and kiss her, but he could never give her anything truly beyond that. There wasn't any way he could now that he was bound to a chair.
Pushing those thoughts away, Gatsby watched with a mixture of remorse and longing. In many ways, he couldn't help but feel like he was robbing her of a part of life she'd never fully get to enjoy. He knew about her time with Matthew Spring. It wasn't a topic he wanted to broach anytime soon, but Gatsby knew she'd had sex with the English Earl. Matthew had given her the love and the comfort that Rebecca should have gotten from her husband and not for the first time, Gatsby felt his failures acutely. Once again he was robbing her and he would disappoint her in the end again. She'd spoken to him once about wanting children. Not being about to walk, Gatsby knew he wasn't able to do what was required of him to produce a family.
Could he truly condemn her to a life of celibacy without the hope of ever having a family of her own?
The startling truth was that Gatsby didn't think he could do it. He didn't think he could condemn Rebecca to do just that. He couldn't deprive her of her own dreams any longer and he couldn't deprive her of a full life that included sexual pleasure. She might be perfectly fine with the way things were now, but what happened in ten years when she did want a family? A family wasn't something he could give her and for the first time, Gatsby almost hoped that Rebecca had gone with Matthew Spring. At least the Earl could have given her a future, but truth be told, Gatsby was far too selfish to let her go. He was at an cross roads and he didn't know what to do.
All he wanted was her, but he couldn't give her what she wanted. There was only one solution in Gatsby's mind as to what he could do to fix the problem. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but if it meant that he could stay with Rebecca and she could be happy then he would gladly swallow it. The last music notes faded and on cue, Gatsby clapped. A soft blush came to Rebecca's cheeks as she stood and walked towards him. Wanting to meet her half way, he began to roll himself towards her. The chair near him hadn't been pushed in and he bumped into. A sensation passed through his foot that he hadn't felt in months and Gatsby swore loudly. Staring down at the chair and his foot, he knew he must have been imaging what he was feeling. Weston was so clear that he'd never feel again thing again. It just wasn't possible because of the damage.
"I'm so sorry, darling," Rebecca frowned as she rushed to push the chair he'd bumped into. "I'll have Crawley tell the servants to remember to push the chairs in."
"It's nothing you did," he told her softly as he grabbed her hand. "I wasn't paying attention."
"Still," she murmured softly to him. "They should know better than to leave these chairs about. This is your home. If something is to be done a certain way I want it done a certain way and if the maids don't like it, they can seek other employment."
Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Rebecca let go and walked to the small cabinet in the room that contained scotch. Pouring them both a generous amount into tumblers, she returned and handed him a glass. Gatsby watched her sit down next to him in the Parisian chair that was fashionable.
"You've been so quiet all night," Rebecca commented quietly before she took a sip from her tumbler. "Are you alright?"
Sucking in a deep breath, Gatsby set his tumbler down on the small table near him. Picking up one of her hands, he watched as the tumbler and her free hand sat in her lap. The ruby engagement ring he'd given her sparkled in the soft lighting of the lamp near them. The diamond surrounding the ruby glittered as well with her soft gold wedding band lying next to the ring. It had only become a recent habit of his to wear his own wedding band. Wolfsheim had teased him awful about it, but it didn't matter.
Gatsby started softy staring at the ruby ring, "I…I can't give you what you want Rebecca. You and I both know that I can't give you a future while I'm bound in this chair. I can't give you passion and I can't give you anything beyond that. I can't…I can't give you a family, but I can't deprive you of that chance either."
"What are you saying?" she murmured softly to him. "Don't tell me what I think you're going to say, Jay."
Swallowing, Gatsby looked up at her, "I won't hold it against you and I won't let anyone ridicule you in the papers. You must know that if…if a child were to come of it…you must know that I would claim that child as my own and protect you both as much as I possibly could. I don't want to deprive you of that pleasure that exists between a woman…and a man. I don't want to deprive you of the chance of having a family and your own children. I don't care. I just don't want to lose you, Rebecca. I've only just found you and I don't want to lose you because I can't give you what you want. I won't hold whatever you do behind closed doors against you, just don't leave me."
He barely registered his own tears until a single drop hit both his skin and hers. In the next moment, she was seated horizontally on his lap. Her arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders and his own arms automatically went around her petite frame. The silk of her dress felt like water beneath his fingertips as he held on to the soft curve of her hips.
"I don't want anyone," she whispered to him tearfully. "The only person I do want is you."
"And in ten years? What if you want someone else then?"
"I don't want anyone else because as much as I have tried to deny it, I have only ever loved you. I tried drowning myself in Matthew, thinking that if I simply forced myself to move on I would forget all my feelings for you. It didn't work, Jay, because it only took a moment to fall in love with you and it will take me a lifetime to stop loving you. Even then, I don't think I could ever stop loving you. I've seen you in every light imaginable and my love for you has never wavered. I can't suppress it any more and trying to will only make it painful. I don't know what the future holds. For all I know, tomorrow we could both die in a terrible car crash, but I do know that I will love you tomorrow like I have today and in ten years, I will love you as I always have. Please, don't break my heart anymore by telling me to go sleep with another man. I couldn't do because I know it would hurt you and haven't we hurt each other enough? You're what I want, Jay. You're all I want."
Her words shocked him as she softly pressed a kiss to his smooth cheek. Her perfume enveloped his senses and despite the fact that a voice screamed in his head for him to push her away and force her to be intimate with another for her own sake, Gatsby couldn't. Turning his head, his lips caught her in a soft kiss and for a moment, time ceased. Rebecca was the one to break the kiss and her forehead rested on his. Just having her in his arms felt so right and all the problems in the world slipped away from him. Her words gave him hope and a strength he didn't know he could possess.
"I love you," he murmured to her softly.
"I love you, too," Rebecca told him with a smile as she pulled away. "I love you."
A smile came across his lips. Her words were like the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard and he wanted to hear it again and again till the he died.
...September 15, 1923…
The tingling feeling in his foot hadn't gone away since the night he'd bumped it on a chair in the music room. While both their hearts had been lightened by their mutual love, Gatsby had still been experiencing mild pain. He hadn't wanted to worry Rebecca more than needed. Having taken her to the opera the night before, Gatsby had noticed that the pain had begun to increase. Throughout the night, it had radiated higher and higher up his legs until he'd begged Rebecca to leave saying he wasn't feeling well. She'd been understanding and concerned when they'd left. The car ride home had been pure agony for him and by the time they'd arrived home, he'd been harsh with her in demanding Blackburn's help.
Knowing that the pain had been speaking more than him, Gatsby had made sure that she knew that he wasn't angry at her during breakfast. He'd even voluntarily agreed to see Weston when Rebecca had suggested it as a term of his apology. Gatsby used the memory of Rebecca's grateful smile when he agreed to see Weston as his motivation to get through the doctor's visit. He would have much rather been working, but the pain was becoming more and more intense. Seated in the library and waiting impatiently for the doctor, Gatsby checked his pocket watch for the tenth time in a few minutes. Just as he was about to tell Crawley to send the doctor away when the man arrived, Blackburn came and announced the arrival of the man in question.
"Mr. Gatsby, sir, I'm terribly sorry for being late," Weston breathed heavily as he followed the valet into the library. "An unexpected matter came up."
"I don't have all day. I was hoping to make this as quick as possible."
"Of course, sir. What seems to be the problem?"
"You're going to think I'm insane," Gatsby sighed impatiently as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I can't say that until you tell me what the problem is, sir."
"I've been having some feeling in my legs."
"You said you had feeling?" Weston asked looking amazed. "Really?"
"I don't know," Gatsby told him anxiously. "That's what it's felt like though. Genuine pain in both my feet and legs."
"You felt pain?"
"It's the only way I can describe the feeling."
Weston's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline as stood up, "I need to examine you right away."
Nearly a half hour later, Gatsby laid on his side with his back facing the doctor. Weston's fingers poked and prodded his spine and legs with every touch feeling like thousands of needles being pressed into his skin at the same time. For nearly ten minutes the doctor touched him and just when Gatsby thought he'd scream in pain at Weston, the doctor stopped.
"I think what afflicts you is a bruised spine," Weston said calmly. "I maybe wrong, but I truly do think that is what the problem is. I may have been wrong about the original injury that you received at the hands of Mr. Patrick. I originally thought that the bullet hit parts of your spine, but if the bullet didn't, you may only have bruising in the area Mr. Gatsby. As your back heals itself from the injury, the feeling of pain is normal and can be a good thing. The pain might also be from the weakening of your leg muscles as well as the ligaments and tendons. Working the muscles and strengthening them might help with the pain. By doing that, I can't promise it, but you may very well be able to walk again, Mr. Gatsby."
For nearly an hour, Gatsby asked Weston every question that he could possibly think of. When the doctor left him alone, he felt something he hadn't in a very long time. Hope.
...October 28, 1923…
In the solitude of his rooms, Gatsby slowly began to regain his strength doing the exercises Doctor Weston had given him. He hadn't told Rebecca of the feeling he was regaining. If the motion of his legs didn't come back fully, it would crush her to know that his paralysis was permanent and he wasn't going to crush her in anyway. He wasn't going to jinx anything by saying a word. Swearing Doctor Weston to keep their conversation between the both of them, Gatsby knew he was frightened more than anything. He was frightened that maybe the doctor was wrong. Maybe he would never have mobility back and he would forever be forced to use a damn chair.
Each forced exercise was like pure agony.
It had been weeks since he moved any muscle below his waist and though progress was slow, each day he got a little better. Using a chain, he was able to walk only a few short steps. Every day he got better though and it was comforting to know that someday he'd never need a cane to assist him everywhere. He'd sworn both Blackburn and Crawley to silence on their walking lessons and he didn't know why. Crawley had asked him repeatedly why he didn't let Rebecca know he was able to walk and the only answer he'd been able to come up with was fear. Letting himself hope that maybe they could lead a normal life was scary and yet, it was the only dream that he still clung to like a blanket.
It was the only thing that got him through the pain and the long nights of agony he felt as the muscles he'd stopped using for months screamed at him after having been forced to work. The simple dream of getting to wake up next to his own wife after a night of lovemaking was the thin thread that kept him focused and determined to walk again. Forcing himself to take the few steps he could, Gatsby gritted his teeth as the familiar feeling of pain returned. He only made it a few steps before Blackburn and Crawley were helping him to not to fall. While walking was difficult, Gatsby had mastered being able to stand on his own for a little while. He still needed the support of his cane, but he was able to at least stand for a minute or two.
"I'm alright," Gatsby breathed to both men. "Let me go. I want to at least get to the bed today."
Blackburn and Crawley nodded and eased their grasp on his arms. He was so close to the bed and he'd walked further that day than he'd walked any other day before. Each step was still painful, but it was a little less painful than the step prior. Taking a deep breath, Gatsby had barely taken a step when the door to his bedroom opened and Rebecca stepped in carrying a small letter and package. Her eyes went wide at seeing him standing. With a determination he'd never experienced before, Gatsby took the five steps to his bed and sank down onto the covers.
Looking up, he met Rebecca's stunned eyes as he took his handkerchief out and wiped the excess sweat from his brow. The heel of her shoe echoed on the polished wood floors as she walked towards him. He looked up to her as she stood between his aching legs. Tears were in her eyes and despite the pain, Gatsby smiled up at her. His strength was nearly stolen from him in those steps and he wanted nothing to do but lie down and rest, but the amazement in her eyes gave him enough strength to stay sitting up. From the corner of his eye, he saw Crawley and Blackburn leave.
"You're…you're walking!"
A brighter smile came to Gatsby's lips as he watched her blink back tears again, "I have a bruised spine. Weston's diagnosis was wrong. I wanted to surprise you by not needing a cane to walk, but apparently there has been a change in those plans."
Laughter bubbled from Rebecca's lips as she hugged him tightly. Nothing else mattered in that moment as Gatsby returned her hug with a bright smile. He could walk! The future had never seemed so bright to him and in that moment, anything seemed possible. He firmly believed that all the darkness they had been though together was over. The stars seemed to be the limit of what the future could hold. Holding Rebecca, he pulled away and pressed his lips to hers passionately.
...December 15, 1923…
"Are you ready for this?" Wolfsheim asked quietly as the Rolls Royce pulled into an abandoned warehouse near the docks and both men slipped on leather gloves. The moon was high in the sky and the stars shimmered like diamonds as Gatsby looked up at them. The air was chilly and it felt like knives against one's skin when it blew. None of that matter though to him because tonight was the night he'd finally have revenge. Gatsby had been dreaming about the day Ares' life would end at his hands.
For months, Wolfsheim had kept the despicable man alive. Tortured and mutilated on more than one occasion, Gatsby couldn't help but compare Ares to a pig that was being fattened for slaughter. Weston had been to see Ares on several occasions in the past few weeks to patch the Southern bastard up and give the man a clean bill of health. Everything had been in preparation of this night and Gatsby knew that Ares wasn't stupid. The man had to have known for a while that his end was nearing.
"I've been ready for months," he told Wolfsheim as the driver opened the door. "The better question: is Ares ready for tonight?"
Stepping slowly out of the car, Gatsby leaned heavily on his rosewood cane. He'd been slowly improving, but recovery was a long process. Walking steadily towards the door of the warehouse with Wolfsheim next to him in case he fell, Gatsby sucked in a deep breath before one of Wolfsheim's men opened the heavy metal door. Their footsteps echoed on the cement floor as they walked into the dimly lit area. A single lamp swung above the lone hanging figure in the center of the room. Bound up by his wrists, Ares Patrick looked gaunt and frail as he lifted his head.
"So…the Great Gatsby lived," he said with a sadistic smile. "Did you make a deal with the devil? Is that why no man can kill you?"
Before anyone could say anything, the man closest to Ares slammed his fist into his ribs. A sickening crunch was heard and Ares let out a howl of pain. Panting heavily, Ares continued to smile at Gatsby with a crazed look in his eyes.
"How is your little wife?" Ares taunted. "Is she still as pretty as I remember her being? Are her legs still as creamy smooth when I touched them? If the rumors are true about you never consummating your marriage, I must tell you that she was a delicious to taste. However, kissing her lips...that was my favorite thing to do."
Wolfsheim's man delivered another punch to Ares' ribs and a deafening scream of pain came from the battered man's lips. Wolfsheim slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew a dagger. Offering the silver beauty to Gatsby, Wolfsheim gave Ares his own sickening smile.
"Don't think you're safe," he whispered. "When I turn my back, I won't know what Gatsby does to you. All I know is that he's well within his rights to do whatever he does to you. No one will come for you when you scream. No one even knows that you're here."
Wolfsheim left and Gatsby took the knife in his gloved hands as rage grew inside of him that threatened to erupt.
"You didn't think that you would actually get away with it, did you?" Gatsby hissed as he pressed the dagger into Ares' cheek, "Did you really think you would be able to hide from me and that I wouldn't find you? You had to have known that I would go to the ends of the world to find you after what you did. You don't get to rape an innocent woman and then escape without consequence. My wife may not get justice under societies laws, but you can be assured that I will extract justice for her without them. Tell me that you're not stupid enough to realize that the moment you decided to hurt her, your death warrant was already sighed in blood."
Holding on tightly to the dagger, Gatsby slipped a cigar cutter out of his pocket. Holding the cutter up, he looked down at Ares and smiled dangerously.
"You enjoy taunting me about what you did to her. We both know that you're a sadistic son of a bitch and my wife wasn't your first victim, but rest assured, she will be your last. Do you really think that I was ever going to let you walk off without a scratch? Take his pants off."
Ares' eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen. Kicking and screaming, the man desperately fought Wolfsheim's men, but Gatsby didn't care. All he could see was Rebecca's broken and bruised body on the hotel bed where Ares had left her. He hadn't even bothered to cover her after what he'd done and had left her to more humiliation as others had seen what had been done. As the images of what he'd seen that night in the hotel room flashed across his mind, Gatsby felt a rage unlike anything he'd ever felt growing in his body. For so long, he'd carefully controlled himself. He'd delayed coming to see Ares for a long as humanly possible. No one had minded simply because Wolfsheim and his men were more than happy to hold the Southern pig hostage. Now, Gatsby's control was slipping and he knew that his rage would take over.
He blindly turned and with one swift cut, Ares let out a blood curling shriek. The rage that Gatsby had so carefully guarded flooded through him in that one moment and blindingly he began to stab the other man over and over again. It wasn't until Wolfsheim pulled him away that reality came back to Gatsby as he looked at the bloodied Ares Patrick. He didn't know how many stab wounds he'd inflicted and he didn't care. No amount would be enough for the pain that Rebecca had been caused. No punishment would ever be enough.
"You got him," Wolfsheim whispered softly. "Clean up and I'll take care of everything else. We'll go to my house so that we can both change and look presentable to meet your wife at the Opera."
With a nod, Gatsby turned away and accepted the damp cloth one of his men held out to him. Wiping his face, neck and hands, Gatsby turned back to look at Wolfsheim when he heard the sickening crunch of bone being broken. Wolfsheim picked up Ares' left index finger and slipped it into a small smoke box. Slipping the box into his pocket, he winked at Gatsby as he smiled.
"A little reminder to others who want to do harm to those we love," he said softly before nodding at one of his men. "Leave the body somewhere that the police can find it. I want this on every newspaper and make sure that no one can trace the crime back to us. You know what to do."
Gatsby watched as two men poured something over Ares' dead corpse. The lifeless body was still strung up from the ceiling and taking a deep breath, he left without a second look back. The nightmare was finally over and Rebecca could take comfort in the fact that the man who had violated and abused her would never be able to hurt her again. His patience had paid off in the end and the problem that had been Ares Patrick was eradicated…
Gatsby looked up from the fire when he heard the door open. Rebecca walked into the library with a smile on her face unlike anything Gatsby had seen before. Nick nearly tripped over himself as he moved over to her with a questioning look on her face.
"Well?" Edward Harper asked impatiently.
"You should go upstairs," Rebecca smiled at Nick. "Mother and son are waiting."
"I-I-I have a son?" Nick babbled as an expression of wonder crossed his features. An impossibly large smile appeared on his face for a moment before he rushed out of the library with Edward Harper hot on his heels calling for a servant to bring brandy and cigars for the men to celebrate the new born heir. Walking over to where he sat, Gatsby looked up at her with a soft smile as she stood.
"How is your sister? Exhausted?"
"More than you'll ever believe," Rebecca told him tiredly. "It was long and difficult, but both Elizabeth and Henry are fine."
"Henry?" Gatsby asked with a raised brow. "They're naming him Henry Carraway?"
A small chuckle came from Rebecca's lips, "My sister is naming her son Henry. Nick is simply going smile and agree to the name because let's be honest, Elizabeth did most of the hard work. Therefore, she should have the right to pick out the little boy's name."
Pushing himself out of the chair with the assistance of his cane, Gatsby smiled and offered Rebecca his hand. Without a second thought, she laced her hand with his.
"Better go wish the new parents joy."
Before either of them could move, the door crashed open as two footmen wrestled a distraught Nick into the library. Letting go of his hand, Gatsby watched as Rebecca quickly went to Nick and hugged him.
"What happened?" she asked him. "Please, what happened?"
"She's dead," Nick sobbed. "She just stopped-d-d-d…Elizabeth stopped breathing."
