Author's Note: Hi guys, this is just a sorta one-shot that I did a few years back as part of an AP Lang class (yeah, I know, cool right!) Anyway, it's a speculative ending from Nick's perspective in the Great Gatsby. It's a little violent, I have to say, and it may turn out to be a little dark too. Totally not my style, but since I'd already written it, why not post it to get some feedback, right? I hope you enjoy it, and please review but don't flame me!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or elements relating to The Great Gatsby.

Nick Carraway: My Story's End

It's been 16 years since Gatsby. Sixteen years.

Not that Nick had been consciously counting. He had persuaded himself that he had set that whole ugly business behind him. He wanted to think that he was now in full control of himself. No more lies. No more past. Just him and his troubled patients.

The sign on his door said it all: Nick Carraway, Psychologist.

Nick had thought that seemed quite appropriate. He had condemned himself to a life of helping people, of helping people who could not find help otherwise. It was suitable, satisfying. But not as satisfying as he had thought it would be ten years ago.

Nick stirred the soup on the stove and let it simmer some more. Nick took his coffee mug and went outside to sit on his porch. His small, one-story house was surrounded by a whole host of trees, all part of a thick forest. The forest parted at some point though, and that was where he could see the ocean. Yet even though he lived right next to the crystal-clear, white-tipped waters, he had never once gone on a stroll on the beach, nor taken a yacht to cruise the water.

He had moved to New Jersey. He had never gone back.

A movement drew his eyes, and he looked around to see a fancy silver car gliding up the dirt road to his house. The driver got out. A straw hat shadowed her face. She came up the driveway with a stride that reminded him of someone, someone he could not seem to recall at the moment. Her long, thin blue spring dress swirled about her knees and evoked a memory in Nick of water swirling about a body, face-down in the pool…

The woman walked up the porch steps, and Nick craned his head back to keep her face in his sight.

It was a girl. A young woman, to be precise.

The girl didn't give him time to gather his thoughts. She introduced herself.

"Pammy Buchanan," she said curtly.

For a moment, Nick sat frozen, his mouth half open, his eyes wide and far away. His fingers felt numb and loose, and his coffee mug slipped from his hands and cracked against the hard wood of the cream-bleached porch.

Buchanan.

Pammy seemed to disregard Nick's stunned silence. She sat down quite suddenly and got straight to the point.

"What happened to my mother?"

Nick shook himself out of his reverie. "Your mother, child," he said softly, still trying to grasp the situation. "I cannot say that I know her."

Impatiently, Pammy tossed her head. "You do know her. Daisy Buchanan. You and her are cousins."

Nick looked away from her and out to the ocean. He didn't speak.

"It's quite a coincidence that you live so near us," Pammy continued. Her voice did not have the alluring sweetness of her mother. Her voice was harsh like Tom's and cut like steel.

Nick looked back at her. "What about your mother?"

Pammy glared. "Something happened a long time ago, and you know what it is. No one will tell me. Mother has been acting erratically, and I need to know what is troubling her. I want to know about her affair."

Nick startled. "You—you know about the affair?"

Pammy's eyes burned like coals. "I know enough. Tell me more."

Nick looked away again. "I'm afraid that is not my decision to make, child."

Pammy suddenly grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shook him. "You do!" she screamed. "And I will kill every one of them so that I can know the truth! SPEAK!"

Nick was dazed as he stared into this girl's eyes. She was clearly quite mad and desperate. He wondered what had made her that way.

All he could manage was "Why?"

Pammy seethed. "Because Mother is keeping something from me. Because Mother needs to—to—"

She suddenly stopped.

And that's when a shadow fell upon Nick, and, feeling a surge of cold apprehension, he turned to look.

Daisy Buchanan, face red with anger and fear, stood over them, fists clenched at her side. Nick didn't recognize her. There was a mad, half-crazed light in her eyes, her hair was disheveled and stuck in sweaty strands across her forehead, and when she spoke, her voice had changed.

"How dare you," Daisy seethed. "How dare you, Pammy!"

Pammy stood up swiftly. "How did you follow me? You weren't supposed to follow me!"

Daisy ignored her daughter and turned to Nick, who was sitting dumbstruck once again, staring at the scene.

"What're you doing Nick? You're ruining everything!"

Nick stuttered, but it didn't matter. Pammy was talking.

"I don't care, Mother. I'll be whatever I want, I'll show you that you weren't a perfect little angel either! I will find out—"

Daisy screamed, "No! NO! I want you to be a perfect girl! A perfect, innocent bride! A—a—" She sputtered, "A perfect fool!"

Pammy was screaming too. "Not like you! You lied to me! You lied! You just want me to be like you! And you were never—never really you!"

Pammy suddenly hit Daisy hard across the face. The sound of the blow echoed harshly through the suddenly silent woods. Daisy crumpled like a rag doll. Pammy shot Nick a look of utter hatred, and Nick shrunk back slightly. But Pammy simply grabbed her mother beneath the arms and hauled her into Nick's house.

She got out and forcibly grabbed Nick's arm and hauled him to his feet. Her eyes glared with a fierce, unworldly light, and in the tussle, her straw hat had been knocked askew, hanging around her neck by its velvet strap like a limp rag.

"Come on," she ordered. "We're going somewhere where we won't be disturbed, and you're going to tell me everything."

Pammy forced him into her car and they took off. The car zoomed past scores of trees, its tires squealing as it took tight turns while branches whipped across the hood of the car and its windows.

In the car, Nick turned to Pammy and asked, "How will knowing about any of this help you?"

Pammy grimaced and wrenched the steering wheel to take a hard left. "It will be the perfect evidence to use to get away from them."

Nick was puzzled. "How?"

Pammy didn't answer. It occurred to Nick that she was mad. It didn't matter her reasons, or if she had any. The reason in Pammy had long fled. Looking at her, Nick saw a face set into stone, like a statue carved out of rock that could withstand the powers of time.

Time. Like the timer on the stove…

"No!" Nick suddenly yelled. "Go back!"

He grabbed the steering wheel and wrenched it away from Pammy. Pammy wrestled with him for it.

"Why?" she screamed. "Don't make me hurt you!"

"Your mother!" he screamed back. "She's going to die!"

Pammy let him go, and they managed to get back on the driveway. Halfway there, the car broke down, but that didn't deter Nick. He leapt out and ran the rest of the way there. Thankfully, it wasn't very far.

But unfortunately, it had been far enough. By the time Nick had gotten there, the house was on fire. Great plumes of smoke rose from the wreckage, and the flames roared with a great distressing sound as it tore through the house. It was already devouring the timbers that made up the roof and had already eaten through the thin walls of the house. As Nick watched, the roof tumbled down and one whole section of structure collapsed in a shower of flames. The house was completely ablaze, unsalvageable, and Daisy was dead.

Nick sank to his knees. No.

He felt Pammy at his shoulder, and looked up to see her face like an emotionless mask. Her eyes reflected the fire and seemed to make them dance with glee within her pale blue irises.

A car suddenly appeared, driving erratically before coming to a halt in front of them. Tom got out, his face drenched with sweat. He held on to the car door as if he could barely keep himself on his feet.

"What's happening?" he demanded, eyes wild. "Where's—"

Pammy took out a gun and shot him. Tom stood still for a moment, swaying slightly with the breeze, and then toppled over like a fallen tree.

Pammy glanced at Nick, who kneeled there already at her mercy, staring at her with eyes that had seen too much, that did not care anymore what might happen to him.

Pammy raised her gun and shot herself.

Nick staggered up and started running. To who knows where but here. He should have known that the past would catch up to him. Nothing he did ever seemed to be right. Gatsby dead. Myrtle dead. Wilson dead. Daisy dead. Tom dead. Pammy dead.

The gunshots had been loud, an ear-splitting crack that had rendered the air a-buzz with scenes from the past that Nick would rather have forgotten. He ran and ran and ran without any destination. Through trees and over shrubs and across grass.

Suddenly he saw something big and black race toward him. It tried to swerve around him, but the trees prevented any kind of turn. Nick knew it was heading straight towards him, would hit him dead center, with the speed of a tank, and he saw the person in the car with her eyes wide and staring with horror, a person who must have come because of the gunshots, a person who appeared to be screaming as her car uncontrollably hurtled the last few yards in what felt like hours but were merely seconds, to ram straight into Nick.

Nick waved one hand and smiled just before Jordan Baker ran him over.

End of Nick Carraway: My Story's End

Author's Note: How was it? Good, bad, ugly? This story had stayed in my Google Drive unread for the past few years since the AP assignment, so I thought, what the Disney, just post it, and I hope you guys enjoyed it. Please review, and thanks for reading!