Prologue

Nick had let the doctor read his work, his story, his novel, his masterpiece. The story of Jay Gatsby, the man who loved too much and was too faithful. And it was the truth, the truth that mattered to the world at least; the fact that Jay did not kill Myrtle Wilson. But it wasn't the whole truth, not for Nick anyway. To Jay, maybe it had been and so it was enough for everyone else's eyes, but for Nick there was more to the story. But that was irretrievable now and there was no need to share it, it was for Nick alone. He'd written parts of that down too, but just for him, just to remember. To remember Jay and to remember to feel, to be. Nick lifted the pages and read over it once more, knowing that everything he was now, was because of Gatsby...