Gone Bitch: A Parody of Gone Girl

I met Boney and Gilpin for breakfast at IHOP because they wanted to talk again, and also because I’d figured out I could get free meals if we had our meetings at restaurants. Actually, I always ordered way more than I could eat and brought the rest home, so it was like getting two free meals.

“Just because she bought a bazooka doesn’t mean she was afraid of me,” I said.

“Uh, Nick, Amy didn’t just buy a bazooka,” said Boney. “She also bought nunchucks and body armor and a crossbow and a stun gun and a book called How to Protect Yourself From Your Husband Who Wants to Kill You.”

“Huh. Well that explains that credit card charge from Nunchucks ‘N Things.”

The waitress brought over our food. She clearly recognized me from the news coverage and thought I’d killed Amy. When she’d taken our order, she asked if I wanted the “Rooty Tooty Fresh ‘N Murder,” and then asked if I wanted my eggs “scrambled, fried, or murdered.”

I looked down at my pancakes. Instead of the happy face in whipped cream they usually draw, there was a dead face with Xs where the eyes should be.

“Nick, we also want to ask you about the big argument you had with Amy the night before she disappeared,” said Gilpin.

“What argument?”

“Your neighbor Noelle Hawthorne said she heard you arguing,” Gilpin said. “What were you arguing about?”

“Uh…lobster karate.” It was the first two things I thought of.

“That’s funny, Nick, because Noelle actually recorded the argument and it sounds like it’s about something much different than lobster karate.” Gilpin pulled out a portable voice recorder and hit play. On the recording I could clearly be heard shouting, “I swear, Amy, I will kill you! And I’ll make it look like you were kidnapped and they’ll never find you and I’ll get off scot-free!”

“Oh come on,” I said. “What couple doesn’t have that argument like twice a month?”

“And where are you with the treasure hunt?” Boney said.

I threw up my hands in frustration. “The clues are so harrrrrd,” I said. “The last one had a reference to this person ‘Mark Twain.’ They’re getting to the point where they’re basically unsolvable.”

I told Boney and Gilpin I’d keep working on the treasure hunt, but that I’d forgotten to bring clue 3 to breakfast. Which was a lie. I’d brought it, but I just didn’t want them solving the clues before me and finding my Beats headphones.

As soon as breakfast was over and Boney and Gilpin were gone, I pulled out the envelope containing clue 3. As usual, there were two notes inside. The first note read:

Dearest husband,

Fine, I will do anal.

Xo,

Amy

Damn her! She knew my exact weaknesses! I told myself to stay strong and not give in, then opened the other note which contained the clue.

Don’t you feel guilty for bringing her here?

You must admit it seems a bit queer

To do it doggystyle with your coed whore

In the Idiotic Amy section of the local bookstore.

After staring at this clue for a couple of hours, I’d finally figured out that it was most likely telling me to check out the Idiotic Amy section of the local bookstore. I drove over there and started going through the Idiotic Amy books page-by-page, looking for the next clue. The problem was, the store had just gotten in a huge shipment of Idiotic Amy books, because they were selling like hotcakes since Amy disappeared. An even bigger problem is that I was having another outbreak of massive diarrhea. This had started a few days ago when I’d eaten some Frito pie that one of the women volunteers at Find Amy headquarters had given me. I should’ve realized that Frito pie would cause diarrhea, since it basically is diarrhea.

I took my huge stack of Idiotic Amy books into the bathroom with me because I didn’t want to leave them unattended and have someone else purchase the one with the clue in it. I was sitting on the toilet paging through a copy of Idiotic Amy and the Time She Asked an Amputee Where His Arm Was, when finally an envelope appeared. I went to grab it but it slipped and fell down towards the toilet, and in a panic I reached for it with both hands and dropped the book, which fell into the toilet.

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door of the stall. “Security!” a voice said. “We heard there was somebody taking large qualities of merchandise into the restroom. Could you open up please?”

A couple hours later, I was on Go’s couch with Go watching breaking news coverage of “Nick Dunne’s Fetish Crime!” in which Nick Dunne took a shit on an Idiotic Amy book just days after murdering his wife.

“This doesn’t look particularly good,” said Go.

“Actually, I think it humanizes me,” I said.

“Nick. You need to start working on your image. There’s potential jurors out there watching this.”

Go was right. I’d been taking a beating in the press lately. At least they hadn’t found out that I’d been cheating on my wife with one of my students. Or that I’d briefly been in Al Qaeda.

My disposable phone buzzed. Andie was trying to reach me again. Andie was the student I’d been fucking, and I’d bought the disposable to communicate with her in secret.

When I checked the phone, I saw that Andie had posted a new Tweet 15 seconds ago. It was a selfie of her standing outside Go’s front door in lingerie, with the caption, “Heading inside to fuck my teacher Mr. Dunne!”

And then there was a knock at the door.