Gone Bitch: A Parody of Gone Girl

When I checked my messages after leaving Desi’s, there was one from Gilpin: “Hi Nick, we need to ask you some more questions. Meet you at your house at four, okay?” I could tell it was serious, because it was the first time Gilpin hadn’t said “pretty pretty pretty pleeeeeease” when asking me to meet. (“Nick, I’m sooooo sorry to bother you, but is there annnnny chance you could meet us for breakfast so we could ask you a few things? Pretty pretty pretty pleeeeeease?”)

I headed back to the house and sat down with Gilpin and Boney in the living room. The summer motorboat show—a parade of powerful large boats speeding down the river—was taking place just outside, and because of the constant motorboat noise we had to all sit on the same couch to even hear each other. Also, every minute or so a wake from a passing boat tossed the house up and down several feet.

“Look Nick,” said Boney, “the thing is, besides you, we’re kinda running out of suspects.”

“Well what about this guy?” I said, pointing at Gilpin. “Older creepy dude, owns a gun, probably hasn’t hooked up with many hot girls, if any, and thus has a deep resentment toward any reasonably attractive girl for perceived injustices.” I looked at Gilpin. “Am I right?”

“No comment,” he said.

Then I pointed at Boney. “And let’s not forget about his lesbian partner, full of rage at Amy Elliott, the straight girl she couldn’t turn gay,” I said.

“I’m not a lesbian,” Boney said.

“Sure, and you’re not a murderer, either.”

“Nick, there’s no need to be defensive,” Gilpin said. “We want to clear you of this. We just need some more information.”

“I’ll give you whatever you need,” I said.

“Let’s start with the morning your wife went missing,” he said.

“Right, the morning when I was at the beach and at a karate lesson and hang gliding and shooting a major motion picture with Keanu Reeves.”

Gilpin sighed. “You still can’t recall anyone seeing you at any of these places? It would really help if we could cross this one teeny-weeny thing off our list. You know, the itsy-bitsy teeny-tiny thing about you doing something else that morning besides killing your wife.”

“I really wish I could tell you there’s someone who saw me, but I’m not going to lie to you. I’m just not the kind of person who lies. Oh by the way, Keanu says hi.”

Gilpin and Boney gave each other a look. They were clearly worried that I was outmaneuvering them.

“Oh and speaking of Keanu Reeves,” I said, “how about checking out that guy? Big star, thinks he’s above the law, maybe was on some coke-fueled rampage…”

“You know it’s strange,” Boney said. “We mentioned you shooting a major motion picture with Keanu Reeves to a number of people, and they were all…surprised, let’s put it that way. Said that didn’t sound like you.”

I shrugged. “I mean, do I go and make major motion pictures all day? No. But do I go out in the morning and shoot a scene or two? Sure.”

“Hey, perhaps this might help,” said Gilpin. “Could you give us the name of your karate teacher? Then we could call him and have him confirm you were at the lesson.”

“I have no idea what his name is,” I said. “I’m doing this special karate class where the teacher is behind a screen and you never meet him face to face. The thinking is if you don’t see him, then nothing gets in the way of the ideas he’s conveying to you.”

“Look Nick,” said Boney, “the point here is that we can’t confirm your alibi for where you were the morning Amy disappeared, and that’s a problem.”

“But that’s not your only problem,” said Gilpin. “You see, Nick, we’ve seen a lot of home invasions.”

“Because you’ve committed them,” I said.

“And Nick, this home invasion…”—he gestured at the living room which was still in disarray—“it just doesn’t look right.”

“What are you talking about? It looks exactly how an invasion by somebody besides me should look.”

“Ask yourself this, Nick: why are the books lying on the floor behind the end table rather than in front of it?” said Boney. “From the angle the table fell, the books should be in front, not behind.”

“We’ve got a missing woman here and you’re worried about books?” I said. “No wonder she’s still missing!”

“Nick, those photos on the mantle stayed upright during the struggle, right?” said Gilpin. “But watch this.” He stamped his foot on the floor, and all the photos fell over.

“Oh my god you can do magic? That was friggin’ incredible! Hey can you do that one where—”

“And Nick, you know how that piano was supposedly flipped upside down in the struggle?” said Boney. “I’d like you to go over there and try to flip it right side up.”

“It is right said up,” I said.

“Huh?”

“In 2001 I went to this Elton John concert where during the final number Elton’s piano turns upside down and he plays it that way flying through the air. Coolest fucking thing I ever saw. So I installed this piano upside down so I could do the same thing. See?” I went over and slid under the piano and started playing it. The only thing I knew how to play was chopsticks, but I sang the lyrics to “Crocodile Rock” over it.

“Nick, did you do any housecleaning the day Amy went missing?” said Gilpin.

“‘Housecleaning?’ What’s that?”

“You sure you didn’t clean, Nick? Because our techs found traces of Amy’s blood on the kitchen floor.”

“She messed up my new kitchen floor? No! NOOOOOO! Just take the whole house now. I don’t want it anymore.”

“So you see, Nick, it’s not just your alibi that’s a problem,” said Boney. “The crime scene’s a problem, too. But there’s a third problem for you: just a couple weeks ago, you increased Amy’s life insurance policy to two million dollars. Why’d you do that, Nick?”

“I did it because I knew by the time she died and I was single again I’d be too old to get hot girls, so I wanted to have enough to afford hot hookers.”

“There’s a fourth problem as well, Nick—”

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of your ‘problems’ and your ‘questions about what happened,’” I said. “I think it’s time for me to get a lawyer.”

Boney and Gilpin gave each other another look. “Whatever you say, Nick,” said Boney, and they got up to leave.

“Yeah, that’s right, get the fuck out. Mi casa,” I said, and slammed the door after they left. But a second later, I opened the door again.

“Hey, you guys know any good lawyers?”