Gone Girl

I was about to say I don’t know what to believe anymore. And then I thought, that’s someone else’s line. That’s a line from a movie, not something I should be saying, and I wonder for a second, am I in a movie? Can I stop being in this movie? Then I know I can’t. But for a second, you think, I’ll say something different, and this will all change . But it won’t, will it?’
    With one quick Jack Russell headshake, he turned and followed his wife to the car.
    Instead of feeling sad, I felt alarmed. Before the Elliotts were even out of my driveway, I was thinking: We need to go to the cops quickly, soon . Before the Elliotts started discussing their loss of faith in public. I needed to prove my wife was not who she pretended to be. Not Amazing Amy: Avenging Amy . I flashed to Tommy O’Hara – the guy who called the tip line three times, the guy Amy had accused of raping her. Tanner had gotten some background on him: He wasn’t the macho Irishman I’d pictured from his name, not a fire-fighter or cop. He wrote for a humor website based in Brooklyn, a decent one, and his contributor photo revealed him to be a scrawny guy with dark-framed glasses and an uncomfortable amount of thick black hair, wearing a wry grin and a T-shirt for a band called the Bingos.
    He picked up on the first ring. ‘Yeah?’
    ‘This is Nick Dunne. You called me about my wife. Amy Dunne. Amy Elliott. I have to talk with you.’
    I heard a pause, waited for him to hang up on me like Hilary Handy.
    ‘Call me back in ten minutes.’
    I did. The background was a bar, I knew the sound well enough: the murmur of drinkers, the clatter of ice cubes, the strange pops of noise as people called for drinks or hailed friends. I had a burst of homesickness for my own place.
    ‘Okay, thanks,’ he said. ‘Had to get to a bar. Seemed like a Scotch conversation.’ His voice got progressively closer, thicker: I could picture him huddling protectively over a drink, cupping his mouth to the phone.
    ‘So,’ I began, ‘I got your messages.’
    ‘Right. She’s still missing, right? Amy?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Can I ask you what you think has happened?’ he said. ‘To Amy?’
    Fuck it, I wanted a drink. I went into my kitchen – next best thing to my bar – and poured myself one. I’d been trying to be more careful about the booze, but it felt so good: the tang of a Scotch, a dark room with the blinding sun right outside.
    ‘Can I ask you why you called?’ I replied.
    ‘I’ve been watching the coverage,’ he said. ‘You’re fucked.’
    ‘I am. I wanted to talk to you because I thought it was … interesting that you’d try to get in touch. Considering. The rape charge.’
    ‘Ah, you know about that,’ he said.
    ‘I know there was a rape charge, but I don’t necessarily believeyou’re a rapist. I wanted to hear what you had to say.’
    ‘Yeah.’ I heard him take a gulp of his Scotch, kill it, shake the ice cubes around. ‘I caught the story on the news one night. Your story. Amy’s. I was in bed, eating Thai. Minding my own business. Totally fucked me in the head. Her after all these years.’ He called to the bartender for another. ‘So my lawyer said no way I should talk to you, but … what can I say? I’m too fucking nice. I can’t let you twist. God, I wish you could still smoke in bars. This is a Scotch and cigarette conversation.’
    ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘About the assault charge. The rape.’
    ‘Like I said, man, I’ve seen the coverage, the media is shitting all over you. I mean, you’re the guy . So I should leave well enough alone – I don’t need that girl back in my life. Even, like, tangentially. But shit. I wish someone had done me the favor.’
    ‘So do me the favor,’ I said.
    ‘First of all, she dropped the charges – you know that, right?’
    ‘I know. Did you do it?’
    ‘Fuck you. Of course I didn’t do it. Did you do it?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Well.’
    Tommy called again for his Scotch. ‘Let me ask: Your marriage was good? Amy was happy?’
    I stayed silent.
    ‘You don’t have to answer, but I’m going to guess no. Amy was not happy. For whatever reason. I’m not even going to ask. I can guess, but I’m not going to ask. But I know you must know this: Amy likes to play God when she’s not happy. Old Testament God.’
    ‘Meaning?’
    ‘She doles out punishment,’ Tommy said. ‘Hard.’ He laughed into the phone. ‘I mean, you should see me,’ he said. ‘I do not look like some