The Missing

Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl told through a different pair of eyes. "I never claimed that I was unbiased. This version probably is a little biased, and I know a lot of people are going to say that. They'll say Nick put me up to it, but he didn't. I'm just writing this how I saw it. I'm telling MY side of the story. I'm telling you what I saw happen between my parents, Nick and Amy Dunne."

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1. Part I: Girl loses Mother

Part I:

Girl loses Mother

Zara Dunne

It was an important day. I woke up at quarter to six exactly. Like one of those dolls you sit backwards or forwards; asleep, awake; asleep, awake. Again and again. This has been my life for nearly fourteen years. I'm asleep, then I'm awake. Then repeat.  
  I sit up in my room in the "new" house, even though my parents and I having been living here for two years. We moved to North Carthage, Missouri, when Grandma Dunne (my Dad's Mom) got really sick. Go (My Father's twin sister) had called Dad and told him that Grandma was sick, dying sick. 
  Before you could say "What the hell is going on" we had moved back to Missouri. I didn't really care, nothing was left in the City for us honestly after Go moved back home a year before. All that was left were Amy's (My Mother's) parents, Rand and Elizabeth. But they were rich. So rich they could jet down whenever they saw fit. Made rich by a series of educational Children's books called "Amazing Amy." 
 

The books were a huge success, or so I was told. What Amazing Amy was fundamentally was a way for Rand and Elizabeth to make all the right choices for the real Amy. Amy tells a lie; the birth of "Amazing Amy and The Tattle Tale." Amy still isn't married? "Amazing Amy and The Big Day."  
   I didn't like the Amazing Amy's. Rand and Elizabeth had given me the box-set one Christmas when I was seven and Amy (real Amy) had told them I was acting "disruptively" and they thought they'd use some of their psychology wisdom to set me right. Of course, being as stubborn as I am, I circled all the wrong answers. Amy had pursed her lips at this (of course) but Dad seemed to side with me. He agreed that we should rub out all the circles and put in our own answers. Amy's lips pursed even more.  
 

 Amy didn't like the new house, in fact, she detested it. Her first words on the house were "should I remove my soul before coming in?" Which I didn't find funny. Dad was trying to make his New Yorker wife - my New Yorker Mother, fit into this new life. But she wasn't having it. So I decided; I can't really do anything about being here, might as well live with it, right? 
 

 Dad was a writer, he wrote about everything; books, movies, music, TV- Anything, really. Amy wrote Personality Quizzes for drab Women Magazine's. But then the Recession slammed down like a Overgrown, genetically altered Monster and the internet -the thing the people of the publishing world had kept in the dark for so long- savaged them all over-night, well...they were fucked. Dad got laid off and then shortly after, Amy did too. I was about twelve, maybe eleven at the time. I was old enough to know what getting laid off meant.
    Suddenly the two of them were lolling around the house in their pj's, throwing unopened mail around the place and eating ice cream at usually unsuitable hours. I'd stayed home with them a lot of the time, sitting crossed legged on the couch between them in my Monsters Inc. onesie which Aunt Go had bought me. We'd watch TV, Amy would braid my dark brown (nearly black) hair and Nick would read lazily. 
 

 Now we're in North Carthage, in the new house, and my parents aren't speaking all that often. Things went down hill drastically ever since we moved to Dad's Home-Town. But I didn't care honestly what Amy wanted. As I lay in my bed with its blue and purple covers with the olive green stripes and stared up at my dark mauve walls with the fairy lights nailed to the walls, I knew that I felt more at home here then I had in New York. In New York I had the box room, with white enclosing walls. Everything in my room there was white. White bed, white wardrobe, white bed clothes, white lamps, even fucking white windows. 
 I detest the colour white.
 

 I could hear Amy downstairs in the kitchen, pots and pans banging and slamming as she flew around, preparing something. It was their anniversary, so I say it was gonna be crepes. They were special. Knowing my Father would be up in less than fifteen minutes, I stood out of the bed, my feet toeing the wall to wall black carpet, which Amy also detested. There wasn't a lot of things I liked that Amy liked too. Fighting was probably the only thing. 
   With Dad I felt like I could be myself. He tended to listen to my music, and liked it. He encouraged my passion for Sci-Fi, Crime and Thriller novels, cheesy or otherwise. Amy wouldn't mind me reading, she just wouldn't always agree on the topic.

 I got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and padded downstairs. Amy was in the kitchen, but she ordered me to wait in the living room. I sat on the cold cream couch, watching the sun glare at me from across the Mississippi river. You have been seen. In this town, were weren't along the Mississippi, on some lifted piece of shit land, no- we were the Mississippi. If I had the urge, I could leave my house and walk, until I had reached the edge, and then jump into the sucker; a good three feet plunge. 
 

 I heard Dad come into the Kitchen and him and Amy exchange a few words. When I decided it was safe to come in, I entered the medium sized mostly cream coloured kitchen. Dad sat at the table in a t-shirt and grubby boxers while Amy finished off the crepes. I was right, they always had them on anniversaries. Death or otherwise. As I was sitting down beside Nick, Amy served them up. We all ate in silence. 
 

 Eventually Dad stood, and taking both our empty plates slide them into the sink with a clatter. He went upstairs and returned a few minutes later wearing his normal clothes. I knew he was going to The Bar, so I looked at Amy. She rolled her eyes, but smiled slightly. "Yeah, you can. That alright Nick?" She asked, more like an accusation then a genuine question. "Yeah...sure. Get your jacket and we'll go." 
 

 Dad dropped me off at The Bar, then disappeared. I went in and there was Margo, already at the bar. It was empty other than that. My Dad and Aunt look alike, but aren't identical. Same dark eyes and hair, sallow skin. I'm like Nick, but then I'm not. My expressions are like the Dunne's, but sadly most of my features I get from Amy. I have her eyes, and the shape of my face, and pallor. My hair is Nick's; dark and thick, but wavy like Amy's. "Hey Zizzie," Margo called as I entered, I smiled and began walking towards the bar. 
 

 Margo was cleaning some glasses and as I sat down in front of her, she put one squarely in front of me, filled with coke-cola. Amy would have had a fit if she had known that I was drinking it at this hour, but what Amy didn't know wouldn't hurt her. I told myself that anyway as I took a sip. "So where's Nick?" She asked, putting away the clean glasses. I swallowed as I put my elbows on the bar, head in my hands. "I don't know. He dropped me off and then vamos'd. I think he'd be back here though soon. He just needs to think. Knowing what day it is and all." Margo and I exchanged a dark look as an elderly customer entered and sat at the back of The Bar.

 Margo served the woman, and she returned to her seat. As Margo also returned to cleaning glasses behind the bar, the man of the hour, Nick himself, waltzed in. 

 

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