without her. I miss her every second of every minute of every day, and I just want her to come home. Pause look left look right don’t smile especially don’t convey you’re happy Amy’s gone and that you pray every night she won’t come back and that you’d like to give her murderer a medal...”
Oops. That was supposed to be stage direction.
There was a loud chorus of boos. Go gave me the “cut it short” sign, chopping at her throat. But before I could finish, our neighbor Noelle Hawthorne had come out of the crowd and approached the stage.
“Hey, Nick! ” she yelled. “I got a question for you!”
“Then you should raise your hand and wait and see if I call on you,” I said.
“Where’s your wife, Nick?” she yelled. “Where’s your pregnant wife?”
There was a collective gasp from the crowd.
I chuckled. “Pregnant? That’s impossible. I never came inside her. I only came on her face and on her tits. Oh also in her butt when she wasn’t being a bitch and was letting us have anal like normal people.”
I could feel the hostility of the crowd as they surged forward in anger. Go grabbed me and dragged me off the stage. As she did so, I could hear the questions shouted from the reporters:
“Nick, did you know Amy was pregnant?”
“Nick, had you chosen a name for the baby?”
“Nick, when you came on her face did she flinch or did she take it like a pro?”
I was about to complain about Amy’s constant flinching when Go shoved me into her car and drove away.
AMY ELLIOTT DUNNE: September 2, 2011
Next up on Amy’s Murder-Framing To Do List? Fake a pregnancy!
Why should I be satisfied with the public hating Nick for murdering his beautiful, innocent wife, when they could really hate him for murdering his beautiful, innocent, pregnant wife? It seemed like a no-brainer.
Faking my own pregnancy should not have been that hard. My plan was pretty simple: since my neighbor Noelle is pregnant, just get some of her pee, and use it as my own pee on a pregnancy test. No problem, right?
So I invited Noelle over one day for some lemonade. I’d turned off the toilet, so that when she inevitably had to pee, she wouldn’t be able to flush, and voila, I’d have my pregnant pee!
The problem is, I didn’t factor in that Noelle would come over right after eating a giant lunch. And that as soon as she walked in she’d have to take a giant shit.
So of course, as soon as Noelle walks in she says she needs to use the bathroom, and I tell her “the toilet isn’t working so don’t flush,” and then she shits and doesn’t pee, and so now we have to sit there making chit-chat and drinking lemonade while the entire house smells like shit.
What’s worse, I hadn’t factored in that Noelle has an enormous bladder from constantly drinking so much beer. So it takes forever for her to have to pee.
And finally, to top it all off, when Noelle finally does pee, I have to collect the pee from a bowl of shit.
Note to self: next time you fake a pregnancy, make allowance for shit.
NICK DUNNE: Seven Days Gone
It was time.
Somehow, through no fault of my own, I had become the prime suspect in my wife’s disappearance. So I needed to get a lawyer. Today . And that lawyer was going to have to be the best of the best, the man I wished I didn’t need but knew I had to have.
Tanner Bolt.
I knew of Tanner Bolt—heck, everybody knew of Tanner Bolt—from his high profile cases on TV. He’d defended some of the most famous celebrities accused of doing some of the most heinous things. And he always came out on top. Which is why last night after the candlelight vigil I’d jumped on a red eye to New York, and I was now sitting in the waiting room of Tanner Bolt’s office on the top floor of a skyscraper on 57th Street.
Tanner was so famous that he wouldn’t even take a meeting until you’d already paid his $100,000 fee and hired him. I’d wired everything in my bank account, which
Oops. That was supposed to be stage direction.
There was a loud chorus of boos. Go gave me the “cut it short” sign, chopping at her throat. But before I could finish, our neighbor Noelle Hawthorne had come out of the crowd and approached the stage.
“Hey, Nick! ” she yelled. “I got a question for you!”
“Then you should raise your hand and wait and see if I call on you,” I said.
“Where’s your wife, Nick?” she yelled. “Where’s your pregnant wife?”
There was a collective gasp from the crowd.
I chuckled. “Pregnant? That’s impossible. I never came inside her. I only came on her face and on her tits. Oh also in her butt when she wasn’t being a bitch and was letting us have anal like normal people.”
I could feel the hostility of the crowd as they surged forward in anger. Go grabbed me and dragged me off the stage. As she did so, I could hear the questions shouted from the reporters:
“Nick, did you know Amy was pregnant?”
“Nick, had you chosen a name for the baby?”
“Nick, when you came on her face did she flinch or did she take it like a pro?”
I was about to complain about Amy’s constant flinching when Go shoved me into her car and drove away.
AMY ELLIOTT DUNNE: September 2, 2011
Next up on Amy’s Murder-Framing To Do List? Fake a pregnancy!
Why should I be satisfied with the public hating Nick for murdering his beautiful, innocent wife, when they could really hate him for murdering his beautiful, innocent, pregnant wife? It seemed like a no-brainer.
Faking my own pregnancy should not have been that hard. My plan was pretty simple: since my neighbor Noelle is pregnant, just get some of her pee, and use it as my own pee on a pregnancy test. No problem, right?
So I invited Noelle over one day for some lemonade. I’d turned off the toilet, so that when she inevitably had to pee, she wouldn’t be able to flush, and voila, I’d have my pregnant pee!
The problem is, I didn’t factor in that Noelle would come over right after eating a giant lunch. And that as soon as she walked in she’d have to take a giant shit.
So of course, as soon as Noelle walks in she says she needs to use the bathroom, and I tell her “the toilet isn’t working so don’t flush,” and then she shits and doesn’t pee, and so now we have to sit there making chit-chat and drinking lemonade while the entire house smells like shit.
What’s worse, I hadn’t factored in that Noelle has an enormous bladder from constantly drinking so much beer. So it takes forever for her to have to pee.
And finally, to top it all off, when Noelle finally does pee, I have to collect the pee from a bowl of shit.
Note to self: next time you fake a pregnancy, make allowance for shit.
NICK DUNNE: Seven Days Gone
It was time.
Somehow, through no fault of my own, I had become the prime suspect in my wife’s disappearance. So I needed to get a lawyer. Today . And that lawyer was going to have to be the best of the best, the man I wished I didn’t need but knew I had to have.
Tanner Bolt.
I knew of Tanner Bolt—heck, everybody knew of Tanner Bolt—from his high profile cases on TV. He’d defended some of the most famous celebrities accused of doing some of the most heinous things. And he always came out on top. Which is why last night after the candlelight vigil I’d jumped on a red eye to New York, and I was now sitting in the waiting room of Tanner Bolt’s office on the top floor of a skyscraper on 57th Street.
Tanner was so famous that he wouldn’t even take a meeting until you’d already paid his $100,000 fee and hired him. I’d wired everything in my bank account, which
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