i thought you were in las vegas.
where did you sleep?
how much did you lose?
how much did you lose?
darian's class drew holiday pictures. that was hers. her teacher wants to see us, joe.
it's hideous.
i'm tense. i couldn't get to sleep last night.
are you kidding? brace face, that's the latest. little bastards.
watch your goddamn mouth, joe.
you're not funny. all the girls at that school wear makeup.
go live with them.
excuse me?
well, nothing changes. you're still a lunatic.
please leave. i have to get dressed.
you want me to open the closet, joe? huh? you want me to indulge your fucking paranoia, i'll throw the door open, is that what you want me to do?
i'll do it, joe. okay? and then we'll both know you're a psycho, is that what you want? huh?? an awkward pause. finally hallenbeck scowls and says:
thank you.
if you shoot up my house, joe, i will make you eat that gun.
call your shrink, joe. i still have the number. call him and tell him you're losing it, i cannot fucking deal with you like this -- !
joe, dammit -- ! he sighs. starts to pull the trigger. and sarah screams --
jesus, no -- ! and grabs the gun. everything freezes. she looks at him. he looks at her. understanding occurs.
put the gun down.
she stayed at cindy's last night. he nods. turns and waves the gun at miller.
do what he says, joe. joe sits. breathing shallowly. eyes locked on milo.
yes.
goddamn you, stop it!! oh, jesus, leave him alone!
shhh. it's okay, joe. i'm here, it's okay. i love you, joe.
i never stopped loving you, joe.
you knew about the others?
you never said anything.
joe, goddammit, why didn't you say something?
yes. fuck you, sarah! anything to show that you.  that you had some pride left. a pause. then hallenbeck heaves a sigh.
i'm scared, joe. get me out of this.
you can take these guys, joe.
save me, joe. be a hero.
that's no excuse. he stares up at her for a moment. then, through bloody lips:
joe!
on a bed, naked. bright lights on her. around her, a director. a cameraman.
why can't we go home?
oh. it's a very tiny "oh."
will the police catch marcon?
i remember when we got married.  my friends would talk about their husbands. they'd say, 'oh, my husband is a big-time publisher,' or, 'my husband is a brilliant lawyer' i used to say, 'my husband can stand over a shotgun victim and eat a ham sandwich without puking.'
i want to try, joe. do you still want to try? a pause. he leans in and kisses her tenderly. and, with typically swell timing, a set of headlights rakes across the window, accompanied by the strobing light of a police flasher.
shall we invite him in?
you just fucking die.