- Tom: Did you call the police?
- Emma: He trashed my phone.
- Tom: Okay, we got time to get our story straight.
- Emma: What story? He killed himself.
- Tom: You wash your face?
- Emma: Yeah, I rinsed my dead husband's blood and brains off. Why? Do you think that I did this?
- Tom: Of course not, but a cop is going to ask you that question.
- Emma: Okay, so let a cop ask that question. I'll tell the fucking truth.
- Tom: You gotta understand, the truth is not necessarily your friend right now. Trust me, I do this for a living.
- Emma: So what do I do? I lie to the police?
- Tom: No, we manage the truth. This doesn't look good for either of us.
- Emma: I don't give a shit about looking good right now!
- Tom: You gave a shit five minutes ago when you washed the evidence off your face!
- Emma: Call the fucking police!
- Tom: Listen...
- Emma: Have you stopped to think about why Mark sent you that message? Because I woke up handcuffed to my dead husband whose carcass I have been dragging around the entire house. He siphoned all of the gas out of the car. He thought to remove every sharp object. I have been chained to this nightmare all day. Do you really think that he sent you that text so you could come here and you could *save* me? Call the police!
- Mark: I have to admit, I'm impressed you made it this far. You should have knelt at my feet after everything I did for you. When I met you, you were nothing. A failed photographer with no money, no hope. My only regret is not being there to see the look on your face right now. I don't want to give you the satisfaction of thinking I put a bullet in my head because of your disobedience. But I was being called away, and I couldn't just let you sit back and live happily ever after with him. Happy anniversary, Pumpkin.