But it is her screams that snap him out of it. With an iron grip on her top, the drunken, crazed caveman drags poor Amelie towards the bedroom, yelling he is going to collect an advance on the alimony she owes.
Words won’t save him. Words won’t save Amelie. What can he do? He taps on his MoxWrap, looking for 911. What is he doing? She needs him now. And the welterweight editor, the alien-loving omega male sci-fi guy, tackles the monstrous caveman.
Whap. Well, his tackle is more like a ping-pong ball against the side of an elephant as Peter flies backwards to the floor. Maybe he’s merely stunned. Maybe he’s petrified by a haunting flashback. But for sure as he looks up, he’s staring once again into the darkness of a g*n barrel. Maybe there’s a glint of a bullet. But that’s the last thing
