There is an emotional and sad scene around 01:11 - 01:14 h where Pam has a flashback of the day when she found her two children that died of a gas leak.
Also John is suicidal and it is hinted at throughout the movie.
On the side of Chloe’s ankle, a dark red welt marked a path from a sluggishly bleeding cut to a lump under the skin. “You really want me to push it through?” I said. Best to confirm instructions when the person giving them is holding a gun on you.
“Yes.”
“With just this?” Saline and gauze was better than nothing, but you couldn’t get much more bare-bones than that. “It might help to have some alcohol at least.”
“Internal or external?” she asked dryly.
“Both would be great. External for you; internal for me.”
“That seems a bit unfair.”
“Hey, I was always taught that alcohol and firearms don’t mix. If you wanted to set that down…”
“No.”
I took a deep breath. “Would you consider at least pointing it somewhere else? I don’t want you to flinch and do something you can’t take back.”
She considered it for a moment, and then rotated her hands just enough so the gun was pointing over my head instead of at it.
“Thank you,” I said. “So…I guess I’m ready when you are.”
“Do it.”
Trying not to think too hard about what I was doing, I settled one thumb behind the lump and used my fingers to pull the skin taut. Something bulged upward at the end of the welted bruise. Hopefully that meant I wasn’t about to screw up and drive it in deeper. When it didn’t move any further, I added a touch more pressure.
Chloe inhaled sharply as the skin just parted. A speck of copper gleamed through before blood oozed over it.
I slowly dug my thumb in to push from underneath as much as I could. The skin stretched and parted another millimeter, and then another. Blood dripped down onto the table, but I could see enough of the metal sliver to get a sense of the shape. I shifted my hands around until I could hook a fingernail under an edge. A push, a tug…and Chloe gasped again as it came free.
I sat back with a thump, and Chloe didn’t so much sit back as collapse against the sofa cushions. Her hands were still rock steady, though. Unlike mine. The little metal shard jittered in my palm.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Fragment of a bullet jacket.”
She held out a hand, and I passed it to her so she could take a look.
“Interesting,” she said. “I’ll have to add it to my collection.”
“Your collection?”
She set the shard on the table and pulled a thin necklace out from under her shirt. Three small gold lumps dangled from it. “All my other metal extractions have been lead. I had them gilded.”
“All your other…you’ve been shot at three times?”
“No, I’ve been hit three times,” she corrected. “The first one was my fault; I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She flicked one of the little gold bits. “And once I was in the wrong place at the right time.”
Unreal. “And the third one?”
She tucked the necklace back in and said thoughtfully, “So now the question is, what do I do with you?”
