"Out!"
It was hopeless. There was no way Matthew would be able to reach him. "Okay, Peter," Matthew said with a resigned sigh. "You win."
The room was silent. Peter stood there with his eyes closed, waiting for Matthew to go.
Matthew turned to leave, then paused, his hand on the door latch. He waited half a minute, until Peter opened his eyes and looked at him.
"What?" Peter asked, wearily.
"That's what I want to know."
"What's what you want to know?"
"What went wrong. Why." Prepared for more flailing, Peter's reaction surprised him.
Without looking at Matthew, Peter came toward him. He picked up the pen he had moments before used as a missile. He lowered himself down onto the sofa and casually crossed one leg over the other. He held the pen bearing the Wallaby logo by each end between his fingers. Emphatically, yet softly, he explained. "You don't understand. You just don't get it. You don't know the truth about inventing products like Wallaby's. In the long run, it's all that really matters. That the products are true to the visions that inspire them." He gently placed the pen in his pocket, shrugged. His glazed eyes drifted across the room to rest on his docked Joey. "My visions are my products."
He remained there for a few moments with a rapt, slightly smiling expression lighting his face, gone inside himself to a place where, the way he saw it, everything was sharp and clear, where he could see things no one else could see.