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    Chapter 8

    The forecasters were way off. It was 6:00, and it was pouring rain, nearly flooding the streets, as to blinding sunlight. I had to squint my eyes to see straight though dripping-with-rain window, and I nearly got into a car accident. 10 times.

    Great night to have a party, I thought as I got out of the car, my arms crossed as I waltzed through the shivering rain. 'Least it's inside... I looked at his house. Worst place to hold a party. It was a frikken shack. I knocked on the door, and I could already hear music booming in my ears from inside Charle's house, even louder than the hammering rain. And that was pretty loud.

    I heard muffled footsteps, the door cracked open, and there he was. The man of the hour, Charles himself.

    "Dude, you look pretty wet," was the first thing that came out of his mouth. No duh, Sherlock. I thought, rolling my eyes, though I'm not sure he saw it through the dense rain. Do you see what's falling on me?

    "Yeah," is what I said, after thinking my sarcastic...thought. "Now, let me in." He nodded, and I strolled in.

    It was like walking into a new scene in a play. It was such an abrupt change, and as Charles closed the door, the pitter-pattering of the rain ceased, and all I heard was the blaring noise of rock. Everywhere. It was difficult to tell it was same place I went to a day ago, with boom boxes blaring and even a disco ball on the ceiling.

    I'm telling you, it was just like walking into a teenage gang meet up. Except we were all adults. Oh, did I mention there were about 40 adults, crammed in Charle's house, crusin' around, like there was no dead body in his room?

    That's right...My wife was dead. And she was here. Why'd these kind of things always come to a surprise to me, even though I already knew them? I turned to Charles, about to ask about her, but when I opened my mouth, a different slew of words came out.

    "D'you invite everyone?" Dumb question. Real dumb. Why would he let strangers come into his house? Or worse, enemies. So it came to no surprise that I got a curious look with a reply,

    "As far as I know, I did. Why?"

    "Oh...I was, uh....Just curious." He gave me one final look, then shrugged it off, and said,

    "Well, I'm gonna try...well, you know...talking."

    "You mean, you're going to try to score." He gave me a sly smile, a wink, and said,

    "Basically."

    "Good luck with that." He nodded, and walked off to some random woman that had nothing to do with me. I sighed, and just stood there for a second. Why was I even here? I should be at home figuring out what happened with my wife...yet, for some reason, going out for a party is more important.

    I actually had this sudden thought that maybe I should just turn around and leave, when suddenly I remembered, once again, my wife was in this house. I didn't think I investigated enough this time.

    I looked at Charles. Flirting with some lady. I had to chuckle to myself. He was making himself look like an idiot was all. I looked at the creaky stairs of his house. He was looking directly away from it.

    I could check it out. I thought. But, for some reason, I couldn't get myself to walk up those stairs. Consious, probably. Suddenly, I saw the person I least expected to be here.

    The woman who looked identical to my wife. Why was I bumping into her everywhere now? Coincidence? Highly unlikely. I watched her intently, her tight, uncomfortable looking clothing standing out like a black dot on a sheet of paper. Another unexpected thing happened then. She walked up the stairs.

    More incentive to go upstairs. These sort of temptations were hard to put down, so I took one last glance at Charles, who was still trying to claim his love unsuccessfully, and then scurried off and followed the woman.

    Amazingly, she seemed to have the same destination as me, as she turned right and walked right into Charle's room. I peeked through the crack of the ajar door she left open, and watched what she would do next.

    As I did, I thought about what Charle's told me earlier. When I asked him if he invited everyone in the party, he answered that he did. But then, if that were true, what was his connection with her?

    These thoughts made an abrupt stop as the woman finally comfirmed her connection with Elizabeth. She opened the closet door, and I was expecting some sort of scream. But instead, there was nothing. Only the faint muffle of weeping as she walked in, and such a small whisper that I could hardly hear it. But I did, and she said,

    "Oh...Elizabeth..."