[I actually like this chapter?? Also life is killing me again but it's all good]

Monday's were always busy at the house next door, only comparable to the weekend. The first week I moved in, Saturday and Sunday were spent in blissful silence and serenity, which I was later think of as if he was letting me settle before the real chaos began without warning.

Every Friday morning like clockwork, crates stacked on crates would arrive in large trucks, transporting various fruits from nearby farms and businesses. Some were cheap but most were expensive and lavish, but they all fit in like they were meant to be there. On Monday morning, each crate would be placed back outside with drained halves, dripping spare juice to the pavement. Garbage cans were driven out to the curb, at least twenty, all overflowing with trash and broken glassware, fireworks from that night, and once I found a show-stopping gown accidentally torn jaggedly down the side like an overdone slit. It looked familiar, as if I'd seen it in a magazine before on the grocery store racks near the checkout lines.

Every Friday night just as the sun began to set, cars upon cars piled up just out front of the gates to his driveway. People dressed in priceless suits and jeweled gowns would be escorted from slick limousines, and reckless drivers in stained overalls would pull up hanging out from the windows, hollering like wild animals let loose from captivity. It truly was a sight to see; I couldn't believe it the first few times myself. It took a few weeks for the reality of it all to settle in, but I'd grown accustomed to it quickly. If two days of untamed partying was the only downside to living beside Weekes for significantly less than he paid, it was no issue. The other five days of the week were steadily quiet and perfect, spare the hum of lawnmowers and snips of sheers on overgrown hedges.

A month after moving in, however, I was presented an invitation by who I assumed was one of his staff because of the pristine attire. He held the envelope out on a silver tray, and left as quickly as he'd appeared. I didn't even catch his name or get the chance to ask a question. There wasn't so much as a simple exchange of greetings.

The paper was sealed with deep red wax bearing the same emblem on his front gate, the same shade as Hayley's fingernails when I'd seen her last. I hated to ruin it to find the letter inside, but I was far more impressed with that. The wax symbol paled in comparison. In crisp black cursive upon white parchment, I was formally invited to attend the party.

J. O'Callaghan,

I apologize for not delivering this in person; I am incredibly busy and simply did not have any time outside of sending this letter to reach you.

It would be a pleasure if you would make an appearance at my house tomorrow night. It may give you something new to write about, maybe spark some inspiration. (I have seen a handful of the drafts you throw out. They're fantastic.) I do hope to see you there. It would be a fantastic opportunity to finally make your acquaintance.

Cordially, D. Weekes

I tacked the letter on my wall, just under the clock mounted near the backyard door. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever received.

꧁꧂

[Start the song if you want to. It's called A Little Party Never Hurt Nobody by Fergie and a few other people okay it was on the movie soundtrack]

The fanciest piece of clothing I owned was the same plain ensemble I'd worn to Brendon's house a while back. It was the same plain button down with ironed slacks, but I'd ditched the blazer because I'd spilled dinner over it after pulling it from the dry cleaners last week. I had to take it straight back, and I hadn't yet the chance to return to downtown and pick it up again. Besides, there were people who hadn't changed from the clothes they wore for work, so I'd blend in halfheartedly.

On my way down the dirt path leading from my front door, I ran into a group of boys at least ten years younger. They were far scruffier than I was, so I didn't think twice about heading to Weekes's house for the night.

Past the fountain in the front garden and the shrubs trimmed to perfection, I'd realized the taste of riches at Brendon's home was only the tip of the iceberg. The entrance hall was twice the height of my house from the dirt to the roof shingles, and was packed to the sides with people filing in like water through a tight funnel, sand slipping eagerly through an hourglass.

Up ahead, over the tops of large hats and chandeliers hanging far from the ground, there was more; so much more. It was twice as grand as Brendon's. Every item on the walls or lining the foundation must've been a year's salary of mine. The two staircases extending from the same golden doors were lined with my whole life savings, waiters were adorned in suits that cost as much as my house, the individual delicacies on the trays they carried looked about the same price as the bundle of cash Ryan had bundled up for Taylor's new dress.

I finally understood what Hayley's shock was for over finding out I hadn't met the neighbor yet. It'd been eating away at me for the past couple of days once I'd gotten to thinking about whether or not the knowledge of his existence was a necessity, or if he was just another irrelevant wealthy snot.

While the thought of her was still stuck like glue on my mind, she tapped my shoulder and snuck up by my side. Her hair was curled loosely and pinned down under a beaded headband strung out of dull but beautiful shades. The floor length gown she wore was equally gorgeous as the one I'd met her in, though the shape was more polished and form-fitting in perfect areas, on the borderline of scandalous, and the low cut neckline extended halfway down her chest. The bare skin was covered up with a long string of pearls that matched the creamy color.

"John," she smiled, but had to yell to be heard above the blaring music, "fancy seeing you here. I thought you'd never turn up."

"Well, I got an invitation. I just had to attend this time." I held up the empty envelope, much to her surprise. Her mouth fell open and she snatched it out of my hands, holding it up to the chandeliers like a cashier would to a bill.

Her smooth fingernails skimmed the wax design, pausing disappointedly when she realized the letter wasn't included. I had to explain that it was at my own home, hung on the wall. That only seemed to disappoint her more.

"Nobody ever gets invited," she scrunched her nose, confused, "people just... show up. You swear he gave this to you? It may be counterfeit, you adorable idiot."

I nodded and held my right hand to my chest, even though it wasn't delivered to me directly. "I swear on my life, it's the absolute truth. I could never even afford penmanship like this. It was addressed to me and signed by him."

"John, how much have you had to drink already? Are you still drunk from another lonely night at home?"

"No, of course not! I'm far from an alcoholic, Miss Williams, I'll have you know."

"Oh please, dear, just call me Hayley." She said and the soft pads of her fingers skimmed across my cheek just as she stepped back and disappeared into a crowd of people far taller than she was. Immediately, I was lost.

I bumped into a man, accidentally, on the balcony over an indoor pool swimming with strangers and confetti. I took the chance to ask if he'd seen Weekes that night. The only person I knew was Hayley, and she was gone. Knowing somebody at a party was a necessity as I grew older and recognized loneliness was only a choice that I held in my own hands.

"Nobody's ever seen him," the man frowned deeply, awfully intoxicated already, "why do you ask?"

"Well, I'm his neighbor, you see, and I received an invitation from him just this morning—"

"An invitation? Nobody's ever been invited before!" He started to awkwardly squeeze in between people crowded in clumps to watch a forming group of jazz musicians kick off a tune, not even glancing back to try to maintain the conversation.

"I'm aware! Do you know anyone who has seen him? I haven't even seen so much as his face yet, and here I am—"

A girl with short blonde hair shaped into waves framing her slender face grabbed my shirt collar and pulled for a second to steal my attention. "Weekes? I heard he's the second cousin of the Kaiser and third to the devil; that's why he's so wealthy, and why nobody has ever seen him in person. What if he has devil horns?!"

I found that to be highly unlikely, needless to say. "Yes, yes, but have you seen him around? I'd really like to—"

"Word being passed around says he's a spy from the war, all the way from Germany."

"Someone told me he's visiting from the future from a time machine, and that he's traveled back in time nearly ninety years!"

"My friend was told that he actually fought in the war and died on the battlefield, but some thief stole his name."

"My cousin says she met him at Yale a few years back, that they were in a class together."

"I was told he killed a man in cold blood for a pack of smokes!"

"My wife believes he isn't a real person, just an identity created by the government to catch bootleggers!"

By that point, I'd found excitement stirring in my mind. I had yet to find something mildly interesting to write about, and if any of the rumors were true, I had a captivating character rising on the horizon.

The party only escalated after that. There were bottles of illegally obtained alcohol everywhere I looked, plates filled with sweets, women and men alike losing their mind and letting loose in the noise of blaring saxophones and trumpets all around. People danced on the edges of the fountains in high heels and sharp dress shoes. I could barely keep my head wound straight in all the commotion. It was easy to become overwhelmed at such an event.

I ended up in a library beside Hayley, though I couldn't recall how I'd reconnected with her or how we'd stumbled through the doors together. She'd downed a drink or two as well, but I was sure she wouldn't end up like me in the morning.

"It's absolutely ridiculous," she declared loudly to the other unknown guest in the room, "how Weekes hosts a party as grand as this, but nobody knows who he is! Isn't that strange, John? Why doesn't anyone know him?"

"I'm not quite sure, but he has to be real, he has to be around here somewhere! Maybe he has a severe case of stage fright, or a fear of crowds as large as they are." I could hear the words tripping over themselves as they tumbled into the air.

She frowned and picked up an old book, too much dust packed on the cover so the title was hidden. "That's ludicrous, John. If he were so afraid of crowds, he wouldn't welcome them into his humble abode every weekend. Either way," she set it down with an impatient huff, "he's mad, he's absolutely mad. I can't even begin to fathom as to why he would host these if he wouldn't be down there for his fair share of all the fun."

Through the wall of windows stretching from the floor to the ceiling, I watched a cluster of presumptuous women tap glasses of champagne together in the middle of the packed dance floor. "He has to be around here somewhere, then. What do you say to a contest?"

A wicked grin split her dark red lips, eyes sparkling with excitement. "You're on, O'Callaghan. If I find him first, you have to..." her attention flickered out the window for a second, "...jump in the crowded little pool down there, fully clothed. And it has to look like an accident, otherwise it won't be funny or worth it."

"But what if I find him first?"

Hayley thought about it for a good minute. She chewed at the inside of her lip and combed through her hair. "I'll give you a kiss?"

"Just on the cheek, isn't it, like my mother did when I fell off my bike and skidded down the road. What a prize for a bet!" I taunted her, though for no good reason. I felt like I was losing the gumballs stacked on top of each other in the machine of my mind. I'd already had enough to drink. All I heard was spontaneous nonsense spilling from my mouth.

Possibly, it was a joint feeling. "I'll shove you into traffic, John, and I'll kiss those bruised lips."

I wasn't in love with her, though there were quick glimpses of false belief when I swore we both had matching bands on our fingers and a diamond the size of the moon on hers, but the tender curiosity of her lips tugged me into agreement either way the dice rolled. I didn't love her.

I nodded once in silent agreement and we locked eyes quickly before darting out through the library's grand double doors and down the dual staircase leading the crowded floor. I didn't even know what Weekes looked like — Hayley must've had some idea, if she'd heard of him before or if she'd attended one of his parties prior. She was well known throughout New York as well; her popularity would either slow her down or take her to the finish line twice as fast.

I had to find him. Not only for the sake of my clothes, but for the prize if I won. I took to tapping strangers on the shoulder and asking if they'd seen him, but I'd be met with the same answer every time; nobody had ever seen him. The theory of Weekes being fabricated by the government to bust bootleggers seemed more likely by the minute.

I'd only been intoxicated twice in my life. The first was approximately eight years ago, the night when I had officially turned twenty one. I'd signed a pact for my mother when I was seven that I would wait and never touch alcohol until it was legal, and I let loose as soon as I was allowed. The second time was a combination of the entire first half of the party, and when I watched Hayley across the front garden with a man at least a head taller than she was. I was sure she'd found him, and ruining the only remotely expensive material I owned was not something I wanted to remember when I woke up the next morning.

Someone passed me another drink just as I'd finished one from a tray long gone, sparkling water flavored like raspberries in place of the strong alcohol in the last one I'd taken. "You might want to slow down, my friend. Is everything alright?"

I kept walking through the clusters of people and up the staircase to the near vacant balcony, and he followed behind me. "I believe I just lost a bet, you see, and I'd rather not recall the consequences of my loss when I wake up in the morning."

"It's not over until it's over, if you know what I mean. I might be able to help, if you need any."

Nobody had been able to help. I'd spoken to nearly every person I had come into contact with, and they all gave the same answer. "Thanks for the offer, but I highly doubt it. I'm trying to find someone, but nobody here has ever caught a glimpse. I'm sure my friend across the property has found him; Weekes, I think is his name. I was invited, but I haven't seen him all night! Isn't that wild?"

"Is that so?"

"Absolutely! I've heard he's from the future, but someone also said he fought in the war, and another swore he was a German spy — can you believe it? I've never even seen him before! A stranger even told me that he's third cousin to the devil!"

Fireworks shot up from the middle of the bay, off a platform loaded with lines of them. The sea of people paused below to watch, but my attention was stolen by the high windows arching to a large clock seconds away from striking eleven. It was late, and I needed to get home soon.

"I'm afraid I haven't been much of a host then," he said, "you see, I'm Weekes."

Even though I was frozen in place with embarrassment as soon as I'd turned around, he was still smiling. He had one of those rare smiles you only come across once or twice in your life. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and I wondered how in the world I had overlooked him the whole night. He seemed so obvious. "Oh, I-I'm so sorry, please forgive me — I've had quite a bit to drink, and I'm afraid my filter has turned in for the night. "

"There's no need to apologize," he frowned, but the grin didn't budge, though it did falter for a second, "it's easy to get caught up in the moment. I've been searching for you all night as well, Mr. O'Callaghan."

I was at a loss for words for what seemed to be the twentieth occasion in such a short burst of time. I felt my cheeks grow red and my heart pound in my chest. I didn't know what to say.

Like a godsend, Hayley sauntered up the staircase to my left, and introduced herself with a sweet smile that I'd grown quite fond of, but found it paled in comparison to Weekes's.

He held out his hand, and Hayley had to guide my own to his. "You can just call me Dallon, if that alleviates any stress." With ease, he took hold of Hayley's hand as well and gave a gentle squeeze.

"Just John, then, if we're on first name basis, please." I felt as if I were a mere thirty seconds away from fainting, even with Hayley's arm wrapped around my waist, trying her best to hold me up for a pleasant conversation.

"Dallon," she dug her nails into my wrist and clutched my shirt for dear life, "your home is just gorgeous; I feel ashamed to have never met you before. I've fallen in love with every inch of this palace a thousand times."

"The feeling is mutual, Miss Williams," he was tall, so overwhelmingly tall, "it's a pleasure to welcome a famous athlete. Did you both come together? I haven't had the fortune of reading through every article of the newspapers"

I'd wished we had arrived hand in hand, but she wasn't interested in me as anything more than a close friend. The prize to winning the bet was platonic, a drunken decision; unless she only created to shine the spotlight elsewhere as a tailored distraction. That was also in the realm of possibility, even if I didn't particularly want it to be.

"Oh, no," she held her head high and dropped her hand from my back, "we're simply acquaintances. He's the cousin to one of my friends; we met at a quaint dinner party a few weeks back, and it was pure coincidence seeing him here. He's never been before, I thought I wouldn't ever see him again."

Visibly, his posture straightened, and he gained another inch or two. "Cousin to who?"

"Brendon Urie," I pointed across the bay, but he didn't follow, "he lives just over the water. We were close when we were younger, but we grew apart and I'm hoping to get to know him again. Believe it or not, I almost miss him."

Dallon had the same gleam in his eyes my cousin had when Hayley mentioned him at dinner, though the expectance for more was overshadowed by strong reminiscence and nostalgia. His eyes were cold and reminded me of stone, or a storm tossing and turning over the ocean, but it softened when Brendon's name lingered in the air like a burst of smoke. "That's fantastic," he mumbled, grip tightening around the half-empty glass in his hand, "fantastic that you have family so close, considering you recently moved in from Los Angeles, or so I was told."

"It sure is. It's crazy, isn't it? He's so close to me, and the fact that he lives all the way out here had completely slipped my mind!"

"It is indeed. Tell your cousin that he's welcome over here any time."

I nodded just as the fireworks show closed with an extravagant finale loud enough to blow out my eardrums back home to California. All I could hear was a sharp ringing for a minute or two, but it didn't seem to bother anybody else below us from the balcony. They continued dancing and conversing as if the demonstration had never happened. Everyone moved on so quickly; the enchanting intimacy of a party was lost in sheer carelessness and the moment when nothing seemed to matter.

"I'll see you later John," Hayley pulled me down to her level to shout in my ear over the deafening cheers and pops of champagne bottles, "Weekes wants to speak with me privately."

"Ask him if he's a spy," I said, "you can never be too cautious."

"I'll make sure of it. It'd be a shame to compromise the easily corruptible security of the nation." She placed her hands carefully on my cheeks and kissed me for what felt like years. For at least one of those years, I swore she loved me. But I'm apprehensive at the worst of times and I slam the brakes on my desires, truth be told, I overthink the simplest of things. I was the one to push her away, and I didn't hear from her once until I decided to wander back home with conflicting tastes lingering on my lips. Nothing else had mattered after I'd decided to disconnect the only rapport of the night.

I saw her, later, with another man. It was dark and awfully busy everywhere but where she stood, so I couldn't distinguish any features other than his height. For certain, it wasn't Weekes. My head was throbbing too much to put much effort into determining who was clutching her arm.

"John, oh John! I have to tell you something," she waved across the road, pausing in front of a vehicle packed with men and women, all practically dangling out of the seats, "I can't believe it myself, I have to tell you! It's important, it's about Weekes! It's the best and the absolute worst scoop of the century! I might have to pursue a journalist career now!"

I smiled the best I could at the sight of her hanging over someone else, at the sight of a man's arm slung casually around her shoulders like they'd known each other for years, and hoped she'd call me later to make plans and include me on the dreadful information she couldn't possibly keep to herself for much longer. But I remembered that she was famous and wealthy, rich beyond her wildest dreams, and I still struggled to pay rent in a dusty cabin. There was no room in her fortune and life to love me.

I was one of the few honest people I'd ever known; Hayley claimed she wasn't looking for a relationship of any sorts, yet she seemed to lead on any man that she found stared at her beauty for a second too long. But dishonesty in a woman is something you never blame too deeply. However, Brendon and Ryan both lived in a world built upon lies, lies and cheating, tailed constantly by the life built behind their backs for another. I wasn't sure about Dallon, though. That seemed to be another tale that would be carved out on its own with a silver blade.