There is a wedding at an estate. Nina and I and our party arrive and enter through a space where other guests are seated. It is quite crowded.
As we are walking through a corridor between seated people, one set of guests starts threatening me very aggressively. One of them, in particular, seems to be taunting me. He pulls his fist back in a cocked position as if to punch me. I recognize this person, and my instinct is to beat the crap out of him. But I refrain and simply ask politely repeatedly if he will please let us pass. Others are watching. My friend, Chris, is behind me as part of my party. This person again threatens to punch me, and his party also make remarks at me. At one point a foot is threateningly positioned in front of my face. But I maintain my cool, and eventually they let me pass, as they must.
Another table of guests, who had watched the altercation, accuse me and Nina of being at fault, saying something about how the table we wanted was quite large, large enough, as if explaining the other guests’ aggression. The man gestures toward the table, which is a two-person table with a table cloth. We continue walking. As we walk, a Mexican waiter comes up and says that we should have said something. I say that Nina was about to say something to the woman who was responsible, but that she had resisted the temptation.
Then we are inside a house, an old stone house that is part of the estate. As my party and others are inside, I climb out of a small window. Out behind the house, I peer inside at the party, but I know that there is someone out here who is coming to get me. A murderer dressed in a black outfit which is a bit worn out and faded, including a hood that seems to be quite disheveled. This person sneaks up behind me, but I know they are there and turn around in time. This killer is known to be at this party.
The guy who threatened to punch me is named Matthew Boldface. Despite being threatening, he is not the true killer, although he may know the true killer.
In the back yard, there is a band preparing to play to a small audience. I step into an awkward small corner of the yard, with a member of the band’s group is standing, and attempt to get out of the way to watch the music. On the other side of the performance area is the crowd of other guests. Where I am standing appears to be uncomfortable, so I move to a slightly better spot within the same corner. There is a Mexican traditional band that begins to play Carmen, the opera, however the music is “America” from West Side Story.