I take a deep breath and knock on the giant oak door that separated me from the inside of an old college buddies manor.

I had known him for years and then he went MIA after college. Haven't spoken to him since. And, suddenly, I get a letter with a fancy wax seal, saying that he wanted to invite me to dinner at his place on Friday, October 13, 2017.

Today.

Mark Fischbach, my best-friend/crush from college just, out of the blue, mails me a letter, telling me to come to a sketchy mansion, after not speaking to me for 6 years! And, here I am, knocking on his giant door, at about 10 at night. It was freezing and snow was starting to cover the ground.

The door suddenly swings open and I'm greeted with an unfamiliar face. "Welcome, Mr. McLoughlin! Come, come, dinner is almost ready." I'm guessing, the butler tells me.

I raise an eyebrow. "At..." I check my watch. "9:33 at night?"

The butler nods and smiles, guiding me into the dining room. The table was massive, able to fit six on each side with one on each end. The polished cherry wood, blanketed by an egg-white linen table cloth. I gawk at the beautifully made wood. How the intricate notches in the wood were perfect, not a single carving out of place.

"Jesus, Mark must be loaded." I gasp.

"Well, being a biomedical engineer has its perks." Mark's voice sounds behind me. I look back and see him walking down a magnificent staircase.

I smile. "Man, you got old." I jokingly insult him. He opens his arms and I pull him into a hug, clapping him on the back.

"Its great to see you, man. How've you been?" I laugh.

"Great, I just wanted to get the gang back together! Just like the old times, yeah?" He smiles at me.

"Yeah! Who'd you invite?" I ask. Mark shrugs.

"Just a few people. You know, Felix, Ken, Bob, Wade. Just the guys!" I laugh and nod.

"Sounds fun! Hey! Maybe we can play a few songs! Just like the good ol' days!" I recommend.

"Great idea! I have some guitars and a drum kit in the basement. We'll play some after dinner."

***

I bring my drumsticks up, doing a few tricks before slamming them down for the first note.

Felix played the bass. Ken, the guitar. Bob and Wade switched out with them every song. While I played the drums. Mark sang, just like always.

Guitar Hero. This was what we used to play in college. This and Call of Duty. Just non-stop gaming, days at a time. We didn't care, never have.

I miss the simple days when all you had to do is walk a couple feet and ask for a slice of pizza when you were hungry. Or if you needed someone to talk to at 3 A.M., your buddies were there, no matter what.

"Alright! Bob, I'm tapping you in. Gotta shit." I chuckle and watch as Felix walks off.

"What song next?" Mark asks.

"How 'bout..." I think. "Chop suey?"

Mark picks up the controller and finds the song, but before he can click play, we hear a loud bang from another room. A gunshot, maybe?

Mark and I share a look. We bolt out of the room and to the bathroom. We throw open the door.

The sight was gut-wrenching.

There lie Felix, a single bullet-hole in his forehead. A drop of blood was making it's way down his nose and onto his top lip. The body was dumped into the bathtub, bloody water surrounding him. The faucet was still pouring out water but neither one of us bothered to turn it off.

But the bullet-hole wasn't his only wound.

He seemed to be gutted. And the weapon couldn't have been a small pocket knife. Maybe a butcher's knife?

I cover my mouth and turn my back to his body. I let out a half-sob and watch as Mark stomps out of the room.

"Everyone! In the dining room, now!" Mark's voice commands.

I rush to the room and see Mark leaning over the table. The table cloth, clenched in his fists.

Bob, Wade, and Ken walk in, confusion written on their faces.

"What's wrong?" Ken asks. "Where's Felix?"

Mark takes a deep breath before replying. "Felix is dead." His voice was filled with sadness, anger, and... Betrayal.

I hear Bob let out a small gasp. I look at the floor, sadness racking my body.

"Who did it?" Mark growls.

The room was silent, nobody said a word. It seemed as of everybody held their breath, waiting for someone to admit it.

Finally, the butler breaks the silence. "Sir, you should sit down. Do you need some water?" He goes to rush to him, but I stop him.

"You did it!" I hiss.

Everybody's eyes flicker in between us.

"You sure are quick to blame." He spits. "I believe that you did it!"

Wade steps in. "How could Jack have done it? He was with us the entire time."

This shuts him up.  I give him a look filled with pure hatred. I go to Mark.

"He wasn't in the room with us. But neither was the cook." I explain, quietly. I go to explain further but Mark cuts me off.

"That's enough!" He barks. The room, once again, goes silent. "I will not stand by, while my workers are blamed for the murder of my best friend!" Mark's voice turns calm.

"Look, we all just need sleep. Everyone, go to your rooms. Philip and I will take care of the body."

"But, Mark, I-" he once again cuts me off.

"You, too, Jack..." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Blaming won't do anything, right now. We'll take care of everything in the morning." He gives me a small smile that I know is phony. But I nod and walk up the stairs, giving Mark one last look before entering my room.