Stephen King and the silver haired, leather clad, identical triplets with unusually thick-wrinkled faces

A black woman showed some cops bruises on one side of her back. She tells cops of a serial killer living in this house next to April's house, but it is also like Bob Stans' house. The cops walked right into the house talking out loud toward the serial killer saying, "If this is true what she is saying you're going to jail a long time." They go downstairs, but it is quiet for a while and I am prepared to flee.  But the cops hogtie and carry him upstairs past me outside. They stand him up near a sidewalk, but elevated about five or 6 feet. They're talking with him when he all of a sudden lurches over and falls somersault style, 5 to 6 feet below on top of his head.  The cops let him fall.  By the way his head hit the pavement, I thought it could've been fatal but the cops were not so concerned.  They were slow to call for medical attention.  The guy they arrested was silent.  He looked very scary and had very bad teeth, all of his teeth were dirty yellow gray.  I thought it is going to be interesting to tell April that she is had this serial killer living next-door for so long. 

I pulled into a dark parking lot and see a cop and another man locked in a wrestling position; the cop had control of the man, holding him down, restraining him. Why are there no other cops coming to the scene? Did he call me as a taxi driver?  I rolled down my window and speak to the officer, slightly suspicious of the entire scene.  His explanation and directions on how I should proceed are slightly confusing.  Should I call more police to the scene on his behalf?  I don't even see his police vehicle right there.  Maybe I will drive away to seek out another police officer to go back to the scene.
 

There is a girl from high school in an elaborate black, leather-ish dress/costume outside; I am inside and our eyes meet for a second.  We will all be attending this big wedding that our relatives are rushing to, and I am probably the last to get there, but it hasn't actually started yet. Chris Wicklund, Jim Pearson are part of the wedding party.  Then everybody is flooding onto a big hillside for the wedding ceremony.

I saw Stephen King go to a library counter to talk with the librarian about an overdue book he was returning.  He had to pay a fine of several dollars and I thought it would be interesting to walk up and offer to pay the fine on his behalf.  And so I did.  He was already in the process of putting out money to pay, when I offered, but Stephen King appreciated my gesture and shook my hand, and asked if I played chess. I said, "yes."  So he asked me what size room I like to play chess in, small or large?, and I said, "Any size room, or even under the open sky" as I gestured with my hand in a semi-circular fashion . . . an open sky.  He interpreted that as me saying that I like to play all around the world -- that we could then play all around the world.  Which I thought maybe he meant a different, more elaborate, universal type of chess.  Maybe a more three-dimensional type of chess game, rather than on a flat board.  So I was slightly concerned that we were talking about different kinds of chess.  I walked over to his table to write down my contact information. 

As I started to write on a little card, or sticky note, I told him it is ridiculous that I don't yet have a business card.  I was having difficulty writing my name and email address. In fact I kept trying to write Robyn's email address on and off.  At one point he gently and playfully took my pen, and wrote in a small "l" as my next letter in my email address.  Although that was not the next letter.  I started and restarted writing my contact information at least two times, but there wasn't enough room on this card hardly. Stephen King also looked like multi-billionaire Paul Allen a little bit.

I was staying in a beach house overlooking the ocean.  At one point giant waves started to form and came crashing, splashing all the way to the pool next to the beachhouse.  I overheard some guys saying there have never been waves so big there.  I was only staying in this area for another five days out of this two-week vacation.  But it was also like Salt Lake City at times.  Fran and a friend were there; at one point there was a race back to the beachhouse, sometimes in the Seattle Sodo neighborhood in cars, but sometimes walking and/or running through an open mall type place. There were lots of goth kids and adults, and one very odd set of triplets with super wrinkly faces. I stopped racing before getting on elevators to go upstairs. I went on a little styrofoam like elevator up towards someone's loft and then realized it's the wrong elevator.  Finally went upstairs and it was decided we (Me, Fran and Robyn) would go to a local public pool/hot tub area.  When we got there, we arranged our vehicle in the tiny cul-de-sac spot only about 20 feet from the hot tub.  I turned my vehicle around by picking it up and faced it outward rather than in, perhaps for an easier or quicker escape if necessary.  I laughed when we got to the hot tub because only one person could fit in it, and there were a dozen people around, some possibly in a line to take turns to go into the hot tub. Then Fran took me to go find a bathroom not too far away.  There were a few topless women around. I thought Fran may have been one of these super-free spirits, but I turned around and she was in a regular, purplish swimming suit with multi-colored, thin stripes.