Malcolm woke up disoriented, with no memory of the wild bachelor party the night before, only to find the groom had vanished. Driven by determination, he embarked on a frantic quest to bring his friend back before the wedding bells tolled. But things took a turn when Malcolm became the prime suspect in his buddy’s disappearance.
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The Nightmare Awakening
In a hotel room filled with the chaos of last night’s debauchery, Malcolm stirred. Groggy and disheveled, he stumbled across the wreckage, urging Dave awake.
“Dave, Dave, wake up,” Malcolm croaked, shaking his friend’s shoulders. When the shaking didn’t work, a slap to the cheek prompted Dave to bolt upright, clutching his head in confusion.
“Feeling alright?” Dave asked, his voice rough.
“Feels like I got hit by a truck,” Malcolm grimaced, gulping down water with desperation.
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“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Dave replied, attempting to stand but quickly resigning himself to sitting.
“Everything hurts,” Malcolm said, wincing at his reflection in the mirror, his face a canvas of bruises.
“We need to find Tom and get out of here before housekeeping shows up,” Dave remembered suddenly.
“Tom! Tom!” Malcolm began a desperate search, his voice echoing in the empty room. No response.
“Don’t yell. My head’s splitting,” Dave groaned, covering his ears.
“Tom!” Malcolm persisted, growing increasingly frantic.
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Panic Sets In
“Do you remember anything about last night?” Dave asked, concern etched on his face.
“Not a thing,” Malcolm replied, frustration apparent in his voice.
“Me neither,” Dave admitted, the worry deepening their shared anxiety.
Realizing Tom was nowhere to be found, Dave tried to stay optimistic. “Maybe he’s out grabbing breakfast. I’ll call him.” But his pockets yielded only poker chips.
“Or you call him. I can’t find my phone,” Dave suggested, beginning a clumsy search.
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Malcolm dialed the groom’s number, only to hear the cold, disconnected tone. “His phone’s off,” he informed Dave.
“We need to find him. The wedding is tomorrow,” Dave mused grimly.
“Let’s head to the casino; maybe he stayed there,” Malcolm suggested, hoping for a lead.
In the elevator, Malcolm pressed an ice pack to his nose, trying to soothe the pain. Curious about the night’s events, Dave broke the silence. “Why don’t we remember anything?”
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“Because we obviously had too much fun,” Malcolm half-joked, attempting to lighten the mood.
As they reached the lobby, police officers approached. “Are you Malcolm Davis?” one officer asked sternly.
“Yeah, is there a problem?” Malcolm replied, trying to stay calm.
“Are we being arrested for throwing an epic party?” Dave nervously chuckled.
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The Accusation
The officer’s demeanor was serious. “Mr. Davis, turn around. You are under suspicion for the murder of Tom Bretford.”
“Murder?” Malcolm and Dave gasped in unison, their shock palpable.
“Please cooperate,” the officer insisted as Malcolm panicked.
“You have to believe me, Dave. I didn’t do this,” Malcolm pleaded, a sense of dread taking over.
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Desperation led Malcolm to make a rash decision. He bolted through the lobby, narrowly escaping into the laundry room. He had to find the truth.
Hiding, he managed to sneak out the back, catching a taxi to the casino—determined to uncover what had truly happened.
Upon arrival, the sight of police tape and a bloodstain made his heart sink. This was more serious than he’d ever imagined.
An inebriated man stumbled by, eyes glassy. “What’re you staring at?” he slurred, moving into the taped area.
“I’m not sure you can go in there,” Malcolm cautioned, but the man ignored him.
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In Search of Truth
“My stuff’s in there. I’m not leaving it just because two idiots fought,” the man retorted.
“Did you see anything last night?” Malcolm pressed, desperate for information.
“I don’t talk to cops,” the man replied suspiciously.
“I’m not a cop. I partied here last night but can’t remember anything. Please, if you saw anything, it could help,” Malcolm explained.
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The man peered at Malcolm, recognition dawning. “Are you the one who got cheated on or the cheater?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?” Malcolm was confused.
“You guys were fighting over a girl. One of you yelled about the other sleeping with his fiancée,” the man recalled.
“No, he couldn’t have found out,” Malcolm whispered, realization hitting him.
“Ah, so you’re the cheater then,” the man smirked.
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“What happened next?” Malcolm was anxious for more details.
“The other guy started beating you up. You kept yelling ‘Let’s talk!’ When he finished, you finally fought back. It was like a movie,” the man described.
“So, I didn’t kill him?” Malcolm asked, horrified.
“No, he fell. You said you wouldn’t fight and left. He was alive with a black eye,” the man explained, easing Malcolm’s fears.
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“He was alive when I left?” Malcolm asked, hoping for confirmation.
“Yes, but he made a scene. He cut his arm with a knife. That’s where all the blood came from,” the man clarified.
“Why would he do that?” Malcolm was puzzled.
“Don’t know. He had a tourniquet with him. Who carries that?” the man wondered.
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“Will you tell the police?” Malcolm implored.
“I don’t talk to cops!” the man insisted stubbornly.
“Please! They think I killed him,” Malcolm begged.
“Figure it out yourself,” the man said, walking away.
Left alone, Malcolm called Dave to share the startling revelation.
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“Malcolm, where are you?” Dave asked anxiously.
“It doesn’t matter. Tom was alive when I saw him last,” Malcolm explained urgently.
“An anonymous witness told the police they saw you killing Tom. That’s why they’re after you,” Dave revealed.
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Malcolm was stunned. “What else did they say?”
“They haven’t found a body or murder weapon. They think you hid them,” Dave responded. “You should turn yourself in.”
The Frame-Up
Malcolm realized it was a setup. “No, I can’t. I know what to do,” he said, smashing his phone.
He knew Tom was framing him and likely needed money to escape. Malcolm had to act quickly.
Hailing a taxi, he raced to Liz’s parents’ hotel to intercept the final wedding payment.
Near the hotel, he realized he couldn’t enter as himself. An elderly woman in the vicinity gave him an idea.
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“Can we swap clothes? I’ll pay you,” he asked. Initially reluctant, she agreed after seeing the money.
Disguised, Malcolm approached the hotel, determined to confront Tom.
“May I see your documents, ma’am?” an officer asked.
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“Why do you need them?” Malcolm mimicked the old woman’s voice.
“To verify your identity,” the officer replied.
Malcolm created a dramatic diversion. “Are you hitting on me?!”
“No, ma’am…”
“Pervert! I pay good money to stay here and you harass me? I’m calling the police,” Malcolm yelled.
The confusion allowed him to enter the hotel undetected.
He raced to Liz’s floor, revealing himself. “Liz, it’s me,” he said urgently.
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“Malcolm? What are you doing here?” she asked, shocked.
“Tom’s framing me. This is about us sleeping together,” he explained.
“I told him about us. He took it well,” Liz admitted, pale.
“Why?” Malcolm asked.
“I couldn’t marry with a lie,” Liz confessed, tears in her eyes.
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Malcolm’s Plan
He swapped envelopes, hands shaking. “What are you doing?” Liz asked.
“No time to explain. The police could be here any moment. Our night meant nothing to you?” Malcolm was hurt.
Liz didn’t answer. She headed to the bathroom and then said, “Forgive me, Malcolm.”
Before he could process her words, cops stormed in. “How could you, Liz?” he murmured, feeling betrayed.
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Malcolm escaped through the window but was soon caught. He hid the money envelope behind a trash can, bracing for what was next.
In the interrogation room, the detective demanded, “Where’s the body?”
“I didn’t kill anyone. He’s alive!” Malcolm insisted.
“And you got this info from…?” the detective prodded.
“A homeless man,” Malcolm admitted.
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The detective sneered. “Very reliable.”
“Believe me!” Malcolm cried.
Suddenly, a report came in. “Tom was caught with counterfeit money,” the detective revealed.
“I swapped the real cash for fake. I knew he would need money to flee,” Malcolm explained.
“You stay here until we confirm,” the detective ordered.
Hours later, news broke that Tom was indeed alive. He confessed to setting Malcolm up and staging his own murder.
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“Why did he do it?” the detective wondered aloud.
“Because I slept with his fiancée,” Malcolm confessed, guilt heavy on his heart.
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