McSteve Anderson was convinced he'd fallen off the wagon. Again. But just to be sure, even though he knew without a doubt that he'd drunk himself into a stupor, he went through his five point "I definitely drank too much last night" check list.

Pounding head. Check.

Strong urge to hurl. Check.

Excruciating pain experienced while trying to peel eyes open. Check.

His gaze landed on the pearl white ceiling, a stark contrast to the asbestos roof he was accustomed to. Unfamiliar surroundings. Check.

And last but not least, if last night had been anything like his usual, half naked girl in bed beside him. He turned his head to the side and was met by sapphire blue eyes staring unblinkingly at him. A halo of bleach blonde hair fell around her face framing pale pink bow shaped lips that were slightly parted. A hot pink bra strap lay provocatively halfway down her shoulder. And a knife stuck out of her chest right between two perfect B-cups.

Correction, half naked dead girl in bed beside him. Check.

Vomit shot out of his throat and landed on the girl splattering all over her face and drenching her hair. And still those eyes kept staring, frozen in a look of permanent sapphire blue terror. McSteve scrambled to get out of bed, tangled his legs in the sheets and ended up in a pile on the floor. He finally managed to escape his 250 thread, single ply prison and stood staring at the girl. Though he blinked several times, she didn't disappear.

Or come back to life.

Or become familiar.

He'd become one of those men he wrote about in the Masonry Times. The ones who woke up with a dead body they didn't recognize and with no recollection of the previous night, but were guilty as sin.

As he ran his hand through his black mop of hair, pondering his next move he felt something sticky and cold. He brought his hand back down to inspect it and almost threw up again at the sight of the blood all over it. His boxers, which were the only piece of clothing he was donned in, had large spots of blood here and there and now his head was covered in the stuff too.

He had hardly come to terms with the situation at hand when a loud banging commenced at the door.

"Police! Open up!"

And bonus checkpoint, police banging on the door.

Check.

He panicked. As an investigative journalist he knew how this story would end. Dead girl + Live guy covered in Dead girl's blood = Case solved. And even though he couldn't remember last night's events he was fairly confident he hadn't killed her. He couldn't have, right? He briefly considered jumping out the window but before he could go through with it, the door flew open and five guns pointed at him. Within seconds he was pinned to the ground and his hands were encased in handcuffs.

"You're under arrest for first degree murder. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law..."

***

"I swear I didn't kill that girl Pete. I just woke up and she was right next to me, dead as a doornail. I don't even remember how I got in that room with a girl I don't even know."

"I believe you man. What are the cops saying?"

"They said someone reported seeing me fighting with a girl in a hallway and threatening her with a knife," McSteve replied burying his head in his still-shackled hands that were now cuffed to the table. Pete Michaelson, his fellow investigative journalist at the Masonry Times, had come to snoop out the scoop about the latest murder in the local hotel only to find one his partner smack dab in the middle of it.

"Who's the girl?" Pete asked.

"I don't know her but they said her name is Joylyn Meyer. She's a tourist." Pete paused, remembering her lifeless eyes. "She was a tourist," he corrected. He shook his head to clear the disturbing image from his mind.

"Does anyone else know that I'm here?" McSteve looked like he'd practically aged ten years in the 2 hours he'd been in jail.

Pete shook his head reassuringly. "Just me and I promise I'll keep this on the down low."

"Thanks man, I really appreciate it," McSteve thanked him and paused, deep in thought. "I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure, anything."

"I need you to clear my name. You have to find the person who really killed that girl. Do whatever it takes to solve this case. Just get me out of here."

***

1 day later

"Shit," McSteve groaned as Pete showed him the headline for that day's newspaper.

Esteemed reporter of the Masonry Times arrested for murder.

McSteve reached out for it but Pete placed it out of his reach. "You really don't need to see that."

"Someone from here must have leaked it,"Pete said apologetically as he folded the paper and placed it on his lap.

"And you haven't found anything to clear my name?" McSteve asked desperately. Black rings circled his eyes and his normally coiffed hair hung in limp pathetic strands, falling across his face.

"I tried to get the security footage from the apartment building but a source of mine told me the tapes disappeared. The cops are convinced that you did it somehow so they're not looking for other suspects," Pete said.

"I'm ruined," McSteve shook his head sadly. Pete glanced back at the guard standing outside the visitor's room. Satisfied that he wasn't paying attention to them, he leaned forward a little and whispered to McSteve.

"I can get you out of here. With our investigative skills combined we'll solve this case in no time and I can get you back here before the guards notice you're gone."

McSteve looked at him dubiously. "You can do that? How?"

"I know people." Pete shrugged. "So what do you say?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea." McSteve shook his head doubtfully.

"Think about it. If you can retrace your steps from that night, you could jog your memory and remember something that would help. And besides, right now things don't look too good for you. Your fingerprints were found on the knife and the cops have an eye witness who says he saw you threaten that girl."

It was a hopeless situation indeed. "How would I even get out of here?"

"Leave that to me," Pete smirked. McSteve's gut screamed that this was a bad idea but the thought of going back to that filthy cell gave him pause.

He finally gave his approval and Pete assured him that he would get him out after the guard's night time rounds.

Close to 10p.m, McSteve heard his cell door being unlocked. He waited with baited breath for the door to open and when it did, one of the guards stood there.

"Move," the guard demanded. McSteve went by faith that this guard was in on Pete's plan. He was led down some hallways and dark, strange passageways. He was about to act on his apprehension and run the other way when the guard finally opened a door that led to the outside.

He pushed McSteve out and growled out a warning. "Tell Michaelson if he doesn't have you back by 5 a.m I'll throw him into a cell too when I find you." And with that he shut the door.

McSteve turned and saw Pete waving a gloved hand at him from his car. The gates opened and he rushed out and got into the car.

"You actually did it," McSteve said in wonder as Pete drove off.

"Told you I would. Put these on. We can't have you standing out like an orange beacon." He handed McSteve a large black t-shirt and some pants and McSteve happily replaced his prison outfit with them.

"So where do we go now?" McSteve asked, sighing as he leaned into the comfort of the car seat and inhaled the fresh air floating in through his open window.

"What's the last thing you remember before you woke up in that room?"

"It's mostly a blur but I think I was at the office for a couple of hours to check on something although I don't remember what," McSteve replied.

"Then we'll start there." Pete quickly tapped something out on his phone then put it in his pocket.

They drove in silence, McSteve deep in thought trying to rack his brain for any memory that could tell him what he did that night. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of sirens blaring not very far behind them. McSteve looked back and just as he feared blue and red lights were flashing just behind them.

"Crap, they must have found out you're gone," Pete said stepping on the gas. The car shot off, going at 100 miles per hour with the police following behind them.

"How? I thought you said you knew people." McSteve was full on panicking now.

"Well apparently I didn't pay them enough to keep their mouths shut," Pete said as he took a sharp corner that flung McSteve hard against the car door.

"I know a place where you can hide. I'll leave you there while I get the police off your tail then I'll come back for you when things have simmered down."

"Maybe I should just go back,"

"Absolutely not. If they catch you know I'll also be taken in as an accomplice."

McSteve wasn't sure how to feel about that so he remained silent.

"We're almost there. On my count I'll slow down just enough for you to jump out safely then you have to run into the building. Second floor, last door on your right. Got it?" He tossed a key over to him and continued zig zagging through traffic.

"Okay on three," Pete started to slow down and McSteve clutched the key tighter in his hand. "Now!" McSteve didn't need to be told twice. The car stopped only for a split second and he jumped out and ran out into the dark, dreary looking building. He didn't stop running until he'd reached the room Pete had directed him to and hastily shoved the key in the lock, unlocking it. Once it was open, he flung himself inside and shut the door. The light was on in the room and he briefly considered switching it off and hiding in a corner.

Taking a breath he finally turned around to take a look at his surroundings. The room was almost bare save for a rickety looking bed. And the millions of pictures lining the walls. He walked up to the wall and peered closely at the pictures there. A gasp of surprise escaped his lips as he realized he knew the subject of the picture. He went to the next set and the next and he knew all of them. Each set had several pictures of a girl, in different locations. Almost as if the photographer had been following her around. And in the center a single picture of a male was pinned there. He'd written about these people. The girls were all young females who had turned up dead in motel rooms. He and Pete had solved those crimes and identified the males currently depicted with each girl as the murderer. But what was all that doing here?

He scanned the next wall and almost stumbled from the shock of seeing his face dead center in the middle of pictures of the sapphire-blue eyed girl who now haunted his dreams. There were pictures of the girl in the park, on a tour bus, in a restaurant and so many more. His heart pounded and he backed away from the wall. A sense of déjà vu overcame him as pounding commenced on the door.

"Police! Open up!" The door came crashing in within seconds and the police swarmed in.

"I guess that journalist was right that you'd lead us right to your lair," one of the policemen said cuffing him.

"I swear to you I'm innocent," McSteve cried.

"Then why run?"

"That wasn't my idea. I just..." McSteve stopped mid-sentence as a memory hit him of the last big scoop he'd been working on with Pete. He had a theory that the men they'd thought were responsible for the murders of those girls were innocent and someone else, one person, was behind all of them. Pete had insisted that he let it go but McSteve had been like a dog with a bone about the case and they'd fought about it then gone for drinks on Pete's suggestion to ease the tension. The next thing he knew, he was waking up next to a dead girl, framed for her murder.

Pete had brought him here. Pete had the key to the 'lair.' Pete had helped him 'escape' only to be caught again. This was Pete's lair. And he was the one who'd killed those girls and framed those men, himself included.

"Wait! I know whose place this is. It's Pete's. He's the one who killed all those girls. Not me." The police frog marched him out of the building ignoring his frantic pleas for attention.

"That apartment is registered in your name McSteve. It's over. You're going away for a long time for all those murders." They were outside now and he was being pushed into the back of a squad car.

"No wait, please," he begged to no avail as the door was shut in his face. He caught sight of a figure hovering in the alley besides the building. His eyes locked with Pete's who smirked and waved at him before disappearing down the dark alley taking what little hope McSteve Anderson had of freedom away with him.

***