Graham tipped backward, as the man with his face gave him a hard shove, and he went crashing down the stairs. With his arms tied behind him, he could do absolutely nothing to arrest his decent, rolling to a halt in a dark cellar, surrounded by possibly barrels and other random detritus. Hard to tell in the dark.
"Thanks for being my scapegoat!" fake!Graham called down the stairs. They'll find you down here eventually, and I'll be long gone with your pals by then. Enjoy being me! You'll probably only get five to ten years sentencing, but I bet you can get time off for good behavior if you get the Sheriff on your good side. Not that she has a good side. But you can try. Bye!"
He slammed the door shut, and the darkness was complete.
"Told you not to go running off after random cries for help, hero," Guybrush said, sitting on a barrel.
"You're not helping."
Guybrush flipped onto his stomach beside Graham, a finger raised. "I'm a figment of your imagination, it's your own guilt talking."
"Why can't I get a good imaginary friend? Link would have been helpful."
"Doubtful."