Jay nods anxiously, breathing hard as he leans against a rack of folded towels. The heat is indescribable. He feels like he's being cooked alive.

(He'll never complain about Tuscaloosa summers again.)

The room is spacious, with a bank of sinks down the center and shower faucets lining the tiled walls. Near the back is a pool--not a full on swimming pool, but bigger than his aunt's jacuzzi. (Why the hell is that something he still remembers?)

There's an awful clatter echoing up the stairwell. It's getting closer.

"Hey, Tim," he says, and it sounds thin. "Remember what I said about old tape?"