Ignoring his roommate (and, for the most part, his dinner), Kimbley picked up his flashlight and headed out of the room shortly after the announcements for the night finished and the doors unlocked. No, he had no real idea where the hell he was going ... although if that woman, Lyta, had kept her interest, he had no doubt she'd find him sooner or later. She was a fucking psychic. She could pull his room number from his head easily.

He was barely out the door when a familiar silhouette appeared not far away. The guy from last night - one of them, the one he'd blown off and blinded. Kimbley frowned faintly and pointed his flashlight directly at the man, ready to blind him again - except this time, there were sunglasses in the way, or so it appeared.

And there was the faint stench of homicidal intent in the air ...