The Tin Box
By
K
IM
F
IELDING
N
OVELS
Brute
The Tin Box
Venetian Masks
B
ONES
SERIES
Good Bones
Buried Bones
N
OVELLAS
Night Shift
Speechless
The Gig
Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
5032 Capital Circle SW
Ste 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886
USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Tin Box
Copyright © 2013 by Kim Fielding
Cover Art by Anne Cain
Cover content is being used for illustrative purposes only
and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
ISBN: 978-1-62798-169-9
Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-170-5
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
September 2013
G
RAVEL
crunched under the tires of William Lyon’s ancient Toyota. The boxes and bags holding his worldly possessions rattled and shifted. He rolled up the window to avoid the choking cloud of dust kicked up by the Volvo ahead of him, but that left him feeling suffocatingly hot. The AC in his car had died long ago. That had rarely been an issue in the Bay Area, but it was going to be more problematic here in the Sierra foothills.
The road curved around grassy hillocks already gone brown in the late spring heat. Off in the distance he saw a few cows standing placidly in the shade of sprawling live oaks. With mild interest, they watched the cars pass by. The road turned once more as it rose slightly, and William got his first look at his new home.
Jelley’s Valley State Insane Asylum sprawled imposingly across several acres of mostly flat land, with a steep hill rising behind it. The grounds were surrounded by a tall metal fence. The facility comprised several buildings, although he couldn’t take a good inventory of them as he tried to avoid the road’s potholes. But he certainly noticed the largest building, a three-story white stucco monstrosity with a columned front portico and an ornate tower perched in the center of the roof. Even in the glaring sunshine, the building managed to look vaguely sinister. Maybe it was the heavy bars on all the windows, the cracked and peeling paint, or the hollow look common to abandoned buildings.
“Great setting for a horror movie,” he said aloud, then frowned. Talking to himself wasn’t healthy.
The Volvo stopped at a gate in the tall fence. William watched as Dr. Merrick—no, William reminded himself,
Jan
—got out of her car, pulled out an impressively large set of keys, and unfastened the padlock on the gate. Jan put a little muscle into pushing the gate open, got back into her car, and continued toward the main building as William followed.
The parking lot in front of the main building was paved, although weeds grew lushly through cracks in the asphalt. Jan parked the Volvo at an angle, straddling several spaces, but William pulled in carefully between two faded white lines. He turned off the engine and straightened his tie. He considered donning his suit jacket too, but the mere thought of additional clothing made the sweat drip down his forehead.
Jan was waiting for him by the front steps, a broad smile on her face. She was a tiny woman, almost a foot shorter than him, with her graying hair cut in a practical bob. “Gorgeous building, isn’t it? It’s on the National Historic Register.”
He nodded, hoping his face didn’t look too sour. If the place weren’t historic, he supposed they’d have razed it long ago. In his opinion, just because something was old didn’t mean it was worth keeping, and this heap was a prime example of that. What use was a defunct mental institution in the middle of nowhere? It wasn’t as if people drove by to admire the architecture.
Of course, he didn’t say any of this out loud. Instead, he offered a neutral observation: “It’s big.”
She laughed. “It is. It once housed more patients than anyplace else in California. Not for many years now, of course. They closed it down completely back in eighty-two.”
“It’s, um, a lot of space.”
“Don’t worry. A grounds crew comes a couple times a month to hack back the biggest vegetation, and there’s really no reason for you to step foot in the smaller buildings. C’mon. Let me give you the nickel tour.”
He didn’t especially want a tour. He’d have preferred to move his things inside and get settled. But he tagged along dutifully as she led him across the parking lot toward an open space that reminded him of a grassy village square or a park. She pointed across the space, at a large house that might once have been a Victorian wonder but was now mostly a pile of weather-beaten lumber. “That was the director’s house. Important visitors used to come from as far away as San Francisco and Sacramento and the directors would host fancy parties there. Some of the patients—the better-behaved ones, I guess—would act as servants. There are pictures in the online archives if you want to take a look.”
“It looks like a fire hazard.”
She chuckled. “The board of directors has been trying to raise enough money to restore the house. We’re not far from our goal.”
“You better hurry up.”
She continued around the side of the stucco building, where there was another entryway, this one considerably less grand. It somehow looked a little secretive to William, as if it had been used to furtively move people in and out. More buildings were visible around the back.
“Those were the shops,” Jan said, pointing at a long, low structure that was newer and uglier than the main one. “Roof’s mostly caved in, so avoid it. There’s nothing worth preserving there. A big water tower used to be right next door, but it was dismantled years ago. Don’t worry, though—you’ll have a modern water system. There’s a well.”
That was a belated relief, because it hadn’t even occurred to him to worry about whether he’d be able to take a decent shower. Then another thought hit him. “There
is
electricity, right?”
“Of course,” she said with a laugh. “They first ran power out here in the thirties. And there’s satellite TV with Internet. All the mod cons.”
They continued to wander around under the increasingly brutal sun, Jan pointing out features as they went. There were a few more buildings, mostly storage for supplies and vehicles, and a row of little cottages that had once housed some of the more capable inmates. Another falling-down wreck of a building had been apartments for the asylum staff. She told him that one building, in moderately good condition, had originally been the women’s facility but had been put to other uses over the years.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at another open space near the main building, this one surrounded by a low iron fence. The grass and shrubs inside the fence were badly overgrown, and a few lanky trees stretched their limbs out mournfully.
She sighed. “That’s the cemetery.”
“I don’t see any gravestones.”
“There aren’t any. Most of the people here didn’t have anyone to come visit them while they were alive, let alone after they died. The hospital kept some records of who was buried where, but they’re really incomplete. We know this isn’t the only place where they laid people to rest, but we’re not sure where all the graves are. About ten years ago someone was considering buying the property for some kind of resort, but when they did some digging near the edge of the property they ended up unearthing a bunch of skeletons.”
William shuddered. “Ugh.”
“That’s what they thought. They backed out of the deal. Nobody’s been interested since.”
Well, William could certainly understand
that
. But again he held his tongue, and he was relieved when she took them back to the front of the building. She pulled that enormous key ring out of her purse and handed it to him with a little flourish. “You won’t need most of these. The ones for the front door and gate are marked and there’s a list inside that tells you what the others are for. Mostly they’re for interior doors.”
She let him lead the way to the large and ornate front door. He fumbled with the key a little before he managed to turn the lock. The door made a scraping sound as if the hinges were rusty. It probably didn’t get opened very often.
The entry hall was much grander than he expected, with marble floors and ornate wainscoting. The ceiling soared at least twenty feet. An enormous chandelier hung in the middle, thickly festooned with cobwebs and dust and clearly unused for decades. The room was bright with sunlight that poured in through the large windows set high in the walls, and in more recent years someone had installed a series of ugly but functional lights. The space was bare of furniture, but he could see scuff marks on the floor, and he figured there had once been a reception desk and probably some benches or chairs. He wondered whether new patients had entered this way or through the ugly little door on the side.
“You’re free to poke around the building all you want,” Jan said. Her voice echoed off the room’s hard surfaces. “It’s mostly just a lot of empty rooms, or jumbles of old furniture and things. The morgue’s pretty interesting. It’s up on the second floor in the west wing. That was the medical wing. The records room is right near your quarters. We’ve archived only a small portion, so if you get bored and want to pitch in, be my guest.”
“I’ll be working on my dissertation.”
“Of course. I’m sure that’ll keep you plenty busy. Fred tells me that you have quite an impressive data set.”
Fred was Fred Ochoa, supervisor of William’s psych dissertation. He was the one who’d found William this job. “It’s perfect!” Dr. Ochoa had enthused one afternoon two weeks earlier. “I know you like to work in peace and quiet and you’ll have plenty of that. And you’ll get a place to live rent-free.” He cleared his throat. “You’re still, er, a little at loose ends, aren’t you?”
