The Tin Box (2 page)

If sleeping in his tiny office at the university and showering at the gym meant loose ends, William most certainly was. He hadn’t really wanted Dr. Ochoa to know about the pending divorce and his precarious situation, but the man was nothing if not observant.

“I don’t think I’d make a very good caretaker,” William had protested. “I’m not a fix-it kind of guy.”

“Not a problem. Basically, your job is just to keep an eye on things. Make sure vandals don’t overrun the place, stuff like that. You’ll have an emergency number to call if something important breaks. You’ll have a lot of room to spread out, William, plus they’ll pay you enough to squirrel a little cash away if you want to.”

William hadn’t said yes right away. But after three more days of a sore back from sleeping on the office’s lumpy love seat, and with no good prospects beyond a half-dozen noisy roommates, he’d taken the offer.

Now, Jan watched him with her head slightly cocked. “What’s your research subject, William?”

“The influence of word frequency and item arrangement in serial recall. I have some other independent variables too, like elapsed time and number or complexity of interfering events. It’s a fairly intricate experimental design.”

“Uh-huh. It sounds very interesting,” she added, but without conviction.

It
was
interesting—to him, anyway. And not only might his study have some intriguing theoretical repercussions, but there were practical applications as well, such as in the courtroom. But he didn’t bother to explain that now.

“Where do I sleep?” he asked. Almost anyplace would be better than his cramped, slightly mildewy office—well, anyplace but the morgue.

She smiled. “We have a nice apartment set up. This way.”

The double doors near where the desk had once stood were unlocked. Beyond them was a long, gloomy corridor with scuffed floors, peeling painted walls, and more utilitarian light fixtures. The corridor was lined with doors, and the far end appeared to meet another hallway that led off to the right and left. Jan opened the first door they came to, an imposing-looking one made of carved dark wood. “This used to be the director’s office,” she explained.

It was a very large room. Built-in bookcases lined two walls from floor to ceiling, the shelves mostly empty apart from a sad little row of ratty paperback spy thrillers. A few brightly colored rugs—incongruously modern in what was otherwise a very antique-looking room—covered parts of the scuffed oak floor. The chandelier matched the one in the entryway, although this one was smaller and dust-free. Heavy tieback curtains let in the light from two large windows, mercifully unbarred. A grand fireplace was centered on one wall, a sizable pile of logs set into place even though William wouldn’t need a fire anytime soon.

The furnishings were solid and comfortable-looking: a bed flanked by a pair of nightstands, a leather couch and matching armchair, a tall dresser, a mirrored armoire, an enormous desk with an equally enormous padded chair. Two wooden chairs hugged a small round table. Mismatched lamps had been placed on the desk, near the bed, and on a shelf near the armchair. The small, old television didn’t bother William; he’d never been much of a TV-watching guy. Three electric fans stood ready to help move the still, hot air. The inside of the building was cooler than outdoors, but not by much.

Still, this was definitely better than his university office, William concluded.

Jan must have noticed his approval, because she grinned. “Not bad, huh? There used to be a private exam room adjacent. We’ve made that into the kitchenette and bathroom. Come see.”

The small door off to the left led directly into a tiny kitchen, housing a miniature stove and oven, a microwave, a sink, four feet of counter space, and a pair of cupboards. “You might have trouble cooking a feast for twenty in here,” Jan admitted.

“I’m not much of a cook anyway.”

“Well, if you decide to take up a new hobby, the old kitchens—the big ones that cooked for the whole hospital—are on this floor. I doubt any of the appliances work, though.”

“That’s okay.”

The bathroom was basic. No tub, just a tiled shower stall. The sink looked ancient, but the faucet gleamed and the mirror was in good shape. A stacked washer and dryer stood in the corner.

When William and Jan returned to the main room, she cocked her head at him. “So? What do you think? Is it going to work?”

“It’ll be fine,” he said confidently.

“Good. There’s a binder in the desk full of instructions and maps and things like that. The key list is in there too. Oh, and that phone works.” She pointed at a big black phone that looked like an escapee from an old movie. “Cell coverage can be a little spotty out here.”

Fine with him, as long as he had Internet.

She scratched her head. “Let’s see…. Is there anything else you need to know? There’s no mail delivery out here, but you can pick it up at the post office in town. There’s a general store there too. For bigger shopping you’ll need to drive into Mariposa or Oakhurst, but you can get the basics here. The little Mexican restaurant’s not bad. Try their tamales. And call me if you need anything. It takes me a couple hours to get here, but I can probably help you out long-distance. I stayed here myself as caretaker for six months, back when I was writing my dissertation. It was a lovely experience, although I grew lonely at the end.”

William wasn’t worried about that. He was used to lonely.

He walked her out to the parking lot. “Are there, um, animals around here?” he asked.

“Nothing that will eat you. Actually, the wildlife is quite interesting. I learned to bird-watch when I lived here. There are deer and coyotes nearby, but the fence keeps them out. And of course you’ll have your neighbors, the cows.”

“I’ve never lived so… far from things before.”

“Well, it’s wonderful if you like peace and quiet. Now, can I help you carry in your belongings?”

“No thanks.” He didn’t have that many things anyway, apart from his books and papers. He and Lisa hadn’t been able to afford much in the way of material goods, and she’d kept most of their things after they split. At least she’d had an apartment to keep them in, and he thought she deserved to salvage what she could from the marriage he’d botched.

“Okay, then. I’m going to head back. I’ll lock the gate when I leave.” She put out her hand and he shook it. “Good luck, William.”

“Thanks.”

He watched as she drove off. Even after her car had disappeared around a bend he could see the clouds of dust billowing behind her. That left him alone with his carefully parked car in the otherwise empty lot. He opened the Toyota’s hatch and began to unload his things. “This is good,” he said out loud, and then bit his tongue as he vowed to stop talking to himself.

W
ILLIAM
hung up his sport jacket, took off his tie, and shed his Oxford shirt. The heat felt less oppressive when he wore only an undershirt, and he began to empty his boxes and bags. By the time he found places to put everything, he was hungry, so he delved into the meager supply of groceries he’d brought with him—pasta and sauce, bread, cheese, and apples—and figured out where the cutlery, dishes, and pans were stored. He took his time washing up afterward.

Finally, he booted up his computer to make sure the Internet was functional. He sent an e-mail to Dr. Ochoa to let him know he’d arrived and settled in and to thank him again for the opportunity. After a few moments of indecision, William sent an e-mail to his parents. He told them he had found a temporary place to stay, but he didn’t go into detail. They were still pissed off over the divorce.

After that, there wasn’t anyone left to contact. He had a few grad school friends but wasn’t really that close to them, and in any case, they already knew about his new job. All his other friends had been Lisa’s friends too, and they’d distanced themselves after the breakup.

He got up from the desk, stood in the middle of the room, and surveyed his new quarters. He’d already organized his books and papers, but they didn’t take up much of the ample shelf space. He wondered if the shelves had ever been filled. Maybe the hospital directors had bought books by the case to give the room a look of both wisdom and decorum.

As he stood on a red-and-blue rug, thinking about why anyone would want to run a mental hospital in the middle of nowhere, he heard weird noises. Small creaks mostly, but occasionally a muffled pop or groan. It was a little creepy. But being a practical sort, William realized the sounds were nothing but a poorly kept old building slowly falling apart. Broken bits of something rattling in the evening breeze. Maybe mice or squirrels or birds.

By then night had fallen and, he hoped, the temperature had dropped. After considerable huffing and puffing, he managed to pry open one of the windows and put the largest fan in front of it. The whir of the blades drowned out a lot of the background noises, and the evening air cooled the room a little.

He turned on the desk light and spent some time shuffling papers restlessly, reading a few journal articles and some of his old notes. He knew he should get some serious work done, but he felt too unsettled. New places tended to do that to him. He shut off the computer and picked up a novel—
A Light in August
—but even in paperback it felt too heavy, and he put it back down. He glanced at the TV and almost turned it on. He knew there would be nothing worth watching, however, so didn’t bother trying.

He was tired, and it suddenly occurred to him that he could go to sleep if he wanted to. He allowed himself a wicked smile at the prospect. Because of Lisa’s late working hours, and then because of night classes in his building at the university, he rarely turned in before midnight. And here it was, barely past nine and no one around to notice or care.

Yes, he decided, early to bed. He’d wake up early, refreshed and eager to plug away at his data.

Folded and stacked on the bed was his one set of sheets, a $4.99 purchase from a really depressing discount store. They were printed with blurry stripes in muddy colors, they were pilled and scratchy, and even after a couple of washes they still smelled like plastic. But at least they had fit the love seat in his office. They were much too small for the bed here, which looked big enough to host a Roman orgy, but he spread them out as best as he could and decided he’d shop for bedding soon.

He opened the dresser drawer but paused before grabbing his pajamas. He always slept in pajamas: flannel in the winter and cotton in warmer weather. Always had. Lisa used to tease him about it, yet sometimes bought him a new pair for his birthday. Probably the practicality of the gift had appealed to her. Even on nights when they were supposed to have sex he’d start out in his pajamas, and he’d pull them on again after they’d cleaned up.

But… even with the fans going, the room was awfully warm. The little bit of moving air would probably feel nice over bare skin. And there was nobody but cows for miles around.

The wicked smile returned as William shoved the drawer closed and stripped to his boxers. He hung his pants carefully in the armoire before padding into the bathroom, where he placed the dirty socks and undershirt in the washing machine. His evening ablutions took very little time. He wasn’t the type to linger, and there wasn’t much to look at in the mirror anyway. His nose was too long and too sharp, his lips too thin, his eyes muddy brown, his straight sandy hair unremarkable. The rest of him wasn’t so great either. Lisa had always told him he could pack on some muscle if he tried—she was a physical therapist and considered herself an expert on the subject. But his few attempts at working out had ended quickly. He didn’t really enjoy focusing so much on his body and had accepted the fact that he was tall and slightly scrawny.

Back in the main room, he debated whether to close the window. Leaving it open left him feeling exposed, even though he knew nobody was out there. But if he closed it he’d lose access to the bit of cooling air. He ended up with a half-assed compromise, pulling the drapes partway shut so that they billowed slightly in the breeze.

Oh man, the bed was comfortable, even with the terrible sheets. For the first time in weeks he could really stretch out, and he did, starfishing himself across the mattress so that the fan dried the sweat on his chest and legs. He had never slept in such an enormous bed before. It would never have fit in the bedroom of their cramped Oakland apartment. Whatever else came of his time in Jelley’s Valley, at least he’d get a decent night’s sleep.

H
E
WOKE
to the sound of birds calling raucously outside his window. Tangled in the loose sheets, he was a little disoriented at first. But by the time he freed himself, he had remembered where he was. He glanced at his small alarm clock on the nightstand and discovered with a shock that it was 9:13. There went his intentions for an early start.

Despite getting nearly twelve hours of sleep, he felt a little muzzy-headed as he used the bathroom and heated a pot of water for tea. He preferred coffee but hated instant and had no way to brew the decent stuff he’d brought with him. He needed to buy a coffeemaker when he went sheet shopping.