The Tin Box Read Online Free PDF Page B

plodded to the bathroom, showered and shaved, and made himself tea and toast. He really, really needed to get a coffeemaker.
    Still, he managed to get a fair amount of data entry work done, then chased down a couple of journal articles he needed. One was available online through the university, but the other would have to be acquired via interlibrary loan. He should receive it as an e-mailed pdf within a week, according to the library’s web page.
    He was surprised to see that the clock in the corner of his computer screen said it was nearly one thirty. As he ate lunch, he decided he was already getting tired of sandwiches. He needed to make that shopping trip to acquire more substantial groceries. A really big salad would be nice, with some strips of chicken and Asian-inspired dressing.
    When he lived with Lisa, he’d kept a little gas grill on their apartment balcony. He’d liked to cook a bunch of chicken breasts on it, and then he and Lisa would spend several days finding creative ways to incorporate the meat into their dinners. It was a method that worked well with their busy schedules. Every now and then, when money wasn’t too tight, he’d grill up a couple of steaks instead. But he’d left the grill with Lisa. He doubted she’d use it, but of course he’d had nowhere to keep it when he was living in his office. Now, though, he wished he had it. Maybe he’d buy one of those compact kettle grills when he went shopping.
    “You’re going to end up buying everything in the store,” he said aloud, and then sighed. Two nights alone in the asylum and he was already breaking his vow not to talk to himself.
    Maybe some exercise was in order. But heat had again settled heavily in the valley, and the mere thought of exposing himself to the relentless sun made him feel exhausted. Fine, then. He could walk for miles inside the building.
    He still didn’t venture upstairs, but the first-floor corridors were plenty long, and as he traveled them for the third and fourth times he noticed more details. Like the names scratched into a doorframe—Jamey, Charles, Robert—and the small splatters on one white ceiling that looked disturbingly like blood. He saw that some of the bed frames included wide leather straps for wrists and ankles. Tiny ants had invaded one of the rooms, forming a busy highway from the corner of a window, across the wall and floor molding, and under a loose floor tile. He made a mental note to e-mail Jan and ask whether he should do something about them.
    The afternoon was growing late when he found himself back at the little room with the discarded clothing and blanket. As he had the day before, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing at the pieces of worn fabric. There was something very sad about them, like discovering a lost doll with its hair mostly cut away and its plastic skin all grimy. Which was a stupid thought. Probably the items hadn’t even belonged to a patient. Staff had lived in the building too, and Jan had told him that before full-time caretakers were hired, squatters used to occasionally take over a room or two, or local teens would sneak inside to get high and have sex.
    Yeah, fine. But the room was still depressing.
    He was going to turn away and continue his wanderings, maybe make his way back to his laptop for more work. But then his neat, orderly mind noticed something off: along one wall, the floor molding—about eight inches tall—wasn’t set flush with the wall and wasn’t quite parallel to the floor. It looked as if it had been pulled away and then hastily and poorly put back into place. It might harbor more ants, or perhaps even rodents. He ought to take a closer look in case the whole building was in need of an exterminator’s services.
    His footsteps seemed oddly muffled inside the small room. Up close, he saw that the gray clothing was very thin and appeared to have been crudely mended more than once. He carefully avoided stepping on the fabric.
    He crouched to