Page 78 of Torin

Her face lights up. “There’s a whole other floor.”

“Sure is.”

“Can I look around?”

“That’s why we’re here.”

She goes straight for the nearest door. The handle sticks, but she puts her shoulder into it, and it gives with a scrape.

Dust rises in the sunlight. The room is crammed with old furniture and boxes. A bed frame leans against one wall. Rolled rugs stand in a corner beside a stack of lampshades. Someone has balanced a broken chair upside down on a dresser.

Hannah goes straight to the boxes.

“Old guest books.” She crouches beside one. “Why would anyone keep those?”

“No idea.”

“I want to know.”

She lifts the lid and pulls out the first book. A folded receipt slips from between the pages, and she catches it before it reaches the floor.

“Nineteen ninety-eight,” she says, unfolding it.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s bar bill.”

“Exciting.”

“You laugh, but I want to know what they were drinking.”

Yeah. This was a good idea.

She puts the guest book back and heads into the hallway.

“What else is up here?”

She’s already trying the next door.

I follow her along the hall as she opens rooms that haven’t seen daylight in years. Most are more of the same—old beds, boxes, curtains, crockery, things nobody could be bothered to throw away.

Then she reaches the last door at the end of the hall. She tries the handle.

“Locked.”

I take the old key from the hook beside the frame.

She catches on. “You know what’s in there.”

“I know what used to be.”

I hold out the key.

She takes it.

It takes some persuading, but eventually the lock gives with a heavy click.

She pushes the door open.