Page 19 of The Catcher (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #5)
N oah was met with a tumultuous scene as he returned home to his cabin beside the lake that afternoon.
The weather had turned ominous, with dark clouds looming overhead and the distant rumble of thunder echoing through the air.
Rain poured in torrents, whipped by strong gusts of wind rattling the trees and battering the windows.
With each step he took toward his cabin, Noah felt a heaviness settle over him, a weight that seemed to grow with each passing moment.
The death of the Matthews girl had triggered painful memories of Alicia’s tragic end.
It was a wound that never truly healed, a constant reminder of his failure to save her.
As he returned the truck to Ed, the older man offered him a sympathetic glance. “You missed out today. I caught some great fish. Do you want to come in? Have a drink, maybe? ”
“No,” Noah replied quietly, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. “Another time.”
He turned away without a care for how it came out.
Entering his cabin, Noah found a note written by Mia on the kitchen counter.
She explained that Gretchen had invited them over for supper and a sleepover, assuring him not to worry as they would be back Sunday evening.
Despite the comforting words, Noah couldn’t shake the isolation that enveloped him.
Still soaked from the swimming pool, Noah went to the bathroom and showered. A rush of warm water cascaded over him, mingling with the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks — one hand against the wall. Leaning against the tiles, he closed his eyes and let memories wash over him.
The Matthews girl’s death brought back everything that he’d tried so hard to bury inside.
He saw Alicia’s face, etched with pain and fear in her final moments.
He heard her cries for help echoing in his mind like a haunting melody.
And despite knowing deep down that he could never have saved her, Noah couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of guilt that ate away at him.
Every conversation came back.
Every warning.
If he’d only listened to her.
Maybe she would have still been alive.
But no, he was stubborn like his father. He was hell-bent on sticking around even when the feedback system of life was telling him that would only end in misery.
As the water swirled down the drain, carrying away his tears and pain, Noah couldn’t help but feel lost in the depths of despair. So many times, he’d been able to reel it in and rise above it, but one loss after another had compounded it.
First his brother, then his old friend Dax, then Lena, then Alicia.
He was tired of losing people in the what? The pursuit of justice?
In that moment, adrift in a sea of memories, he couldn’t find solace or escape from the ghosts of the past. He recalled a conversation with his father when he was seventeen.
Rarely did he see him down, and he heard him speak of despair only once.
Noah had entered his study to get permission to borrow the car and take Lena out.
He’d found him with a bottle of bourbon in one hand and a gun in the other.
It wasn’t against his head, but he knew the thought was there.
In a drunken stupor, his father spilled his innermost thoughts.
It was the one and only time his father warned him against becoming a cop. For a moment, he forgot he was a Sutherland. It was as if he had forgotten his lineage. And all he wanted was to be understood.
“I used to think I could change this county, that what I said and did mattered. I believed I could ride out an entire career, retire with honors, and do what my father couldn’t do.
But I see now the error of that thinking.
I see why my father fell under scrutiny.
Are we really the heroes or the villains? ”
“Dad?”
He turned his head; his speech was slurred. “What is the point of receiving the Medal of Valor if the chest they pin it on is a villain?”
At that time, he didn’t think much of it.
But looking back now, he could see that the job had worn his father down, like it wore on many a cop.
In other professions, people could experience the lows of something and never have to go through it again.
Being a cop meant facing the same shit over and over again and often seeing criminals walk because of a broken justice system.
Noah emerged from the shower, a towel slung around his waist. He moved with numbness, his actions automatic and devoid of emotion.
Opening the fridge, he grabbed a beer bottle, the cool glass offering a fleeting sense of relief from the turmoil within him.
With a quick flick of his wrist, he cracked the top off and chugged it back, but the bitter taste of the alcohol did little to quell the internal fire burning within him.
Turning his gaze towards the window, Noah’s eyes fell upon the gray sky, heavy with the weight of the storm.
A rumble of thunder echoed far in the distance, followed by a brilliant flash of lightning that illuminated the undulating landscape.
Tall trees swayed precariously in the relentless wind, their branches bending and creaking under the storm’s force.
The lake roared with fury and relentlessly lapped hard against the dock.
Noah watched the tumultuous scene unfold before him, the chaotic energy of the storm mirroring the turmoil within his mind.
The lights flickered in the cabin, casting eerie shadows across the room before everything plunged into darkness.
The silence was deafening for a moment, broken only by the howling of the wind and the rumble of thunder.
Then, just as suddenly as it had gone out, the power came back on, bathing the room in a flickering light.
But for Noah, the brief interruption served as a stark reminder of the fragility of his existence, a fleeting glimpse into the darkness that threatened to consume him. As the storm raged on outside, Noah stood alone.
His cell rang.
He glanced at it.
Savannah. He let it go to voicemail.
The shrill of the home landline rang out after a second attempt at reaching him.
She knew all too well that his mental state was held together by a thin sheet of ice that could crack at any moment.
Long before Savannah took on the role of BCI lieutenant and his supervisor, they’d worked closely together on countless cases.
She’d seen it all, every high and low, but this was something else — a coming apart at the seams, pulling at the very fabric of his foundations.
Once the landline stopped ringing, he took it off the hook and powered down his cell phone.
McKenzie was handling the collection of evidence, Porter was delivering the death notification, and no one was expecting him back until Monday.
With his kids gone for the remainder of the weekend, the twelve-pack in the fridge was calling his name.
He lifted a remote to close the blinds.
He collected a second beer and opened it before the first was finished.
He’d realized that he wouldn’t want it if he allowed enough time between the first and second. And right now, he wanted it, despite Callie’s voice in his head. The voice of reason was quickly drowned out by the black dog, the animal that wanted to pull him down into the pit and leave him there.
He slid down into a chair and flicked on the TV, keeping the volume low. He stared as images flashed before his mind, each one blurring into the next the more he drank.
At some point, he lost consciousness.
A loud crash awoke him.
When his eyes flicked open, the house was in darkness.
The thunder felt like it was on top of his house, shaking it hard, but that was the wind.
He heard another crash. This time, the far side of the cabin.
No longer drunk but feeling worse than he ever had, Noah pushed himself up from the sofa; Noah’s head throbbed with pain, the remnants of his drunken stupor clinging to him like a heavy shroud.
He staggered to the kitchen, his movements slow and unsteady, his hands trembling as he reached for a glass of water.
But before he could even take a sip, another crash echoed through the darkness, drawing his attention like a beacon in the night. This time, there was something else — a faint and indistinct voice.
Noah’s heart pounded in his chest as he grappled with the reality of the situation. Was he still trapped in some twisted nightmare, or was this the sobering light of reality breaking through the haze of his intoxicated mind?
Without hesitation, he reached for the gun slung over the back of the chair, his fingers closing around the familiar weight of the weapon.
With each step he took down the corridor, the world seemed to tilt around him, like a funhouse gone awry, threatening to swallow him whole.
But Noah pressed on, driven by a primal instinct to confront whatever darkness lurked in the shadows.
As Noah pushed open the door to his study, he was met with a darkness that seemed to swallow him whole.
The howling wind blowing toward him carried a sense of foreboding, like gnarled hands reaching out from the shadows.
Yet as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized that it wasn’t hands but tree limbs, wet and heavy with rain, that had shattered a window and invaded his sanctuary.
Just as he was about to turn away, Noah caught sight of a figure pushing through the broken window. Reacting on instinct, he flipped on the tactical light on his gun, only to be met by the sight of Callie emerging from the darkness.
“Whoa, don’t shoot!” she exclaimed, her hands raised in surrender.
“Callie? What the hell are you doing here?” Noah demanded.
“I’m checking in on you,” Callie replied, her tone firm. “The power is out across areas of town. Before that, everyone, barring your father, was trying to reach you. With the storm, Savannah figured you might not have made it home. ”