Page 31 of Her Final Hours
Upon entering the house, he found himself in a cozy kitchen. The interior gave off a vintage charm, with old-fashioned wallpaper sporting a pattern reminiscent of the ’80s. Stacks of newspapers cluttered the hallway, an unusual sight that hinted at Helen’s tendency to hold on to things.
Noah narrowed his eyes, picking up one and glancing at the date from ten years ago. Helen was quick to explain. “Those are local and national papers. I should throw them away now that my grandson has me on the internet, but I guess I’m old school. Nothing like turning the page and feeling the paper in hand.”
Noah nodded, understanding her sentiment. “Why keep them?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“It’s a habit, I guess. An obsession, my family would say,” Helen replied. She directed him to sit at a round oak table while she put the kettle on to make some tea. The kitchen looked as dated as the wallpaper. Solidly built but showing signs of time. Noah noticed a calendar on the wall detailing hospital appointments. There was a Bible quote in a frame:
Those who trust in the Lord will soar like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint.
Resilience in the face of dead ends was admirable. It spoke to her zeal to solve the cases of the missing girls and that of every other investigator who came after. Contrary to what the public might have thought, it haunted cops to come up empty-handed, to offer families no answers. It was why so many hit the bottle, that and having images of the abused and dead in their mind. His gaze continued, and he noticed a framed newspaper article on the wall. It showcased Helen receiving a commendation. The photograph captured her determination and dedication to her work, reminding her of her achievements.
Helen returned to the table, pouring milk into her tea as she studied Noah intently.
“Milk?”
He gave a nod.
He could sense that she was trying to piece together memories from their shared past. “You remember much about that time?” she asked him, her voice tinged with curiosity.
“A lot,” he replied, his eyes meeting hers. “But I’m not here to talk about what I recollect. I’m interested in what you do.” He paused. “Do you miss the work?”
A wistful smile graced her lips. “Every day,” she confessed. “I don’t miss the nightmares, though. You get those?” Her question held a touch of empathy, acknowledging the toll the job could take on a person’s psyche.
Noah nodded, understanding the weight of her words but choosing not to delve into his own experiences. Those conversations were reserved for his therapist. Instead, he redirected the conversation. “How many years did you do, and what made you retire?”
Helen stirred her tea. “That’s easy. My knees and back. I ended up having surgery and was never the same after that. But I banked twenty-nine years before calling it a day, more than most,” she explained, a sense of pride underlying her words.
As she continued to stir in a spoonful of sugar, Noah commented, “Things have changed a lot since then.”
“It has indeed. Advancements in DNA, and cameras, and agencies are communicating with each other. What I would have given to have had the tools you have now. Though I don’t envy you, what with everyone having a camera on their phone.”
Noah smiled in agreement. “It keeps cops honest,” he remarked, acknowledging the benefits of increased transparency.
She set her drink down, her gaze fixed on him. “But at whatcost?” she mused, her voice filled with concern. Increased surveillance and its effects on law enforcement’s reputation was a subject of heated debate in the news.
Noah regarded her, realizing that her sentiment echoed that of many old-school cops. Transparency came with pros and cons, and it was essential to strike a balance. “I expect it would have helped when you were canvassing the neighborhoods when Payton went missing,” he said, returning the conversation to the reason for his visit.
At the mention of Payton, Helen’s expression changed. She left the room without telling him where she was going. After a few minutes, she returned, carrying a cardboard moving box and placing it near his feet. The lines on her face deepened, reflecting the pain of the ailments of aging and the emotional weight associated with the case. “There are three more boxes out back,” she revealed, her voice full of sorrow and determination. “They’re a little worse for wear. I had a flood in the basement, and they got soaked, but I managed to save these.” Her eyes glistened with purpose as she lifted the box lid.
“These belong to the state?”
“They’re my copies along with what family, friends, and those who knew her gave me because they felt the local Sheriff’s Office no longer had a vested interest.”
“That may have been true,” he said, referring to the corruption that had pulled him back to High Peaks. Noah’s gaze shifted down, observing the contents. Among the items nestled within was a blown-up photo of Payton Scott — a snapshot frozen in time. It was an old school photo. Memories flooded his mind as he recalled the day vividly. He could hear her voice, her laughter. He’d forgotten to tame his unruly hair, which amused Payton to no end, along with his mother when she got his copy.
The photo before him depicted Payton at sixteen, full of life and innocence. Looking at her joyful expression, he couldn’thelp but feel a pang of sadness. Little did either of them know then that she would be gone a little more than two months later. It was a constant reminder of a case that had haunted him and, evidently, Helen.
Silently, he took the photo in his hands, his fingers gently tracing the edges. The weight of the past seemed to hang heavy in the air as he looked over at Helen. “She was a bright girl. Full of so many potentials,” he remarked softly, his voice full of empathy.
Helen met his gaze; emotion flickered across it — pain, regret, determination, and maybe a hint of lingering hope. “Yes, that’s what I was told,” she replied. “There are so many unanswered questions, so much unfinished business. That’s why I keep these boxes. Every month I go back through them, hoping that I might find something, you know — something I overlooked.”
He understood that obsession. His ADHD had plagued him in many areas of life, his work as an investigator not so much. It had given him an advantage. His keen eye for details gave him multiple chances of seeing things that might have been missed.
“I have more back there — on the other girls, but I guess Payton has always stood out as she was the first. The first real case that I never got answers to. It was also the only one with any persons of interest connected to it.”
The case of Payton Scott had left its mark on both of their lives, weaving an intricate web that refused to be forgotten.
A quiet determination filled the room as they sat there amidst the stacks of papers and relics of the past —just two like-minded individuals bouncing questions off each other, hoping for an answer. Outside, the harsh wind continued to assault the windows, as if trying to match the storm of emotions within them.
