Page 18 of The Catcher
USING FIRE WILL MAKE THIS GADGET FAIL.
READY?
Noah’s eyebrows furrowed as he read the next message on the screen. It gave him the current temperature of 22 degrees fahrenheit and it said the probe was 21 degrees fahrenheit.
“Hold this a second,” he instructed Aaron, handing him the probe. With a determined expression, Noah began to blow warm air into his hands, rubbing them together vigorously. Once he felt they were warm enough, he grasped the probe and focused on the screen.
The numbers on the screen fluctuated as Noah held the probe, the digits gradually increasing. 24, 28, 32, 41... “Strange as hell,” Aaron remarked, echoing Noah’s thoughts.
“Always is,” Noah replied, his attention fixed on the screen. The temperature on the probe continued to rise, climbing steadily until it reached 52 degrees. Noah’s brow furrowed in concentration as he rubbed the probe between his hands, coaxing it to reach the required temperature.
“Come on, baby,” he muttered, willing the temperature to reach 61 degrees. Finally, another message appeared as the digits on the screen aligned with his target.
“Congratulations,” Noah read aloud the message, relief flooding through him. “The next stage can be found at the coordinates GC7R8B1.”
Aaron frowned, perplexed. “That doesn’t look like coordinates. What the hell is that?” he asked.
5
“That’s a GC code,” Sam said confidently as he leaned back from the cell phone photo Noah had taken earlier. He crossed his arms, his eyes drifting from Noah to McKenzie across the table in the interview room.
The room itself was dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs overhead buzzed. The walls were painted a dull beige, adorned only with a few nondescript certificates and a clock that seemed to tick away with a deliberate sluggishness. The air was stale and heavy with the scent of old coffee.
After gathering what information he could from the scene, Noah headed to the Adirondack Sheriff’s Office. Stuck inside this overly heated and cramped interview room, he felt the walls closing in on him. It wasn’t just the physical space that felt confining; it was the weight of the investigation.
“You okay?” McKenzie’s voice broke through Noah’s thoughts, pulling him back to the present.
“I just need a glass of water,” Noah replied, his voice slightly hoarse. “Excuse me,” he added, skirting back his chair. It screeched against the linoleum floor before he dashed out of the room.
Hurrying over to a water dispenser stationed in the hallway, Noah filled a cup, watching as bubbles rose inside the plastic container. He tossed back the water in one swift motion, the cool liquid providing a momentary reprieve from the room’s stifling atmosphere.
Feeling a need to collect himself, Noah pushed into the nearby washroom, the door creaking open under his touch. He went over to the sink, turned a faucet on, and splashed cold water over his face, letting it drip down his skin in rivulets.
The door opened again, and McKenzie entered, his footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.
With water dripping down his face, Noah nodded, his breaths coming in measured exhales. He grabbed a handful of paper towels, hastily wiping his face as he met McKenzie’s gaze in the mirror. “What?” Noah asked.
“Listen, I’m not one to piss on anyone’s parade as I’m far from a saint, but I recognize those shakes,” McKenzie said, his voice low but firm.
“What shakes?” Noah asked, his brows furrowing in confusion as he searched his colleague’s face for any hint of understanding.
McKenzie grabbed Noah’s wrist and held it up. Noah’shand trembled, a subtle but undeniable sign of inner turmoil. The cramped washroom provided little solace from the weight of their conversation.
“Now, I know you don’t have Parkinson’s, but I know you’ve had trouble with liquor in the past. Shaky hands, sweating, anxiety, yep, all the withdrawal signs I had at one time.”
Noah pulled his wrist away, his movements jittery. “I’ve got a handle on it.”
“I’m sure you do,” McKenzie replied, his expression sympathetic.
“Don’t say anything to Savannah. Okay?”
“My lips are sealed,” McKenzie assured him. Stepping closer, he offered Noah a supportive hand. “Look, if you need me to question them. And you want to take a break…”
“I don’t,” Noah interrupted. “I’m sorry. I mean, thank you, but I’ll be okay. I just needed a minute.” He exhaled, his gaze flickering briefly to the mirror before he straightened his tie and approached the door.
Back in the interview room, Sam had a hand cupped to the one-way mirror. “Someone in there?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” Noah replied, his mind still reeling from his conversation with McKenzie.
