Page 17 of Twice Missing
As Noah passed through the first security checkpoint, the weight of surveillance and control settled heavily upon him.
Inside, the scent of industrial cleaner, sweat, and resignation dominated. The echoing hallways and clanging metal doors created a cacophony that assaulted the senses. Yet there were small signs of humanity — artwork on walls, the sound of a basketball game inside, the murmur of voices in the visiting room.
Noah realized that FCI Ray Brook was a place of contrast and strange ironies. A monument to punishment nestled in a landscape of freedom. A community of the condemned living in the shadow of Olympic glory. As the heavy doors slammed shut behind him, he felt the full weight of this isolated world — cut off from society, yet teeming with life and stories untold.
Noah stepped into the visiting room through heavy metal doors, the sound of their closing echoing ominously behind him. The space was utilitarian, a far cry from the warm, inviting spaces he was used to in his daily life. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on the room's occupants and accentuating the pallor of their skin.
The room was divided into two sections. On one side, a row of booths lined the wall, each equipped with a telephone and a thick glass partition. Here, inmates in standard-issue jumpsuits sat hunched over, speaking in hushed tones to their visitors. The air was thick with a mixture of emotions — hope, despair, love, and resignation.
On the other side of the room, where Noah now stood, a few tables were scattered about. This area, he knew, was reserved for lower-risk inmates or those requiring specialaccommodations. The tables were bolted to the floor, a reminder of the controlled environment they were in.
Noah's eyes swept the room, taking in the details. Cameras were mounted in every corner, their red lights blinking steadily. Guards stood at strategic points, their faces impassive but eyes alert, constantly scanning for any sign of trouble.
As he waited, Noah observed the other visitors. A young woman cradled a baby, tears streaming down her face as she spoke to a man who looked barely out of his teens. An elderly couple sat silently, holding hands across the table as they faced their son. The weight of shattered dreams and lost opportunities hung heavy in the air.
Noah's attention was drawn to a middle-aged woman who sat alone at a table, nervously fidgeting with a tissue. Her eyes darted anxiously between the door and the clock on the wall. Noah wondered about her story, about the circumstances that had led her to this place.
The sound of a door opening snapped Noah back to the present. A guard appeared, leading in a man Noah barely recognized as Daniel Roberts. The former sheriff shuffled into the room, his movements restricted by the chains around his ankles. Gone was the confident stride that had once characterized him; in its place was a hesitant, almost fragile gait.
Daniel's appearance shocked Noah. The man before him was a shadow of his former self. His once-robust frame had withered, leaving him looking gaunt and frail. Deep lines etched his face, and his eyes, once sharp and commanding, now seemed sunken and haunted. Hisprison-issued uniform hung loosely on his frame, emphasizing how much weight he had lost.
As Daniel's eyes met Noah's from across the room, a flicker of recognition passed between them. Noah felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Part of him felt a grim satisfaction at seeing Daniel brought so low, a fitting punishment for his role in Luke's death. Yet another part of him felt an unexpected pang of pity. The man before him seemed utterly defeated, worn down by the relentless grind of prison life.
Noah shifted uncomfortably in his seat, uncertain of the proper protocol. Should he stand? Offer a handshake? The absurdity of showing such courtesies to the man who had betrayed his trust and been complicit in his brother's murder wasn't lost on him. Yet, Daniel had agreed to this meeting when he could have easily refused.
As Daniel approached, Noah remained seated, his body tense. He watched as the guard removed Daniel's handcuffs, noting the raw, red marks they left on his wrists. Daniel rubbed them absently as he lowered himself into the chair across from Noah.
Gone was the swagger, the air of authority that had once surrounded Daniel like an aura. The man who sat before Noah now seemed diminished, not just physically but in spirit. The transformation was jarring, and Noah found himself wondering about the daily realities of Daniel's life behind bars.
"Daniel. Thank you for accepting my request," Noah said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
As Daniel settled into his seat, Noah's eyes were drawnto a simple silver cross hanging from a chain around his neck. It was an unexpected sight, and Noah found himself wondering about its significance. Had Daniel found religion in prison? It wasn't uncommon for inmates to turn to faith, seeking solace or redemption in their confined world. But Noah was skeptical. He'd seen enough to know that for some, this newfound piety was nothing more than a calculated move, a way to appear reformed in the eyes of parole boards and prison officials.
"Why wouldn't I?" Daniel replied, his voice raspier than Noah remembered.
Noah was caught off guard by the casual nature of Daniel's response. He had expected hostility, or at least wariness. Instead, Daniel's tone was almost conversational, as if they were old acquaintances catching up over coffee. The dissonance between this cordial demeanor and their fraught history left Noah momentarily at a loss for words.
Fortunately, Daniel filled the silence. "You know, for years I placed people behind bars, never fully knowing the impact of a place like this on their psyche. These walls can break a man."
The statement hung in the air between them, loaded with implication. Noah studied Daniel's face, searching for signs of manipulation or deceit. But all he saw was weariness and a hint of something that might have been regret.
"Have they?" Noah asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Broken you, I mean."
A ghost of a smile flickered across Daniel's lips. "They keep me segregated, away from general pop. I work in the library when the men aren't there. Time. That's all I havenow. Time. Time to ponder life, mysteries, choices. It's remarkable what can be gleaned when we slow down long enough to ask questions instead of projecting our answers." He paused, his gaze sharpening as it met Noah's. "Do you have answers, Noah?"
The question caught Noah off guard. "To what?"
"High Peaks' problems? The county you serve? That is why you're here, isn't it? You have questions that need answers. Answers that go beyond the Emily Carter case. Answers about your father, Luther Ashford, and those who seek to keep High Peaks within their grasp."
Noah felt a chill run down his spine. How much did Daniel know about what was happening in High Peaks? How was he getting his information? "What do you know about that?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level.
Daniel's response was to change the subject abruptly. "I caught the news. My condolences on your loss of Lena and Alicia Michaels. I imagine that has been very hard on you, Mia, and Ethan."
The mention of Lena and Alicia hit Noah like a physical blow. He searched Daniel's face, trying to discern if there was genuine sympathy behind the words or if this was some sort of psychological game. Was Daniel trying to throw him off balance? To assert some kind of control over the conversation by demonstrating how much he knew about Noah's personal life?
"Life happens," Noah replied, his voice tight. "It's how we respond to it."
Daniel's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was reassessingNoah. "I don't imagine Hugh shares the same sentiment. Still, Hugh isn't you, is he, Noah? He likes to think you are all carbon copies of him, but it wasn't him who solved Luke's murder and corruption in the department. It was you."
