She was disgusted. "That's what you're worried about?"
In that instant, her husband went from Godlike legal legend to a sniveling coward. She pushed him away, then stormed across the room. Pausing in the doorway, she was tempted to leave him drowning in his guilt.
"The Fog took Sam," she said bitterly. "You had nothing to do with it. Neither did any of your clients."
Philip's head rose, a half-crazed expression in his eyes. "You think so?" He wiped his nose and staggered to his feet. "Yeah. You're right, Sadie. It's not my fault. It can't be."
She left him in the living room, talking to himself, and when she reached their bedroom, she closed the door and locked it.
Philip would get the message. If he made it up the stairs.
10
After Philip left for work the next morning, she turned on the television, hoping to catch news about Sam. But Philip's face was plastered on the screen instead. Underneath, two words in bold print flashed in alarm. FRAUD INVESTIGATION!
A reporter brushed something off her tailored suit jacket, then gave a brief announcement stating that two employees at Fleming Warner Law Offices were being questioned about allegations of fraud. The woman named Philip and Morris Saunders as co-conspirators.
The next segment was on hockey, so Sadie turned off the TV. With nothing else to do, she drew up the courage to call Matthew Bornyk. He picked up on the first ring.
"Hello?" His voice was husky, whether naturally or from lack of sleep, she didn't know.
She sucked in a breath. "Mr. Bornyk, this is Sadie O'Connell. You don't know me but—"
"I know who you are." His voice sounded wide awake all of a sudden. "Is there any news about your son?"
"No, nothing." She paused, embarrassed. "I-I'm not sure why I called."
"I'm glad you did. I was going to call you."
"Really? It seems a bit…odd. Talking to someone I've never met, I mean."
"I have an idea. Why don't you meet me for coffee? You and your husband."
The offer surprised her. She wasn't sure what she had thought the call would accomplish, but she hadn't expected to meet the man face-to-face.
"Name the place and the time," she said.
"Borealis Café, downtown on Jasper Ave," he said. "I can be there in an hour. Do you need directions?"
"No. I know exactly where it is." She hung up.
Borealis Cafe was right across from Fleming Warner Law Offices. In addition, it showed up often on their VISA bill. Philip took Brigitte there quite often. For business lunches, he said.
Yeah, right!
Matthew Bornyk had aged ten years since the photo she had seen in the newspaper. Although there wasn't a trace of gray in his sandy-blond hair, the lines under his gray-blue eyes and the pallor of his face spoke of sleepless nights and unbearable pain.
"Have a seat," he said, indicating the chair across from him. "Do you want some coffee? They make a wicked house blend. Or if you're hungry, the caramel apple pie here is excell—" He looked away, frowning. "Sorry, I'm rambling."
After a young waiter filled their mugs with the Borealis house blend, Matthew leaned forward. "Your husband couldn't make it?"
"He's tied up with…business meetings."
There was an awkward silence before the man said, "I heard."
"Hard not to. It's all over the news."
Matthew took a sip of coffee. "I'm sorry."
"Philip always wanted to live like a king." The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying.
"What about you?" Matthew asked.
"I'm no queen. I only need one thing. My son."
Her hand trembled as she lifted the mug, and Matthew did something unexpected. He reached across the table and grasped her hand. His warm touch drew a soft gasp from her. Not knowing what else to do, she stared at the hand that covered hers. It was strong and tanned, except for the pale circle of skin on his left ring finger.
"We'll find them," he said. "Both of them. As soon as we get a break, a witness—"
She snatched her hand back.
How could she look this man in the eye? He wanted a witness and had no idea he was having coffee with one. The humiliation and uncertainty was eating her alive.
What if I told him?
The answer hit her immediately.
Then Sam will die.
Matthew cocked his head, watching her. "I hope we hear something soon."
"Me too," she said tiredly. "Did you see anything? When Cortnie was taken?"
"I was asleep. Didn't even know she was gone until the next morning." He stared into his coffee mug. "She always had coffee with me before school." He smiled. "Hot chocolate for her."
For the next half hour, they swapped stories. She told him about Sam's obsession with bats. How he'd quit little league because he believed the wooden bats were related to his furry 'friends'.
"The next day, he drew faces on a bat that Philip bought on eBay." At Matthew's puzzled look, she grinned. "A baseball bat. It was autographed by the Toronto Blue Jays."
"Yikes. That probably didn't go over well."
"No. Not at all."
Needing a moment to clear her head, she waved to the server and pushed her mug toward him. Matthew did the same. The kid filled both mugs, then left them a handful of creamers.
"Cortnie's obsession is books," Mathew said, stirring his coffee. "She's read every Harry Potter. Sometimes I'd find her reading under her blankets. With a flashlight. She also reads those Cup of Soup books."
Sadie snickered.
"What?" he asked.
"Chicken Soup books."
He gave her a rueful look. "Figures you'd know about those books. You're a woman."
She shook her head. "I'm a writer."
"What do you write?"
"Fiction. Mainly mysteries. Right now, though, I'm working on an illustrated children's book for Sam…" Her smile faded.
"He'll read it," Matthew said softly.
Sadie's gaze flickered to the window.
A woman in a teal jacket stood on the street corner. Her white-blond hair shone in the sunlight as she waited for the crosswalk light to flash. A young boy held her hand. He had his back to Sadie, but his hair reminded her of Sam's.
She frowned. Even his build is like—
The boy turned abruptly, his familiar eyes latching onto hers. His mouth opened and he mouthed one word.
Mommy.
Her heart splintered into a million miniscule pieces.
"Sam?"
She lurched to her feet, oblivious to the spilled coffee pooling on the table and the strange looks from Matthew.
"Sadie, what's wrong?" he asked, standing quickly.
Brushing past him, she flew out the door and veered around the corner. Across the street, the woman in the teal jacket meandered down the sidewalk, staring into shop windows every now and then. Alone.
Zigzagging between cars, Sadie ignored the blaring horns as she ran toward the woman, grabbed her arm and spun her around.
"Hey!" the blond yelled. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Where is he?" Sadie demanded.
"Who?"
"Sam! The boy you were with."
The woman eyed her as if Sadie were a street beggar. "Are you nuts? I wasn't with any boy."
Sadie gaped at her, speechless. Something was wrong—off. The woman's hair didn't seem quite as pale up close, and she seemed younger than the woman Sadie had spotted from inside Borealis Café.
But she's wearing a teal jacket.
She twisted around, searching the sidewalk. But there was no other blond-haired woman in teal.
"Sadie, what's going on?" Matthew said, rushing toward her.
Bitter tears trailed down her cheeks. "I saw him. Sam! He was walking with her." She whipped her head around, but the woman was gone. "Where did she go?"
"Look, Sadie, why don't I drive you home?"
"I'm not crazy, Matthew! I saw Sam. I swear it."
He gently took her arm. "I believe you."
"He looked at me and said…Mommy."
"I imagine seeing Cortnie sometimes," he murmured, steering her across the street. "At the park. At her school. But it's never really her."
"I didn't imagine it," she argued. "It was Sam."
Matthew sighed. "Sadie, do you want to talk—?"
"No. I just want to go home."
"Do you want me to drive you?"
"No, I'm fine." She rolled her eyes. "Well, as fine as I can be under these circumstances."
He took her car keys from her fumbling fingers, unlocked the car door and waited while she climbed in. Then he passed her the keys and a business card.
"My home, office and cell numbers."
She thanked him, then sped away. As she watched him in the rearview mirror, Matthew Bornyk stood motionless, a miserable expression on his handsome face.
No father should ever look that way.
Unable to help herself, she drove around the block three times, looking for the blond-haired woman in the teal jacket. But there was no sign of her. Or Sam.
When Sadie arrived home, she sat on the cold cement steps of the front porch, mindlessly sipping a cup of coffee while scanning the cars that passed by. After an hour, she could have sworn she had seen Sam three times. But in her heart she knew it wasn't him. Her baby was gone, taken by a madman, and with each passing moment she was more and more convinced that she needed to tell the police what she knew.
Maybe tomorrow.
The rest of the day dragged on. She paced around the house, the cordless phone attached to her belt.
"In case there's any news of Sam," she said to Leah, who had dropped by.
"You can't just wait by the phone every day, Sadie. You should get out, get some fresh air."
Sadie stared at her. "What do you expect me to do? Go tanning? Or out for coffee?"
"No, I didn't mean it like that," Leah said, throwing her hands up defensively. "I just don't want to see you holed up in your house for days on end. It's not…healthy."
"I can't act as if nothing's wrong, Leah. Not when somewhere out there my son is waiting to be found."
"They'll find him."
Leah hugged her, but Sadie felt smothered and pulled away.
Her friend didn't understand. No one did.
That evening, she vacuumed Sam's room.
"For when he comes home," she told Philip firmly.
11
The following day, there was still no sign of Sam.
Jay called to say that the clown shoe was a dead end.
"And we got nothing off the sheet of paper," he added.
There were no prints, no DNA, nothing to lead them to the kidnapper.
"We're trying to trace the manufacturer of the shoe," he said. "Maybe we'll find the store he bought it from."
Sadie's heart sank. "But that won't do any good if he paid with cash."
"Yeah, but we might get lucky. The store may have a security camera. We just need a break, Sadie. One solid lead and we'll find Sam."
All day long she wracked her brain trying to think of ways to help the police locate Sam without having to describe the man she had seen, but nothing came to her, so she ventured outside and plastered more posters of Sam all over the neighborhood, until his eyes followed her everywhere. She knocked on doors, asked questions about a strange vehicle in the neighborhood and showed Sam's photograph. But no one had seen a thing.
She even tried to rely on fate. It had become a habitual joke all these years, something to play with, like we'll buy the house if the previous deal falls through. Or I'll know the time is right to write something different when I'm given a sign. Fate had been her best friend back then, but now that she really needed divine intervention, it had abandoned her.
The next day, she waited by the phone. By suppertime, it hadn't rung, so she called Jay's number.
"Sadie, we don't have any news yet. Sorry."
"You told me the first three days were crucial," she said, trying to keep the panic from her voice. "Why is it taking so long?"
"We're doing everything we can," he assured her. "We're hoping someone in your neighborhood will call in. Someone had to have seen something."
Yeah, I did.
Although the words were on the tip of her tongue, she just couldn't spit them out. She feared for Sam. She had no doubt that The Fog would kill him, just like he promised. And there was no way she could live with Sam's death on her hands.
A week went by. A week of pure hell.
Sadie wanted nothing more than to slip away into a cloud of drugged oblivion. But the stubborn part of her kept her heading out each morning to replace the ripped, blurred, rain-splattered posters of Sam.
On the tenth morning, she remained in bed, refusing to get up or eat anything. She'd even ignored the incessant ringing of the phone, although Leah had called twice and left frantic messages on the answering machine.
Sadie didn't want to talk to anyone.
Except Sam.
She missed him fiercely, and not a moment passed when she didn't think of him. Was he alive? Was he being abused?
The angry X's scratched across the days on the calendar beside her bed glared back at her.
"Ten days…"
Sam's picture was pressed up against her. She peeled it away, noticing the red imprint the frame had left on her arm. Placing the picture back on the nightstand, she reached into the drawer beside her bed and removed the binder—the one with the drawing of The Fog.
She eased it open.
A sharp gasp escaped when her eyes latched onto the face of the man who had taken Sam. She slipped the paper from the binder and rested it on top of the duvet.
"When they find you, I'll make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your life."
It was a promise she intended on pursuing, no matter what it took. This stranger had entered her home, assaulted her and stolen her son. What horrific crime had she committed to warrant such terror in her life?
Her eyes flitted across the room toward Philip's sock drawer. She experienced the familiar pang of need and the relentless voice she had long ago silenced began its litany of reasons why a drink would be indisputably justified.
Just one small drink.
She shook her head and looked down at the picture of The Fog, but her eyes were drawn against her will back to the drawer that promised instant relief.
To calm my nerves. No one would blame me.
She shivered as a draft wafted over her.
"You're awake."
Philip stood in the doorway.
She stuffed the drawing under the covers and was about to read him the riot act for sneaking up on her when she noticed something peculiar. Her husband was fully clothed, ready for work. And wearing the same suit as yesterday.
"You stayed out all night?" she asked, stunned.
His shoulders lifted in a nervous twitch. "Sadie—"
"Don't! Don't make up any more excuses. We both know where you were and who you were with. I would think the least you could do is be honest for once in your pathetic, miserable life." She wondered if the expression on her face matched the sour, rotten taste in her mouth.
Without a word, Philip turned on one heel and disappeared.
As soon as he was gone, she flung back the duvet and smoothed the drawing before placing it at the back of the binder, which she slid into the drawer of the nightstand. Curling up in a fetal position with Sam's photo clasped close to her heart, she drifted into a restless sleep and stayed there all day.
The next morning, Philip officially moved into his office.
At first, she was relieved. Then anger consumed her. While she went to bed each night—alone and lonely—he stayed out until the wee hours of the morning. Part of her resented him, and part of her was thankful that he was so busy. They sometimes passed in the hallway and gave each other chilly nods. But they said very little. What was there to say?
Later that afternoon, she calle
d Jay and was transferred to his voicemail.
"I just want to know if you've heard anything," she said. "Do you have any new leads? It's been almost two weeks. Please call me back." She hung up, shoulders slumped in despair.
Sam's disappearance had left her barren. Childless. Loveless. And full of agonizing remorse. Every minute, she battled with her secret. Should she talk or stay quiet? What if the police could find Sam before he got hurt? Sometimes she was a breath away from confessing that she had seen The Fog, albeit vaguely. And that she had drawn him.
When Jay called her back, his voice was weary. "We have nothing new. Sorry, Sadie. None of your neighbors heard or saw anything."
"What about the Amber Alert?"
"We've had nothing but false leads so far."
"Like what?"
Jay sighed. "One man reported strange lights over Edmonton the night Sam was taken. He swears Sam was abducted by iridescent, tentacled extraterrestrials. And a woman in Calgary, who swears she's psychic, said he was taken by a one-legged woman in a flowered dress."
He told her that Sam had been sighted at Vancouver's Stanley Park, at Niagara Falls, in Texas—even as far as Mexico. In the end, all reports were discredited.
"Thanks anyway," she said before hanging up.
Sinking into a chair, she fought back tears of frustration. Sam had vanished from the face of the earth.
Except I keep seeing him.
She saw him everywhere. The backyard, Sobeys, the bank, even in the back seat of the car. Sometimes she could swear she heard his voice, which was ridiculous since Sam didn't speak.
Philip was no help at all. He kept telling her that Sam was more than likely dead.
"The bastard probably buried him somewhere," he'd said just the other morning.
She knew Sam was alive. She could feel him, sense him.
Philip's heavy footsteps thumped overhead, reminding her that there was some unfinished business to attend to. There was one thing she wanted from her husband. Something she'd kept putting off.
"Just ask him," she muttered.
The bedroom was silent when she entered. Philip was sitting on the bed, his back turned to her, unmoving.
Children of the Fog Page 8
