"Philip," she said, hovering in the doorway. "I want a divorce." When he didn't move, she added, "I think you want it too. Our marriage is…over." Dead.
Philip's head swiveled, his hardened glare catching her off guard. "You bitch!"
"Phil—"
"You saw him?" He held up a piece of paper.
The Fog's face stared back at her, the face that she had so carefully drawn. Her pulse raced and she grabbed onto the doorframe for support. "I-I can explain."
"Can you? I was looking for a piece of paper. Instead I found this." He waved the paper at her. "And a complete account of what happened that night on the back."
She took an unsteady step forward. "Philip, I—"
"You what? You forgot to tell me? You forgot to tell the police that you saw the bastard that took our son? What the hell's wrong with you?"
"You don't understand," she stammered. "He was going to kill me."
"You? What about Sam? I can't believe you were more concerned about your—"
"He had a gun, Philip! And he hurt me. That's why my ribs were bruised. I couldn't move." Her voice grew hoarse. "And then he said he'd kill Sam if I told anyone I'd seen him. Or if I described him. I didn't know what to do!"
"You should have told the truth."
She stared at him in disbelief. "Don't you dare lecture me on truth, you…you ass."
"You lied, Sadie. You said you didn't see anyone." He shook the drawing at her. "This is the man who took our son. The police have been running around, chasing their tails for almost two weeks, and all along you had this. His face, for Christ's sake!"
"He said he'd send Sam home in pieces!" she screamed.
Philip stared at her as if she were the monster. Then he shook his head and without a word, disappeared into the hall, the drawing in his hand.
A door slammed downstairs and she flinched.
"What have I done?" she cried out in anguish.
12
The following morning, Sadie's whole world came crashing down around her. Her deception made headline news. Every channel broadcasted reports of how the mother of the latest abducted child had known all along what The Fog had looked like. Every newspaper across the country carried her drawing. Reporters were scathing in their contempt of a mother who would conceal such a vital lead. Even the police looked at her differently.
Except Jay.
"You're a victim in all this too," he told her.
Terrified, she had holed up inside the house, refusing to answer the door. Every time the phone rang, she winced, especially when she saw Matthew Bornyk's number. She couldn't face him now.
When Philip packed his bags and moved into a hotel, she knew that nothing would ever be the same. Her life was a train wreck and there were no survivors.
Later that morning, Leah showed up in the kitchen. She had let herself in through the garage when no one answered the door.
Sadie took one look at her friend's watery eyes and broke down. "He's going to kill my baby, Leah. Sam is so scared, I can feel him. And there's nothing I can do to comfort him."
Leah hugged her tightly. "Jesus, Sadie. I'm so sorry."
"It's my fault."
"No, it isn't. You did what you thought was right."
Sadie shook her head. "Maybe if I had told the police what The Fog looked like someone would've recognized him."
"And maybe he would've done what he said he'd do," Leah argued. "Listen. No one can blame you. You were given an ultimatum, right?"
Sadie met her gaze. "Would you have kept quiet?"
"I honestly don't know what I would've done if I was in your position. Maybe I would've told the police and hoped they'd keep it out of the papers. I mean, no one else saw him. You saw his face. That's a pretty important piece of information."
Sadie backed away. "You don't think I thought of that?"
"I know—"
"You don't know anything. You don't know what it's like to love a child, to be a mother, to hold life in your hands and watch it grow into something beautiful. You don't know what it's like to watch a monster rip away your son, knowing you might never see your baby again. Not a single day goes by that I don't blame myself, wonder if I should have said something, done something."
Leah held out her hands. "Sadie, you—"
"No! You can't judge me. No one can. You weren't there. I want my son alive. Don't any of you get that? I'd rather Sam be alive and living with that—that monster, than dead."
The doorbell rang.
"I'll get it," her friend said quietly.
Sadie welcomed the uneasy truce. She hadn't had much peace lately. Everyone demanded something from her. Detective Lucas, Philip…even Leah. Like bloodthirsty piranha, they tore at her, stripping away her confidence, her last remnants of hope.
"Your neighbor across the street dropped this off," Leah said, handing her a small package wrapped in brown paper.
"My neighbor?"
"Yeah. Gail. The one with the yappy dog. She said someone left this on her porch by mistake."
Sadie's gaze dropped to her hands. "No…"
The package mocked her. Her name and address were written on it in black marker, but that was it. No return address, no stamp, nothing to indicate that Canada Post had ever processed it.
She let out a yelp and flung the package on the kitchen table.
Leah grabbed her. "What's wrong?"
"He said he'd send Sam to me. In little bloody pieces."
Leah stared uneasily at the box. "You don't really think…"
"No, I don't think. I know."
Sadie's breathing grew shallow and strained, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as if coated with sand. She moved toward the table, half-expecting the package to burst into flames when she touched it. When it didn't, she swallowed hard and her churning stomach threatened to rebel.
"Maybe we should call the police," Leah suggested.
Sadie shook her head. She wasn't about to wait for the police. She had to know what was in the package now.
"I'm calling that detective," Leah said firmly, reaching for the phone.
Sadie ignored her and peeled the paper from the package.
It was a hair color box. 'Sun-kissed Blond.'
She opened it carefully and peered inside. There was no card, just a crumpled wad of black tissue. When she unfolded it, something rolled onto the table.
A small bloody finger.
An ear-piercing scream shattered the air.
It took Sadie a few moments before she realized it was hers.
After the police left, Leah tucked her into bed.
"We don't know if it's Sam's," she said.
"I do."
Sadie stared at a smudge on the wall. She'd missed a spot in her cleaning. She'd have to remember to wash the walls in the morning. After all, she didn't want a dirty house. Sam would be coming home soon and everything had to be ready for him.
Leah hovered over her, a worried look in her eyes. She gently smoothed Sadie's bangs. "The pills should kick in any time."
Sadie grabbed her hand. "What would I do without you, Leah? You're the only one who's stuck by me in all this."
"You need to rest. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
Sadie frowned, recalling her harsh words earlier. Had she really said those things to Leah? That was so unlike her. She was mortified by her behavior.
And ashamed of that spot on the wall.
She made a mental note. Clean the walls.
"I love you, my friend," Leah said, choking back a sob.
The door closed behind her.
Sadie looked at her hands. They were shaking. For a moment, she stared at them, at her fingers. She was fascinated by her pinky.
So tiny…and covered with blood. Where had the blood come from?
She shook her head, remembering.
From Sam's bloody finger. In the package.
The police had said they'd keep it on ice. It would take a day to match the DNA, but she kn
ew it was Sam's baby finger. She had kissed his little hands plenty of times. She also knew something else. This was just the beginning. She knew she could expect a piece of Sam on her doorstep. Maybe a finger every day.
No! Don't think of that!
Desperate to drown out those horrible thoughts, she threw back the blanket and stumbled to Philip's sock drawer. She rummaged around furiously, then upended the drawer on the floor. Three mini bottles of rye rolled past her feet.
"You'll do just fine."
Twisting the first lid open, she raised the bottle in a silent salute to years of sobriety. Then she downed the rye. The bitter alcohol burned at first, then grew warm, soothing. Familiar. A fond memory of a long-lost friend. She emptied the last two bottles, then staggered back to bed with one thought on her mind.
Without you, Sam, I have nothing to live for.
She wept until there was just an empty pit where her heart had been. Then sleep stole her away.
When she awoke a few hours later, she discovered that Philip had moved back in.
"Temporarily," he stated. "Until you're feeling better."
He made her some soup for lunch.
"You have to eat," he said, placing the tray on her lap.
She gave him a blank look. "Why?"
"You need to stay strong."
"But I'm not strong," she said miserably. "I'm weak and—"
"You're the strongest person I know. That's the God's honest truth. I'm the weak one. Not you." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Stay strong, Sadie. For Sam."
After Philip had left, she picked at the food on the tray. Her stomach heaved in rebellion and she just made it to the bathroom before she was overcome by nausea.
What is The Fog doing to Sam now?
Two more pills gave her the dreamless sleep she craved.
At six that evening, Jay showed up on the doorstep.
The minute she saw him, she braced herself against the wall and held her breath. Then she hollered for Philip, who was working from home.
"We found the car, the sedan," Jay told them. "It was a rental. No fingerprints, no traces of the perp, just some strands of Sam's hair in the back seat."
"Where'd you find it?" Philip asked.
"The airport. We checked all flights. They didn't get on a plane. It would have been impossible anyway, since Sadie said Sam was unconscious."
"So he must have had another vehicle," she surmised.
Jay nodded.
"What about the…finger," she asked timidly.
Jay's mouth thinned. "The finger was numbed before amputation. We found traces of a local anesthetic, which leads us to believe he has a medical background. He may be a paramedic or a doctor. Something like that."
"And?"
"And…the finger is Sam's."
Sadie lost it. She howled with anguish and sank to the floor, working herself into such a frenzy that Philip couldn't calm her.
"Whoever did this, they knew what they were doing," Jay said, trying to comfort her. "That means he would have made sure there was no infection. I think Sam is still alive."
There was no comfort in the detective's words.
When he was gone, she doubled over, weeping. "The bastard hurt Sam, and it's all my fault."
No it isn't, Mommy.
"Yes it is," she argued with her son's ghost.
Without a word, Philip isolated himself in his office. In that one move, he had virtually washed his hands of her. And they both knew it.
She stumbled upstairs to the bedroom, reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a manila envelope. Inside were the documents that Philip had signed the night before.
"I know I was a rotten husband," he'd told her. "But I don't want you to hate me, Sadie."
She stared at the divorce papers, pen poised, ready to lay down her signature—until uncertainty overwhelmed her. She wasn't sure why. Their marriage had been over years ago.
So why was she hesitating?
Maybe because she was afraid that if she signed them, signed away her marriage, that Sam would never return. Perhaps by holding onto her marriage it would make him come back. Maybe there was still hope for her and Philip.
She pursed her lips. "Who are you trying to kid?"
She scribbled her signature on the papers.
For a long moment, she stared at the pen stroke that wiped out her status as a wife. It had been so easy, so quick. Her marriage was over—dead.
Like Sam, taunted her subconscious.
"No," she murmured with a shake of her head.
She hurried downstairs. Philip hadn't left yet.
"Here." She dropped the envelope on the desk in front of him. "Signed, sealed and delivered. I'll be out of the house by the end of the month."
At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable.
"Where will you go?" he asked.
"I don't know exactly. I might stay with Leah for a few weeks, until I find myself a new place."
"I meant what I said before. You can keep the house."
Her head jerked. "I don't want it, Philip. Someone stole our son from this house. It's poisoned now, tainted. But I do need something from you."
"What?"
"Make sure this is taken care of." She indicated the envelope.
"I'll have it filed immediately."
"You do that."
He watched her, a wild look in his eyes. "I tried to be a good husband, but I'm just not cut out for it. I-I did love you, Sadie. The best way I knew how. But then Sam came along and everything…changed. You changed."
"We both did, Philip."
13
Easter used to be Sadie's favorite holiday. Not this year though. No one called her with a cheery 'Happy Easter', as in years past. No flowers from Philip, even though they'd always been bought in haste at Sobeys. And no Sam. Instead, Easter Sunday arrived with a drizzle of rain and stormy skies, perfect weather for Sadie's mournful mood.
She was cleaning the kitchen when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
Heavy breathing greeted her.
"Leah, I'm really not in the moo—"
"Sam's left you an Easter gift," a voice rasped.
Her blood ran cold. It had been two weeks since she had heard that voice.
"It's on the porch."
Her breath quickened. "Wait! Please! Don't hurt—"
Click.
Dropping the phone on the table, she tottered toward the front door and whipped it open, half hoping—half praying—to see Sam. All she saw was a small ring box.
She phoned Jay.
"I'm right around the corner," he said. "We're already searching the neighborhood."
He pulled up a few minutes later in an unmarked police car. Patterson was with him.
"We've got your phone tapped," Jay explained when he noticed her questioning look.
"Did you trace the call?"
"He wasn't on long enough."
The younger detective quickly scoped the yard, checking the perimeter of the house, while Jay followed her to the porch.
"Did you move it?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Not an inch."
"Good."
He slipped on a pair of latex gloves, crouched down near the box and cautiously lifted the lid. Releasing a hissed breath, he gave her a fleeting look. Then he eased the box into a clear plastic bag and sealed it.
"Take this to the lab," he said to Patterson when the man returned. "I'll stay with Ms. O'Connell until her husband arrives."
Patterson drove away, tires squealing.
"What was in the box?" she asked, her stomach quivering.
"Sadie, I think we should wait—"
"Just tell me, Jay. It's better than letting my imagination run wild. What was it?"
"A child's toe."
Sadie's knees buckled and she collapsed against the house.
Jay rushed to her side. "Jesus, I'm so sorry," he said, helping her inside. "I'll call Victim Services for you."
> "No!" She grabbed his arm. "I need to be alone."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized what she had said. "I don't mean you have to go. I just don't want to be surrounded by strangers. I need to think. I need to call Philip. I need…oh God!"
She sagged into a chair at the kitchen table and rocked back and forth, trying not to think of the box. Or Sam's toe. Or the monster who took him. She hugged her arms across her chest.
Sammmm!
"Where do you keep your tea cups?" Jay asked firmly.
A flurry of thoughts bombarded her mind. What will he cut off next? Another toe? Another finger? Something else?
"Sadie?" Jay touched her arm.
She choked back a sob. "Sorry. What did you say?"
"Tea cups?"
"In the china cabinet," she said, watching him.
Jay found the kettle, filled it and plugged it in. When the water boiled, he looked at her and she pointed to a cupboard where she kept the teapot and tea. A few minutes later, he poured two cups of the strong brew, laced them with lots of cream and sugar, and hefted his bulk into a chair.
"I'm not very good at knowing what to do in situations like this," he apologized.
"The tea is good," she said. "Thanks for the distraction."
"My mother always used to say that the world's troubles could be solved by a pot of tea," he mumbled. "It's the only thing I can think of doing when things go bad."
She studied his tired, wrinkled face. "And things are really bad, aren't they?"
"We don't know if it's Sam's toe," he said quietly. "I'll have it analyzed right away."
She blinked rapidly, holding back the tears. "He said he'd send Sam back in pieces. First his finger, now his toe." She moaned and cradled her head in her hands.
"I wish I could do something, Sadie."
She heard the helplessness in his voice. She felt the same way.
"Thank you, Jay."
"I'm sorry that you're being taunted like this," he said. "And I'm so sorry he's hurt your son."
She nodded mutely.
"I want you to know we're doing everything…" His voice drifted away. "Hell, I know there's nothing I can say that'll make you feel any better." Frustrated, he ran a hand through his thin gray hair. "I'd give anything for a break on this case."
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