Intent on packing everything into a box and bringing it to town the following day, she hurried down the path and unlocked the Mercedes. She grabbed the plastic bin, hefted it to her hip and slammed the trunk. Then she started back, walking cautiously, since she couldn't see her feet.
By the time she reached the cabin, she was covered in a thin layer of sweat and every muscle in her arms ached. She pushed aside the back door with her hip, realizing too late that she'd nudged it a bit too hard. The door hit the inside wall. Then it rebounded back at her and threw her off balance. The bin flew out of her hands and upended on the ground, scattering papers, binders and file folders everywhere.
"Shit!"
Startled by her unusual outburst, she covered her mouth and giggled. Leah was right. Swearing was liberating.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
Grinning, she swept the mess of papers and files into a pile, and as she dumped everything back into the bin, a plain white envelope caught her eye. It was addressed in block letters to Philip. At his office. Besides the fact that it had no return address, there was something peculiar about the envelope, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
She opened it.
The letter had one paragraph of typed print and was dated over two years ago.
Philip, it began. Leave me alone! I told you that night was a mistake. It can never happen again. Ever! I will never forgive myself if Sadie finds out.
It was signed L.
"LaToya," she said, scowling. "I knew it. Just another notch in Philip's belt."
Since there was no time to surrender to jealousy and regrets, she tucked the letter back inside the envelope and tossed it into the bin, which she dropped on a kitchen chair and hastily put out of her mind.
She spent the afternoon outside on the veranda, painting and soaking up the warm sun. The drawings had evolved to watercolors, and time flew by as she lost herself in her work.
"Soon you'll be done, Batty."
More and more, she caught herself talking to the comical little rodent on the paper. Around four o'clock, she finished shading the entrance of a forbidding cave and she would have continued painting, but a strong breeze made her look up. The sapphire sky was being gobbled up by ravenous charcoal clouds.
"Damn. Time to pack it in."
She brought everything inside, and the moment she shut the door, the wind kicked up, howling in rebellion like a toddler in a full-blown temper tantrum. Immediately, the skies unleashed a torrential downpour that pounded the roof. Between the rain, wind, crackling fire and occasional sickened gong from the grandfather clock, Sadie felt as though she were sitting front row at a symphony that was seconds from an earsplitting crescendo.
Since there wasn't much else she could do, she curled up on the sofa with a mug of hot chocolate and a photo album. It was the perfect time to do something she had been putting off for weeks—a melancholy but necessary trip down memory lane.
Taking a deep breath, she flipped open the album.
Her mouth lifted. "You were so tiny, Sam. So perfect."
The photo had been taken in the hospital the day Sam had been born. His eyes were open and his skin emanated a healthy blush. She remembered how her heart had ached for nine months wondering if he'd be born healthy or if she'd miscarry like the others. After Sam was born, she kept asking the nurses, "Are you positive he's okay?" They assured her that he was.
"He'll be bringing home girlfriends soon enough," the doctor had said with a chuckle.
Sadie had believed him.
The next page showed Sam on his chubby little knees, a line of drool hanging from his smiling, toothless mouth. He was crawling to Mommy. Another photo showed Philip sleeping with a colicky Sam next to him. None of them had slept much that night.
Sadie turned the page and giggled. She had taken the picture a few months before Sam had turned three. He was sitting on the bathroom floor, an open box of tampons scattered in front of him. By the time she had discovered him, he had devilishly unwrapped every tampon and was throwing them like darts at the door.
The next page held one of her favorite photos. They had taken Sam to Galaxyland Amusement Park at West Edmonton Mall. All three of them were happy in the photo, especially Philip who was grinning from ear-to-ear. He looked so relaxed and boyish as he stood on the carousel behind the black stallion that Sam rode. Sadie stood next to him, after asking a young girl to take their photo. It was a rare moment when they had been a real family.
Sam had brought them all together. Once upon a time.
She sighed. "What happened to us?"
The last page in the album held photos taken a few months ago. On Valentine's Day, at the parade downtown. People were lined up on both sides of the street. Sam's class had gone there on a field trip, and Sadie had volunteered to meet them there and help. The moment he had spotted her in the crowd, Sam had beamed a smile and blown her a kiss. That's the second she snapped the picture.
Sadie blew a kiss back. "You'll always be my Valentine, Sam."
Her smile froze. She squinted at the photo. There was a man in the crowd. It would be difficult to miss him. He was dressed in a clown suit. He didn't look exactly like Clancy, but there was something about him that set off alarms. Perhaps because while everyone was watching the parade, he seemed to be watching Sam.
Since the photo was too small to make out any details, she rushed to her laptop and opened up the file where she had saved all the family photographs. Chewing her bottom lip, she scrolled down until she found the one of Sam at the parade. She enlarged it until it filled the screen.
She let out a muffled gasp.
Although his face was half hidden by shadows, the man was definitely staring in Sam's direction. Unsmiling. Intense. Familiar.
And holding six red balloons.
"Gotcha, you bastard."
Seated at the kitchen table with an oil lamp and the fireplace for light, Sadie tried to eat her supper, but she barely tasted the chef salad she had made. She picked at it, unable to get The Fog out of her head. He'd been watching Sam for weeks, maybe months, plotting his abduction, and she hadn't had a clue.
She had to get the photo to Jay, and there was only one way she could do that without having to drive all the way back to Edmonton.
Digging through her purse, she found Jay's card. Under his office phone number was an email address.
"Tomorrow," she murmured.
She glanced at the bin on the chair across from her. LaToya's letter lay on top, mocking her. She reached for it, then hesitated, resisting the temptation to read it again.
Her purse rang.
Without thinking, she retrieved her cell phone and flipped it open. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay, Sadie?" Leah's voice was tentative, distant.
"I'm fine."
"I was…worried about you, my friend. You left so suddenly."
Sadie didn't know what to say, and she didn't feel like explaining herself. Not even to Leah. Or anyone, for that matter.
"So…" Leah said. "How's the book coming along?"
"I'm almost done. Maybe another week."
"Want me to come keep you company, wherever you are?"
She was hinting, trying to get information from her, but the last thing Sadie wanted was company. She was already a bit pissed at herself for getting friendly with the locals. Irma, Ed, Martha…they were all nice people.
Too nice to be exposed to what I'm planning.
"Sadie?"
"I'm not ready for company. I have stuff to take care of."
"Why are you pushing me away?" Leah's voice trembled. "I'm your friend, or supposed to be. But ever since Sam—"
"Look, I can't talk about this right now. I'm sorry that things are the way they are." But they just are.
Leah tried again. "Friends are supposed to stick together in bad times. You know I'm here for you. Any time, day or night. If you need to talk, just call me." Quiet desperation echoed in her voice.
"I have to go now, Leah. Don't wo
rry about me. I'll be fine."
Sadie hung up and turned off her phone. To preserve the battery, she told herself. In actuality, she didn't want any more interruptions.
Annoyed by Leah's call, she washed the dishes and wiped down the counters. When she was done, she picked up the rum bottle, intending to mix a stiff drink. It held less than half an ounce.
"No point in wasting it."
She drained the rum and wiped her mouth with the back of one hand. Then she tucked the empty bottle in the cupboard, out of sight.
Philip's Cabernet teased her, calling out to her.
"No way. I'm saving you for last."
Resolved to a night without the comfort of an alcohol-induced sleep, she slumped down on the sofa, stared into the fire and tried to look at the positive side.
"At least you won't see ghost girls if you're sober."
An hour later, she was bored. With nothing better to do, she sat at the kitchen table and caved in to the seductive pull of LaToya's letter. She read it again, wondering why it felt so wrong. Afterward, she sorted through the folders and placed them in neat piles, her gaze skimming over them. They were legal documents, nothing exciting.
Until she found a letter that Philip had written two years ago, but never mailed.
Dear L.,
I can't stop thinking about you. I know you wanted it just as much as I did, so don't bother threatening that you'll tell Sadie. I'll tell her you led me on, seduced me. After all, you kissed me first. Sadie will never look at you the same way again. Especially if I tell her about Sam. I'm looking forward to your next birthday party, and I'm sure I can arrange to drive you home again.
Philip.
Sadie reread the last line. "What the hell?"
The truth hit her, hard and fast.
She swept aside the piles of paper until she found the first letter, the one she'd thought LaToya had sent to Philip. Then she snatched up her purse, rooting around for a sympathy card she'd received at Sam's funeral. She set the card and letter side-by-side, her eyes widening in horrified realization.
She let out a pained gasp. "What?"
There it was. All the proof she needed. Philip's name, in capital letters. Exactly the same as the card. That's what had teased at the corners of her mind, something subliminal daring her to recognize Leah's writing.
A cry ripped from her throat. "No! Not them!"
Sordid thoughts raced through her mind, taunting her, each competing for her attention. Philip had driven Leah home and they had had sex. Her husband and her best friend. Betrayal cut her like a knife, resisting at first and then slicing clean through her heart.
Philip and Leah.
She bolted from the chair and paced the cabin. Clenching her hands, she pounded on the counter. "Damn you, Philip, you fucking asshole!" She gritted her teeth. "And damn you, Leah. You were supposed to be my best friend."
Leaving the oil lamp burning on the table, she walked in a haze toward the bathroom. The bottle of sleeping pills waited on the counter. She shook two out and swallowed them dry. Then she made her way to the bedroom. In the dark, she climbed into bed and curled up into a ball.
It wasn't long before her despondent sobs filled the room.
23
Sadie didn't wake up until almost lunchtime. After a mug of instant coffee, she grabbed her purse and laptop, then made her way down the path. When she reached the Mercedes, she climbed in and turned the key in the ignition. The car let out a gravelly sputter. Then it died.
"Not now, damn it!"
It took two more attempts before the engine finally caught.
The drive to Hinton was uneventful, and Sadie kept her mind off Leah and Philip by thinking of the photograph of the clown and Sam.
"Nothing will bring you back, Sam," she said to the empty back seat. "And they'll probably never find The Fog. But I can't just ignore it. I have to tell someone. Then it's out of my hands."
"Time to charge up already?" Ed asked when she entered the pub.
"Actually, I need to ask you something."
Ed smiled. "Ask away, dear."
"Is there wireless internet somewhere in Hinton?"
He gave her a startled look. "Yeah, Cuppa Joe's. It's a coffee shop by the liquor store. There's a big sign right out front. Can't miss it."
"Thanks."
Ignoring the concerned looks he threw her way, Sadie said goodbye and sped off down the road. Just as Ed said, a sign advertising free wireless internet with the day's special brew sat on the ground in front of Cuppa Joe, a tiny cafe with four tables. The boy behind the counter gave her a vacant stare when she asked about internet.
"You gotta order coffee though," he said. "Vanilla okay?"
"Whatever you've got," she replied, handing him a five dollar bill.
A minute later, she had her laptop open on a table and the photograph of Sam and the clown was sent via the internet fairy to Jay's computer. The Styrofoam cup of coffee was still on the table, untouched, when she left.
Before heading home, she took a detour to the liquor store and bought another bottle of rum—the largest she could find—and a case of cola. A cashier wearing a University of Alberta t-shirt eyed her suspiciously and seemed shocked when Sadie brought out a VISA card.
"I'll have to see some I.D.," the girl said, chomping on a mouthful of pink bubblegum. "We've had lots of fake credit cards lately."
Sadie slid her driver's license across the counter.
Gum Girl scrunched her face. "Doesn't look like you. Your hair's a lot shorter now and you—"
"And I'm having a bad hair day. I know."
The irony was Sadie hadn't even bothered to brush her hair that morning. Or her teeth. She hadn't bathed or put on any makeup either. In the past month, she'd lost at least fifteen pounds, maybe closer to twenty, and her clothes hung loosely on her thin frame.
Gum Girl moved with the uninspired zombie-like speed of a young person who had nowhere to go and nothing better to do than breathe. Even that seemed to take some effort.
Finally, she handed back the cards. One at a time.
"Do you want that in a paper bag?" the girl asked, pointing to the rum.
"No."
Sadie snatched the rum and cola, then strode toward the exit. She was almost out the door when a gunfire pop sounded behind her. Startled, she jumped, nearly dropping the bottle. When she turned, she saw the girl peeling sticky pink gum off her mouth.
"Sorry," Gum Girl said with a giggle. "Jeesh. You look like someone shot you or something."
Sadie opened her mouth to reply, then clamped it shut.
In the car, she flipped down the visor and gazed into the mirror. "Okay, the verdict is in, folks. Sadie O'Connell, New York Times best selling author, looks awful. No, she looks like shit."
This swearing business was a breeze.
When she got back to the cabin, she called Jay.
"I got the photo," he said, sounding so far away.
"It's him, Jay. The Fog."
"We're checking into it, Sadie. There are some surveillance cameras in the area. We're hoping maybe one of them caught his license plate or the make of his vehicle. Something. We might get him yet."
"Great," she said, her voice hollow. "Better late than never, I guess."
"Sadie, we're doing everything—"
"I know." Her dull eyes wandered around the cabin and settled on Sam's photo on the wall. "But it's too late. No matter what you do, it won't bring Sam back. Will it, Jay?"
She heard him sigh.
"I'll call you as soon as we know anything," he said.
Jay called late the next day with bad news.
"There's nothing on camera. We're going to canvas the streets, see if anyone remembers him. It might take a few days."
"Do what you have to, Jay."
Sadie pushed aside thoughts of The Fog. Finding him meant very little to her. She didn't want to think of a long drawn-out court case, of the media frenzy it would create, and she just couldn't comprehend sitt
ing across from the man who had murdered her son. Or testifying before a jury that she had watched him leave with Sam.
And let him.
Sometimes her thoughts drifted to Matthew Bornyk. When they did, she would shake her head. If The Fog had so brutally butchered and murdered Sam, then Cortnie surely was dead as well. Matthew was lucky, she told herself. He didn't have to watch his child die before his very eyes.
For the next two days, she threw herself into finishing the illustrations for Going Batty. Every time she glimpsed the title, she'd laugh aloud. Truthfully, it was more of a hoarse cackle.
"Yes, you're going batty," she told herself.
At night, she ignored the relentless squawking of the crow and slid into a rum-induced haze before retiring to bed. In the morning, she opened the sliding door to the veranda, wondering what strange gift would be waiting for her. After the chocolate bar and envelope, she'd found a piece of licorice. The day after that, nothing. This morning, she'd found a pen, which she dropped into a jar near her art supplies.
During the day, she wrestled with images of Leah and Philip.
With quiet resolve, she re-read Leah's letter. She sensed deep-rooted remorse in each word. But that didn't make up for betraying a best friend.
Doesn't she know that secrets only destroy things?
"For three years you pretended to be my friend, while all along you kept this horrible secret. You and Philip. You could've told me, Leah. Maybe I would've understood. Maybe I could have forgiven you. But keeping this from me? I don't understand that."
She thought of the day Leah had shown up in Philip's office, the day she was looking for a lost book.
Another piece of the puzzle slid into place.
"Ah, I bet you were looking for this."
She folded Leah's letter and placed it on the coffee table. Despondent, she picked up the photo of Leah. "How could you sleep with my husband? How could you?" Fury gripped her and without hesitation she threw Leah's photo in the garbage can.
The walls felt like they were closing in on her.
Children of the Fog Page 17
