The path back to Infinity Cabin seemed to take longer than normal and Sadie reflected on the old woman's words. Irma was wrong. There would be no sunshine. Ever. There was nothing to live for. Sam was dead, Philip was in jail, and Leah…well, she meant nothing anymore.
She estimated she had two or three days left before Going Batty would be finished. She plotted out her remaining time, listing the things she needed to take care of. No loose ends.
Whirr…
Her pocket was vibrating.
She withdrew the cell phone and scowled at the display.
Philip.
"Shit." She flipped the phone open. "What do you want?"
"Are you okay?" He sounded worried.
"Yeah. Why are you calling, Philip?"
"Leah's worried about you. I thought you were going to stay with her." Pause. "Where the hell are you?"
"That's none of your business," she said, seething at the mention of Leah's name. "You lost the right to question me when you started sleeping around." With my best friend. "Is that the only reason you called me?"
"No…I, uh, was hoping you'd come visit me."
"Why would I do that, Philip?"
She heard him sigh.
"Look," he said. "I know I messed up. And I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I need to talk to you."
"I'm done talking. We have nothing more to discuss."
"Sadie, I know you have it," he said in a tight whisper. "I know you have the gun."
Her breath lurched to a stop. "Why do you think I have it?"
"Because it wasn't in my office when you packed up."
"How would you—?" She broke off, fuming. "Leah."
Her friend hadn't been after the bloody bottles of Screaming Eagle Cabernet. Or the letters. She wanted the gun.
"I asked her to find it," Philip said. "To get rid of it."
"Unbelievable. Asking my friend to do your dirty work. Now why would she do anything for you?"
He didn't answer.
"Maybe I should ask her," she said sourly.
"Where's the gun?"
"I got rid of it," she said, gritting her teeth. "Along with your letter and hers."
There was dead silence on the other end.
"What have you got to say about that, Philip?"
"Sadie…I…we—"
"Save it, Philip! I don't want to hear how my husband was screwing my best friend behind my back."
"It was one time," he said, like that made it any better. "Three years ago."
"Yeah. The night of her birthday party."
"She was loaded," he insisted. "And all over me."
"Oh, right. So it's all Leah's fault, is it?"
"No, it's mine. I knew she was drunk and I took advantage of her. I should've walked away."
"But you didn't, Philip. You slept with my best friend. And neither of you had the guts to tell me."
Everything started to fall into place. Leah and Philip's blatant animosity, their vicious bantering back and forth, their inability to be in the same room.
"That's why you've tried so hard to get me to dump her," she said, disgusted. "You were afraid she'd confess your mutual sins."
"She would never tell you. She didn't want you to get hurt. Yes, she feels guilty. Me too. So we agreed to forget about it."
"Well, obviously you didn't. Her letter makes it sound as though you've been pursuing her ever since. What were you doing, Philip? Blackmailing her into having sex with you because you couldn't get it from me?"
More silence.
What could he say? She'd caught him—and Leah—just as if she had walked in on them. It pierced her to the core. Philip sleeping with Bridget, LaToya or some other co-worker was one thing. But Leah? It was the harshest of infidelities.
She thought of Leah, recalling their last stilted conversation. She had known something was off. Now she knew what. Leah was afraid that in all the chaos of Sam's disappearance, his murder and the sale of the house, the truth would come out.
Philip cleared his throat. "We never slept together after that one time. I swear it on our son's grave."
"Don't you dare bring Sam into this!" she shouted. "How—?"
"He saw us, Sadie."
She almost dropped the phone. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Sam walked in on us."
"How could he have walked in on you if you were at her—?"
The air was sucked from the room.
"I assumed it happened when you drove her home," she said, dazed. "But that's not true. Is it, Philip?"
"No."
She covered her mouth, horrified, sick to her stomach. "You both disappeared during the party for almost half an hour. Leah told me she'd gone to lie down."
"She did, but—"
"And you said you were in your office."
"I went upstairs to get my glasses," he mumbled.
"So you had sex with my best friend. In our bed."
There was a brief pause. Then he said, "One time, Sadie."
"Once is more than enough," she replied. "We're done, Philip. Don't call me again."
"Sadie, wait! What about the—"
She calmly flipped the phone shut and stuffed it into the laptop case. Taking a slow, deep breath, she released it. "No loose ends."
Determined to complete Sam's book, she shrugged off her gloomy mood and set to work on the illustrations. Before long, she had finished a painting of Batty flying backwards into a tree. Next, she started on one of him cheerfully soaring toward the cave. By nightfall, it was finished.
She looked up at Sam's photo. "Soon."
Exhausted, she grabbed the wine bottle. There was no way she was taking any chances. She was not going to see dead children. Not that night.
Not ever again.
Later, she fell into bed and slept soundly…dreamlessly.
Until a shrill scream sent her staggering to her feet.
26
In the dark, Sadie's pulse quickened.
"What the hell was that?" she mumbled, still intoxicated.
After a long moment of silence, she let out a disparaging chuckle. It was the raging storm outside that had woken her. Or at least that's what she tried to convince herself. Rain pounded overhead, while the wind whipped against the cabin and rattled the windows. The drape caught her eye. It fluttered as if someone was blowing on it from behind.
"Just look outside, you coward."
She crossed the room in two swift—though unsteady—strides, and yanked back the drape.
Small black eyes blinked at her.
"Good grief! Don't you ever sleep?"
In response, the crow flew off into the night.
She was about to turn away when two apparitions emerged from the storm. They moved around the side of the cabin, until they were out of sight.
She pinched herself. It hurt.
"Okay, you're not dreaming. But you're definitely seeing things. No one would be outside in this—"
Knock, knock!
"Who's there?" She giggled drunkenly. I am insane.
Holding the lamp, she cracked open the back door.
Two shivering children stared up at her as they huddled together beneath a drenched blanket.
"Can we come in?" they asked in unison.
Apparently, even the dead needed to get in out of the rain.
Sadie opened the door wider, expecting the children to vanish. When they didn't, she nudged her head and they stepped inside. As she helped the smaller child slide the blanket from his shoulders, she recognized his shaved head immediately.
"Adam."
He gave her a brief smile.
The girl had to be his sister. Ashley. The girl from the woods.
Then she remembered what Irma had told her. Adam and Ashley were dead.
So who are they?
She watched while they made themselves comfortable on the sofa. They were a peculiar pair. Ashley's damp blond hair was cut dreadfully short—far too short for a girl—and i
t hadn't been brushed in a while, much less washed. She was dressed in a pink cotton nightgown this time. Adam's blue striped pajamas had been replaced by solid gray ones and he wore boots that matched his sister's. He looked thinner and paler than the other night. Then again, trekking through the woods in a storm wasn't altogether healthy.
Their presence made no sense.
Unless I'm delusional.
"I'm cold," Adam whined.
She hurried into the bathroom, returning a minute later with some bath towels, all the while telling herself that the children didn't exist. They'd be gone when she returned to the living room.
But they were still there.
Sadie passed a towel to Adam. "Make sure you dry off good or you'll catch a cold." She handed the other towel to the girl. "Ashley, right? Adam's sister?"
"Yes," Ashley said in a subdued voice.
"I'm Sadie."
"We know," Adam said. He grinned and she saw that a front tooth was missing.
"I hope the tooth fairy came last night," she said.
His smile faded. "There is no tooth fairy."
"Of course there—"
"Father doesn't like us talking about make belief things," Ashley cut in. "We're too old for that stuff."
"You sound ancient," Sadie said with a chuckle. "Don't be in such a hurry to grow up."
"I'm almost nine," the girl said, straightening.
"I'm six," Adam piped up.
Ashley handed her the wet towel. "Thanks."
"Why don't I brush your hair?" Sadie offered. "It's a mess."
"It doesn't matter. It's always a mess."
"I promise I'll be gentle."
The girl trudged into the bathroom behind her, and when Sadie reached for her, she half expected her hand to move through insubstantial waves, but her hand touched wet hair.
How could these children be real?
I'm drunk, that's how.
She carefully separated strands of Ashley's neglected hair, while Adam perched on the toilet seat, watching them.
"Can I have hot chocolate?" he asked.
"Sure. With extra marshmallows."
He made a face. "Yuck! I hate marshmallows."
"Well, you ate them last time," Sadie said, surprised.
"No, I didn't."
"Adam doesn't know what he likes," Ashley interjected. She smiled at the mirror. "Hey, my hair looks…pretty."
And it did. The soft glow of the lamp brought out golden lights in the girl's naturally blond hair, and because it was so short, it was almost dry.
"You should let it grow a bit," Sadie suggested.
Ashley's smile disappeared. "I can't. Father—"
"Won't let us," Adam finished.
There was an awkward silence.
"Go sit by the fire," Sadie said. "I'll make the hot chocolate."
She went out to the veranda to get the milk jug from the cooler. An arctic wind whipped at her hair, but the overhang protected her from the drizzly rain. In the kitchen, illuminated by the lamp, she unsteadily scooped hot chocolate powder into a pot, filled it with milk and set it on the Coleman stove. It took her three tries to light the damned thing, but she finally got it working.
Her gaze drifted toward the children. Big sister Ashley had grabbed Sadie's blanket, the one she'd left on the chair. They sat side-by-side, covered with it, anxiously waiting for her return. Occasionally, their heads would move close and they'd whisper to each other, their expressions serious.
Sadie rubbed her eyes.
The children were still there when she opened them.
When the hot chocolate was ready, she handed them each a mug and offered Ashley a bowl of marshmallows. The girl picked out two and dropped them in her mug. When she took the first sip, the smile with which Sadie was rewarded was one of complete bliss.
"This is the best hot chocolate," Ashley said in awe. "Adam was right."
"Yeah, Adam was right," her brother mumbled between sips.
Sadie frowned. Not many kids referred to themselves in third person. It was more than a little weird.
Ashley and Adam.
Why would they lie about their names?
The wine she had polished off earlier still made her brain fuzzy and she took a deep breath. "Listen, this prank has gone on far enough. I know your names aren't really Ashley and Adam."
Ashley jumped to her feet, a terrified look on her face.
"That's a lie! My name is Ashley."
"Ashley and Adam are dead," Sadie said gently. "Who are you really?"
Adam, his mouth trembling, tugged on Ashley's arm. "We gotta go." He pulled her toward the back door, yanked it open and stepped outside.
In the doorway, Ashley whipped around. "He told us you'd come for him. For us. We thought you were the one. I don't know how we could've been so wrong."
Sadie lurched toward them. "Wait! Who—"
But she was too late.
The children darted across the grass. At the edge of the woods, Adam skidded to a stop and spun around. "Saa-deeeee!" His voice sounded desperate and clear—no lisp.
In fact, now that she thought about it, he hadn't lisped during the entire visit. Not once.
"What the hell is going on?" she murmured.
She moved down the steps, thinking to call them back, but then the strangest thing happened. Before her eyes, Adam and Ashley multiplied into four small shapes. Then six. Like human cells duplicating and separating.
Sadie blinked, but they remained, cloaked in shadows, indistinguishable. Six ghost children.
"Jesus…"
Voices began to chant. "One fine day, in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight…"
"Stop it!" she screamed.
The chanting died instantly.
In the distance, they studied her, and it made her skin crawl.
"Leave me alone!" she yelled.
At first, none of them moved. Then, one by one, the children withdrew, merging into the colorless void of night.
Sadie stepped back into the cabin, slammed the door and leaned against the wall. Her breath came in quick pants and she dug her fingernails into her palms.
What did these illusions, these children, want from her?
Giving into temptation, she grabbed the second to last bottle of Cabernet and staggered back to bed. By the time she had nearly finished the wine, she had convinced herself that Ashley and Adam's visit had been nothing more than another alcohol-induced hallucination. That's why she'd seen six of them. She had conjured them up because of her own loss and culpability.
"You saw them because you want to, because you're nothing but an alcoholic, Sadie. And a useless drunk. There's no other explanation."
But there was.
27
Six objects on the kitchen counter were the first things she saw when she managed to make it past the bathroom the next morning. She stood motionless, two feet from the sink, and eyed the wrinkled chocolate bar wrapper, envelope, licorice, pen, onion and a new addition—a handful of Smarties. Something about their careful alignment bothered her.
Were they mere apparitions?
She reached out hesitantly and swept the Smarties in her hot hand. They began to melt.
"Well, you're real at least."
She ate them, happy to camouflage the sour taste of vomit.
Before her trip to the bathroom where she had thrown up until she was left with dry heaves, she had woken to thoughts of the strange children. There was only one explanation that made any sense. Since Irma swore that there were no children around and that Ashley and Adam were dead, Sadie—in a perpetual drunken stupor—had conjured up the entire thing.
She scowled.
That meant she was responsible for the items on the counter.
She swept them into the garbage can, then proceeded to make a pot of coffee. Recalling Ed's advice, she added an extra half scoop of dark roast coffee. Not wanting to fight with the temperamental stove, she slid the grate over the fire and plopped the percol
ator down on it.
Then she set up her art supplies.
As the sun departed to make room for the moon, Sadie drained the rum, drinking from the bottle, welcoming the giddiness it brought. She had been gripped by a blur of activity and intoxication the entire day. Illuminated by two oil lamps and a blazing fire, she had worked in frenzy, painting the final illustrations for Sam's book and fighting the panicky feeling that rumbled in the pit of her stomach.
Now, she tried to ignore the desperate voices in her head.
But she couldn't.
'We needed you.'
"The one person who ever needed me is dead," she wept.
She caught sight of the calendar near the sink.
It was already two weeks into May.
She squinted at the clock. 9:50.
"A few hours and it'll be Mother's Day," she slurred. "Well, if ever there was a sign, this is it." She circled the date with a black marker. "D-Day. Dying Day."
She let out a drunken laugh, then lurched into the bedroom, careful not to look at Sam's photograph. She set a flashlight on the nightstand and directed the beam at the bottom of the bed.
"Oh, it's dying time again, I'm gonna leave you," she sang off-key as she sank to her knees. "I can see that faraway look…in your eyes."
She floundered under the bed and pulled the gun box closer. Once it was clear of the bed, she picked it up and tucked it under her arm. Then she stood up. Too quickly. The sudden shift in equilibrium made her head spin and she fell against the nightstand. The box tumbled to the floor, the lid toppled off and the gun slid under the bed.
"Shit!"
On her knees again, she lifted the edge of the bedspread and peered into the shadows underneath the bed. The gun was lodged against one of the headboard legs. She inched her head sideways and stretched out her arm, but still couldn't reach it. She wriggled closer, her body blocking all the light. The floor was cool and rough, and she found a handful of dust bunnies. But no gun.
An unexpected light beamed from the opposite side of the bed, as though someone had entered the room behind her and shifted the flashlight. Then, bit by bit, the bedspread began to lift.
What Sadie saw next practically stopped her heart.
A familiar face and two solemn sapphire eyes.
Sam's eyes!
"Sam?"
Children of the Fog Page 19
