Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

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 knew 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.”