Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

“He’s missing a finger and a toe,” Sadie cried. “That doesn’t mean he’s dead.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s alive either.”

Philip’s words enraged her.

“Shut up, Philip!” she shouted. “He’s alive! I know it!”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Jay sent Philip a hard stare, then turned to Sadie. “When you speak to The Fog, make sure you mention Sam’s name a lot. Make it personal, Sadie. Most abductors see their victims as impersonal objects, not human beings. Show him the sweet, playful side of Sam.”

“Do you think he might let Sam go?”

Jay’s mouth thinned and she saw his eyes cloud over.

“That’s not why you want me to make it personal, is it?” she said.

“Look, Sadie,” he said. “We just don’t want him to continue hurting Sam. We want him to think that his warnings have worked, that we’ll back off. Meanwhile, we’ll keep looking for him.”

In a blur of motion, someone clipped a tiny microphone to her collar and a receiver to the waistband of her slacks.

“We’ve drafted up a speech to help you,” Jay said, handing her a piece of paper.

She scanned the words, staring at them as if they were written in a foreign language. One word stood out clearly. Sam.

“We’re on in five,” the cameraman said, counting down.

There was a sour taste in her mouth.

Reporter Lance MacDonald introduced her.

Then time stood still.

She faced the camera, her mouth sandpaper dry, her tongue limp. What do I say to a kidnapper, a man I let take my son?

She read the notes that Jay had so carefully prepared.

“I want to ask you for the safe return of our son, Samuel James Tymchuk. Samuel—Sam—is our… my…” Lost in grief, she couldn’t get the words out.

Behind her, Philip hissed, “Jesus! Keep going!”

“S-Sam is only six and he’s…”

Her eyes welled with tears and the words before her blurred.

She tried again. “Sam is six and…”

Why was she reading someone else’s words?

Crumpling the paper, she stared into the camera.

“Sam is my son. He’s six years old and very smart, even though he doesn’t talk. He loves to read and draw. He’s a sweet, sweet boy—my baby—and I love him more than anything. I beg you… please return him to me.” She hitched in a breath. “I apologize that my drawing of you got out. I’m sorry I ever drew it. But I was not responsible for releasing it to the police. Neither was Sam. He’s innocent in all this and I know you don’t want to hurt him. I’ll give you money, time to disappear, whatever you need.”

She caught sight of Jay’s grim expression. He shook his head, but she continued. “If you give me back my son, give me Sam, I’ll make sure you walk away. You know how to reach me. Call me. This can be between you and me. Just don’t hurt Sam.” She choked back a sob. “Please—”

Philip shoved her aside. “Listen, you sick freak! Give us back our son! Only a fucking coward would—”

Sadie watched in horror as Jay grabbed Philip and hurled him against the wall. Even the reporter flinched. The cameraman had the decency to turn the camera away and the crew stepped back.

“You stupid ass!” Jay hissed between gritted teeth. “What are you trying to do, get your son killed?”

“Of course not!”

Sadie clenched Philip’s arm. “If you’ve done anything to hurt Sam—”

“Me? What about you?” He shook a finger at her. “You’re the one who let him take Sam, for Christ’s sake.”

“You weren’t there!” she screamed, unleashing her fury. “He was going to shoot Sam, right in front of me. I had no choice!”

“You should’ve tried!” he yelled back. “You should’ve done more!”

She gave him a frosty look. “I will always wonder if I could have done more, Philip. I live with that every day.”

That night, she saw her face plastered on all the local news stations. She called Jay just before ten.

“Anything?”

“Sorry, Sadie. We haven’t heard from him.”

She hung up, disappointed.

In the ensuite bathroom, she downed a sleeping pill. Then she brushed her teeth and splashed cool water over her face. Groping blindly for a towel, she found one. Then she raised her head and hissed in a huge lungful of air.

A boy stood behind her.

“Sam!”

She whipped around, but there was only empty space.

“Sam? Where are you, baby?”

She wandered in her bedroom, listless and dead tired. Then she crumpled into bed and slipped into unconsciousness, her sleep haunted by disturbing visions.

Sam was standing just out of reach, surrounded by pitch-black shadows. At first, he appeared at a great distance. Then he moved forward. Behind him, the black void expanded, a tunnel racing to claim him. He peered over his shoulder, and when he turned back, the fear that radiated from his eyes almost made her heart stop beating.

“Hurry, Sam!” she screamed.

The blackness slithered over him and she ran toward him, but her legs were weighted down by some invisible, malevolent force. She was an arm’s length away when her knees buckled and she sank to the ground, crying out in anguish.

“Come back to me, Sam! I miss you.”

Sam leaned over her, his face a blur, and a flash freeze brushed her cheek. That’s when she bolted awake, her pulse beating furiously. She could have sworn that Sam had kissed her. When she touched her cheek, it felt damp.

By morning, she was sure that she had dreamt it all.

Either that or I’ve completely lost it.

A computerized version of Barney’s ‘I Love You’ song—Sam’s choice—interrupted her thoughts.

“Is this line tapped?”

Her hand shook. “I-I don’t think so.”

“I saw you on TV,” The Fog said. “You and your husband.”

“He shouldn’t have said those things,” she said quickly. “He didn’t mean it. Please, don’t hurt Sam because of it. I’m really, really sorry.”

There was a muffled moan, then the slam of a car door.

“So am I,” The Fog replied. “You know the Rafferty Tree Nursery, west of Beaumont?”

She held her breath. “Yes.”

“Sam’s waiting for you. Be here in half an hour. Alone.”

“Alone?” she repeated.

There was an impatient huff. “If I wanted to kill you, Sadie, I woulda done it that night. Oh, and in case I need to tell ya, no police.”

“Wait! I—”

The line went dead.

Relief flooded her. She was going to get Sam back.

She left a message on the answering machine for Philip. “I’ll be back soon. With Sam.”

She stared at the flashing message light for a moment.

Well, I’m not telling the police, but if he thinks I’m going to leave and not tell someone where I’m going, he’s definitely crazy.

The Rafferty Tree Nursery was a twenty-minute drive to the outer edge of south Edmonton. The family-owned business grew an assortment of trees and shrubs, with acres of wooded land stretching as far as the eye could see.

As she drove, she glimpsed her reflection in the rearview mirror. She was a mess. Her long black hair was dry and dull, and she couldn’t remember if she’d even brushed it that morning. The Mars-like craters under her eyes bespoke of little sleep and too much crying. Even the blue of her irises seemed washed out.

“You look like crap, Sadie O’Connell.”

But she knew it didn’t matter what she looked like, as long as she got Sam back. She could feel his life essence pulling her closer, urging her to step on the gas.

Hurry!

She turned down a side road, ignoring the ‘Private Property’ sign and the warning that the place didn’t open for the season for three more weeks. The eroded dirt road took her past the scraggly branches of deciduous trees—silver birch, trembling aspens and balsam poplars. The farther she drove, the more mature and thick the greenery became, until she was surrounded by a grove of lush, long-needled evergreens.