Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

“If you want to walk with a divorced writer,” Sadie said wryly as she grabbed her jacket.

A cigar found its way to Irma’s mouth and a puff of smoke was released into the crisp air. “What do you write, Sadie? Slutty romances?”

“No, that’s my friend’s area. I write mysteries mostly.”

“Ah,” Irma said, nodding. “Nothin’ better than a good mystery.”

An image of the Hershey bar crossed Sadie’s mind.

“I found a chocolate bar on the veranda,” she blurted.

Irma snickered. “Must be from one of the men. You got yourself an admirer.”

They walked through the woods in silence. Sadie felt surprisingly at peace and her headache rapidly disappeared. Rejuvenated from the country air, she got up the nerve to ask Irma something.

“You said you have grandchildren. Are they visiting now?”

The cigar dangled from the corner of Irma’s mouth. “They’re in Edmonton. Won’t be coming back until summer holidays. Why you ask?”

Sadie stared at the icy rocks beneath her feet.

Should she tell Irma what she had seen the night before?

“What about the oil workers?” she asked. “Any of them have kids visiting?”

Irma flicked the stub of her cigar into the river. “Nope. The nearest kid is in town.” She eyed her suspiciously. “Why all this interest in kids?”

“I thought I saw someone. In the—oh, never mind.” Sadie groaned. “I think I drank too much last night.” But she couldn’t help thinking about the Hershey bar she had tossed into the cooler.

“Liquor’ll kill you,” Irma stated, lighting up another cigar.

They strolled along the riverside, chatting about the weather and inconsequential things. As they neared a curve in the river, Sadie noticed a pattern of half-submerged, flat-topped slabs of rock in the water, maybe two feet apart. They looked too perfectly aligned to be natural.

“Stepping stones?” she asked.

Irma eyed the rock bridge. “Yeah. Sarge put ’en in. So his kids could visit Brenda and me. It’s faster than taking the road around.”

Sadie stopped at the river’s edge and framed her eyes with a hand to block the piercing sun.

“The water looks pretty high,” she noted.

“The spring runoff. See that boulder?” Irma pointed across the river. “If the water ever gets to that orange line, it’s time to pack it in and head for Cadomin. Before the bridge to town gets washed out.”

Sadie eyed the river. “How often does it flood?”

“About once every three or four years.”

As they headed back, Irma’s words echoed in Sadie’s mind. She’d have to be vigilant. A flood would ruin her plans.

“Thanks for the walk,” she said when they returned to Infinity Cabin.

Irma squinted at her. “You’re too young to be cooped up inside, dear. Life is meant for living. Don’t forget that.” With a wave, she puttered off down the path.

For the rest of the afternoon, Sadie worked on editing the manuscript for Going Batty. Until her laptop died. Frowning, she pushed it aside and made a mental note to go into town the next day to charge the battery.

Supper was a generous chef salad with shredded Canadian cheddar and bacon bits. Seated on the sofa in front of the fireplace, she thought of Philip. He would have been appalled if she had made a salad for supper. He was a meat and potatoes man. Take-out was bad enough. And God forbid if they didn’t eat at the dining room table like normal people.

A mischievous grin crossed her face. “To hell with normal.”

Once the dishes were washed, she stretched out on the sofa and stared into the flames. It was hard to resist the impulse to dive right in. In one hand, she held her cell phone. In the other, a glass of rum and cola.

“You can do this. Just one drink tonight.”

First, she called her parents. They were concerned about her, naturally, but she assured them that she was taking a little holiday and getting lots of rest.

“Well, you sound okay,” her father said.

Strangely enough, she felt okay. In fact, her mind had never been clearer.

“I love you, Dad. Mom too.”

After a few words with her mother, she hung up and stared at the drink in her hand, swirling it leisurely.

“One more call,” she said, gulping back the last mouthful.

But she just couldn’t dial the number.

Half an hour later, she finished off her third glass, then made the call. After explaining to the man on the other end that her call was urgent—a family matter—she was put on hold while a guard located Philip and escorted him to the phone.

“Sadie? I was wondering when you’d—”

“I just wanted to tell you that you won’t be able to contact me for a while, Philip. I don’t have electricity.”

“What do you mean? Where are you?”

She took a long, thoughtful sip of her drink.

Where was she? Nowhere.

“Sadie, are you all right?”

She stared at Sam’s photo. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I heard you took my car.” His voice was tight, measured.

“How the heck—? You talked to Leah. Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why. Listen, Sadie. I left some important documents in the trunk. Do you think you can pack them up in a box and mail them to me right away?”

“Sure,” she said, miffed. “Next time I drive into town.”

“Damn, I almost forgot. There’s a problem with the starter.”

“The starter?”

“On the car. If it goes you’ll have to take it in to a shop.”

There was a long pause.

“Sadie, do you need—?”

“No. I don’t need anything. I have to go now.”

“Wait! Tell me where you—”

“My cell’s dying,” she lied. “Bye, Philip.”

She hung up on him, wondering why she had called him in the first place. Maybe so he wouldn’t file a missing person’s report or send someone after her. She was tempted to call Leah, give her a piece of her mind. But courage wasn’t her middle name.

In the end, she found comfort in another glass of rum.

No mix.

A bird screeched beyond the bedroom window, without a care for the occupant inside. As the raucous chatter found its way into Sadie’s restless dreams, she rolled onto her stomach and dragged the blanket over her head.

“Cawww!”

“Shut up!”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she moaned and scrunched her face. Her head throbbed, as if crushed in a vice. She threw back the blanket and when she opened her aching eyes, she was relieved to find that the bedroom was pitch black, except for a faint glow from the battery-operated clock on the nightstand. The double-backed curtains in the window were a godsend. But they didn’t muffle the bird’s incessant squawking.

She sat up on her elbows and glared at the clock.

“Two in the morning? You’ve got to be kidding.”

Another shriek brought her stumbling to her feet.

“Okay, enough already!”

She lit the lamp, then strode toward the window, intending to shoo the irksome pest away. Hooking a finger between the drapes, she inched them back and was startled by the darkness that loomed beyond. What freaked her out most were the two black eyes on the other side of the glass.

The crow—the same one from last night—stared at her.

“Get lost!” She knuckled the window, but the bird didn’t move. “Jesus! What’s with you?”

Another shriek from the crow. Then its beak struck the glass.

Tap! Tap!

She resisted the urge to strangle the damned thing. Barely.

“Don’t tempt me, you black-feathered minion.”

She was about to step away from the window when something shifted in the bushes near the back stairs.

“There is someone out there.”