Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

It wasn’t long before her despondent sobs filled the room.

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 sitting 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.

“I need to get out of here.”

So she escaped to Hinton to charge her laptop and phone.

She sat in Ed’s Pub, nursing a rum and cola and doodling on a napkin while planning the last few paintings for Sam’s book. It was practically finished. With a weary sigh, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. The sweet sound of Sara Westbrook filtered through the room. Innocent, pure… and hopeful.

But there’s no hope for me.

“You want another?” Ed asked softly.

She opened her eyes, shook her head. “You sure have an eclectic selection of songs on that thing.” She nudged her head toward the jukebox.

Ed smiled. “I like to support Canadian talent.”