Children of the Fog (12 page)

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."

Sadie lost it. She howled with anguish and sank to the floor, working herself into such a frenzy that Philip couldn't calm her.

"Whoever did this, they knew what they were doing," Jay said, trying to comfort her. "That means he would have made sure there was no infection. I think Sam is still alive."

There was no comfort in the detective's words.

When he was gone, she doubled over, weeping. "The bastard hurt Sam, and it's all my fault."

No it isn't, Mommy.

"Yes it is," she argued with her son's ghost.

Without a word, Philip isolated himself in his office. In that one move, he had virtually washed his hands of her. And they both knew it.

She stumbled upstairs to the bedroom, reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a manila envelope. Inside were the documents that Philip had signed the night before.

"I know I was a rotten husband," he'd told her. "But I don't want you to hate me, Sadie."

She stared at the divorce papers, pen poised, ready to lay down her signature—until uncertainty overwhelmed her. She wasn't sure why. Their marriage had been over years ago.

So why
was
she hesitating?

Maybe because she was afraid that if she signed them, signed away her marriage, that Sam would never return. Perhaps by holding onto her marriage it would make him come back. Maybe there was still hope for her and Philip.

She pursed her lips. "Who are you trying to kid?"

She scribbled her signature on the papers.

For a long moment, she stared at the pen stroke that wiped out her status as a wife. It had been so easy, so quick. Her marriage was over—dead.

Like Sam,
taunted her subconscious.

"No," she murmured with a shake of her head.

She hurried downstairs. Philip hadn't left yet.

"Here." She dropped the envelope on the desk in front of him. "Signed, sealed and delivered. I'll be out of the house by the end of the month."

At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable.

"Where will you go?" he asked.

"I don't know exactly. I might stay with Leah for a few weeks, until I find myself a new place."

"I meant what I said before. You can keep the house."

Her head jerked. "I don't want it, Philip. Someone stole our son from this house. It's poisoned now, tainted. But I do need something from you."

"What?"

"Make sure this is taken care of." She indicated the envelope.

"I'll have it filed immediately."

"You do that."

He watched her, a wild look in his eyes. "I tried to be a good husband, but I'm just not cut out for it. I-I did love you, Sadie. The best way I knew how. But then Sam came along and everything…changed.
You
changed."

"We both did, Philip."

13

Easter used to be Sadie's favorite holiday. Not this year though. No one called her with a cheery 'Happy Easter', as in years past. No flowers from Philip, even though they'd always been bought in haste at Sobeys. And no Sam. Instead, Easter Sunday arrived with a drizzle of rain and stormy skies, perfect weather for Sadie's mournful mood.

She was cleaning the kitchen when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

Heavy breathing greeted her.

"Leah, I'm really not in the moo—"

"Sam's left you an Easter gift," a voice rasped.

Her blood ran cold. It had been two weeks since she had heard that voice.

"It's on the porch."

Her breath quickened. "Wait! Please! Don't hurt—"

Click.

Dropping the phone on the table, she tottered toward the front door and whipped it open, half hoping—half praying—to see Sam. All she saw was a small ring box.

She phoned Jay.

"I'm right around the corner," he said. "We're already searching the neighborhood."

He pulled up a few minutes later in an unmarked police car. Patterson was with him.

"We've got your phone tapped," Jay explained when he noticed her questioning look.

"Did you trace the call?"

"He wasn't on long enough."

The younger detective quickly scoped the yard, checking the perimeter of the house, while Jay followed her to the porch.

"Did you move it?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not an inch."

"Good."

He slipped on a pair of latex gloves, crouched down near the box and cautiously lifted the lid. Releasing a hissed breath, he gave her a fleeting look. Then he eased the box into a clear plastic bag and sealed it.

"Take this to the lab," he said to Patterson when the man returned. "I'll stay with Ms. O'Connell until her husband arrives."

Patterson drove away, tires squealing.

"What was in the box?" she asked, her stomach quivering.

"Sadie, I think we should wait—"

"Just tell me, Jay. It's better than letting my imagination run wild. What was it?"

"A child's toe."

Sadie's knees buckled and she collapsed against the house.

Jay rushed to her side. "Jesus, I'm so sorry," he said, helping her inside. "I'll call Victim Services for you."

"No!" She grabbed his arm. "I need to be alone."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized what she had said. "I don't mean you have to go. I just don't want to be surrounded by strangers. I need to think. I need to call Philip. I need…oh God!"

She sagged into a chair at the kitchen table and rocked back and forth, trying not to think of the box. Or Sam's toe. Or the monster who took him. She hugged her arms across her chest.

Sammmm!

"Where do you keep your tea cups?" Jay asked firmly.

A flurry of thoughts bombarded her mind. What will he cut off next? Another toe? Another finger? Something else?

"Sadie?" Jay touched her arm.

She choked back a sob. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"Tea cups?"

"In the china cabinet," she said, watching him.

Jay found the kettle, filled it and plugged it in. When the water boiled, he looked at her and she pointed to a cupboard where she kept the teapot and tea. A few minutes later, he poured two cups of the strong brew, laced them with lots of cream and sugar, and hefted his bulk into a chair.

"I'm not very good at knowing what to do in situations like this," he apologized.

"The tea is good," she said. "Thanks for the distraction."

"My mother always used to say that the world's troubles could be solved by a pot of tea," he mumbled. "It's the only thing I can think of doing when things go bad."

She studied his tired, wrinkled face. "And things are really bad, aren't they?"

"We don't know if it's Sam's toe," he said quietly. "I'll have it analyzed right away."

She blinked rapidly, holding back the tears. "He said he'd send Sam back in pieces. First his finger, now his toe." She moaned and cradled her head in her hands.

"I wish I could do something, Sadie."

She heard the helplessness in his voice. She felt the same way.

"Thank you, Jay."

"I'm sorry that you're being taunted like this," he said. "And I'm so sorry he's hurt your son."

She nodded mutely.

"I want you to know we're doing everything…" His voice drifted away. "Hell, I know there's nothing I can say that'll make you feel any better." Frustrated, he ran a hand through his thin gray hair. "I'd give anything for a break on this case."

She felt a surge of pity for Jay. His face was lined with worry and years of hopeless cases. "Thank you."

"I've spent too many years on the job," he confessed. "It doesn't get any easier."

"There must be something you get out of it, something rewarding."

He smiled grimly. "Catching the bastards."

Good, she thought. That's what she wanted too.

"You must travel a lot," she said offhandedly.

"Not much. I have a little…problem."

Her brow lifted. "What kind of problem?"

"I, uh…" His mouth curled wryly. "I don't like flying."

"Long waits and crowded airports," she guessed. "Or nine-eleven."

"None of the above. I'm afraid of flying." He stood slowly and wandered toward the doorway to the living room. "I'm going to call your husband."

For a few moments—only a few though—he had taken her mind off the horrible reality that her son had been brutally dismembered. She sensed that Jay Lucas was not used to showing his own vulnerability. Then she thought of hers—Sam. He was her number one weakness.

However, she had one more. And it was calling her name.

"Jay," she said, standing on shaky legs. "I need to lie down for a bit."

"I'll clean up," he offered. "Oh, and Philip is on his way."

She excused herself and headed down the hall.

Her conscience argued, "Don't do it!" But she was beyond listening. All she could think of was the box with Sam's toe. She needed something to numb her pain, make her forget. And there was one thing that was guaranteed to do just that.

In Philip's office, she grabbed a set of keys from the top desk drawer. Then she unlocked the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet—the one Philip had always told her was for business.

Business? Yeah, right!

She'd discovered the bottles a month ago when she was searching for an empty file folder. Philip had left the drawer unlocked. When she confronted him, he told her that the six bottles of ridiculously expensive Screaming Eagle Cabernet had been given to him by one of his wealthy clients after a successful corporate merger.

She had never touched the bottles—until today.

The wine called to her. Sadie…drink me…I'll help you forget.

Seduced by its persuasive promise, she climbed the stairs, a corkscrew in one hand and a bottle in the other. As soon as she reached her bedroom, she uncorked the red wine and sniffed it. The aroma was intense and sulfurous—like a mix of earth, concentrated fruit and something murky that simmered beneath the surface.

She scrunched her face, wondering if there was any other alcohol in the house. But short of drinking the vanilla extract that her parents had bought in Mexico, this was the best she had.

"Suck it up, Princess."

She didn't even bother with a glass. Sipping directly from the bottle, she hardly tasted it at first. The wine slid down her throat, leaving a fiery trail behind. When her taste buds finally registered, she was shocked by the almost undrinkable quality of the wine.

"Must be an acquired taste," she mumbled.

She tossed back the wine, forcing her throat to swallow. As she welcomed the warm infusion of alcohol into her body, a few drops spilled from the corner of her mouth and onto the cream-colored carpet. They resembled spatters of blood.

"What are you doing, Sadie?" she whispered.

The wine found its way to her mouth again.

Forgetting.

Half a bottle later, she was more than a little drunk. Hiding the Cabernet behind her nightstand, she staggered into the bathroom where a bottle of sleeping pills waited. She shook some into her palm. It was tempting to take them all, slip into a deep and permanent sleep, but she took one and put the rest back.