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.”
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.”