Children of the Fog by Cheryl Kaye Tardif Page A

than dead."
    The doorbell rang.
    "I'll get it," her friend said quietly.
    Sadie welcomed the uneasy truce. She hadn't had much peace lately. Everyone demanded something from her. Detective Lucas, Philip…even Leah. Like bloodthirsty piranha, they tore at her, stripping away her confidence, her last remnants of hope.
    "Your neighbor across the street dropped this off," Leah said, handing her a small package wrapped in brown paper.
    "My neighbor?"
    "Yeah. Gail. The one with the yappy dog. She said someone left this on her porch by mistake."
    Sadie's gaze dropped to her hands. "No…"
    The package mocked her. Her name and address were written on it in black marker, but that was it. No return address, no stamp, nothing to indicate that Canada Post had ever processed it.
    She let out a yelp and flung the package on the kitchen table.
    Leah grabbed her. "What's wrong?"
    "He said he'd send Sam to me. In little bloody pieces."
    Leah stared uneasily at the box. "You don't really think…"
    "No, I don't think. I know."
    Sadie's breathing grew shallow and strained, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as if coated with sand. She moved toward the table, half-expecting the package to burst into flames when she touched it. When it didn't, she swallowed hard and her churning stomach threatened to rebel.
    "Maybe we should call the police," Leah suggested.
    Sadie shook her head. She wasn't about to wait for the police. She had to know what was in the package now .
    "I'm calling that detective," Leah said firmly, reaching for the phone.
    Sadie ignored her and peeled the paper from the package.
    It was a hair color box. 'Sun-kissed Blond.'
    She opened it carefully and peered inside. There was no card, just a crumpled wad of black tissue. When she unfolded it, something rolled onto the table.
    A small bloody finger.
    An ear-piercing scream shattered the air.
    It took Sadie a few moments before she realized it was hers.
     
    After the police left, Leah tucked her into bed.
    "We don't know if it's Sam's," she said.
    "I do."
    Sadie stared at a smudge on the wall. She'd missed a spot in her cleaning. She'd have to remember to wash the walls in the morning. After all, she didn't want a dirty house. Sam would be coming home soon and everything had to be ready for him.
    Leah hovered over her, a worried look in her eyes. She gently smoothed Sadie's bangs. "The pills should kick in any time."
    Sadie grabbed her hand. "What would I do without you, Leah? You're the only one who's stuck by me in all this."
    "You need to rest. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
    Sadie frowned, recalling her harsh words earlier. Had she really said those things to Leah? That was so unlike her. She was mortified by her behavior.
    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