Children of the Fog (6 page)

Clancy the Clown stood on the porch, his curly orange hair flapping in the wind. His face was caked with white paint and a bulbous red nose covered his own. An exaggerated crimson smile took up the lower half of his face. To Sadie, it seemed more grotesque than happy.

"Hey, Mrs. O'Connell," the man said in a nasally tone. "Sorry I'm late. My car broke down and—"

She waved him inside. "Don't worry about it. I'm just thankful you made it. You look very…uh…colorful."

The clown sported a blue and orange striped jacket, a white shirt and bright yellow baggy pants held up by lime green and gold suspenders. A tiny top hat was perched on his head and a huge daisy was pinned to the left lapel.

Sadie suspected that one sniff would get her drenched.

"Do you want cash or a check?" she asked.

"Cash, if you have it."

She pulled a wad of twenties from her pocket. She counted out three hundred dollars, paused, then added an extra forty.

You'd better be worth it, Clancy.

Handing him the money, she said, "Three hours, right?"

The clown nodded, placing the bills inside a canvas bag. "I'll let myself out at…" He checked his watch. "Five-fifteen. Then you're on your own."

"Gee, thanks."

Clancy smiled. "Did you call the agency?"

"I've had my hands full with these kids."

The crimson smile stretched further. "The boss doesn't know I'm late then. Thanks."

A snort sounded from behind Sadie.

"If you want to thank her," Leah said wryly, "then round up the little hooligans and do your thing."

The clown's brown eyes shifted to Sadie. "No problemo. Su casa es mi casa."

With a bob of his head, Clancy and his neon red, size fourteen shoes clomped into the living room. He was welcomed by a boisterous Sam who shrieked with delight.

"Oh, Jesus," Sadie moaned.

"Just think how loud things'll be when Sam starts talking," Leah said. "Once he starts, you won't be able to shut him up."

"That will be the best day of my life."

Leah's expression grew sad. "I know."

Sadie watched Sam and his friends play with Clancy. The kids were fascinated by the clown, pulling on his suspenders and stepping on his huge shoes, and shrieking when he sprayed them with the daisy.

"Hey," Leah said, jabbing her. "Let's grab a glass of chocolate milk. I need something to wash down this popcorn. "

As Sadie followed her into the kitchen, she peered over her shoulder. Sam's beaming face brought a smile to her own.

"You're a lucky mama," Leah said softly.

"I know. Sam is the best thing in my life."

When the door closed behind the last child, Sadie and Leah released a collective sigh, looked at each other and laughed.

"Birthdays were way easier when he was a baby," Sadie said.

Leah pushed back her limp hair. "I just have one thing to say to you, my friend. I'm going to have a root canal this time next year. It'll be a slice of heaven compared to this."

"If you can get a two for one special I'll come with you."

"Yeah, but that would mean Phil would have to actually show up," her friend said sourly.

The smile on Sadie's face faded.

"Hey," Leah said. "I'm sure he's got a good reason for not making his own kid's birthday party."

Sadie raised a brow. "You think?"

"Well, he must have. He may be a jerk to me and treat you like crap most of the time…but he loves Sam."

"I know, but sometimes I think he loves himself more."

"Well, cheer up," Leah said, eying the mess in the room. "Sam's party was a complete success."

Sadie slumped into a chair. "Yeah. Thank God for Clancy. He did a great job keeping the kids entertained. I was so busy in the kitchen trying to get those darned sparklers to light that I didn't even see him leave.

"And lucky you, you get to do it all over again tomorrow."

"Yeah, the family birthday party. You'll be here, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it. Sam'll be so happy when he sees that bike you got him."

"I'm going to take him to the park to practice on it next weekend. Do you want to come?"

"Sure."

Leah disappeared into the kitchen and Sadie heard her rummage through the fridge.

"Ah-ha!" her friend called out. "The perfect year."

When she reappeared, she had two glasses of peach ice tea. She handed one to Sadie. "Drink up. Then I'll help you clean up this mess before Philip sees it."

Sadie's woeful gaze drifted around the living room. Paper plates were piled everywhere. They had somehow gone astray and hadn't made it into the garbage can that she had so thoughtfully provided next to the dining room table. Plastic cups, some half full of pop, were on every table and counter space. There were more cups than there had been kids.

"Ugh," Leah said behind her.

Sadie followed her friend's gaze.

A chocolate cake smear—so dark it almost looked like dried blood—stretched across the kitchen wall, three feet from the ground, a small handprint at the end.

"Your house is a disaster," Leah said unnecessarily.

Sadie sighed. "Well, at least it's quiet."

Sam had gone upstairs to his room, tired from all the excitement and junk food. The last time she had seen him, he was lying on his bed.

"He's probably asleep," Leah said, reading her thoughts.

Sadie gulped down her ice tea, then set to work on the kitchen, while Leah looked after the living room. After an hour had passed, all that was left to do was run the vacuum over the carpets and turn on the dishwasher.

"All done," Leah said, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow.

"Thanks. I can handle what's left."

As Sadie watched Leah climb into her car, a part of her wanted to holler, '
Come back!'

"You're being silly," she muttered.

Sadie closed the door and slid the deadbolt into place. Then she locked up the rest of the house, set the alarm for the night and went upstairs to check on Sam.

When she opened the door to his room, she smiled. Sam was stretched out across his bed. On top of the blankets. A soft snore issued from his half-opened mouth. He had passed out from exhaustion, his face covered with chocolate cake, white, black and blue icing, and an orange pop mustache.

"Happy birthday, little man," she whispered, tucking an extra blanket around him.

She closed the door and headed downstairs to wait for Philip.

Sadie was abruptly roused from a deep sleep. She jerked to a sitting position, inhaling deeply, and looked at the space beside her. It was unoccupied, the blanket still tucked under the pillow. She had waited for Philip downstairs for hours. Eventually, she had given up and gone to bed.

She peered at the bedroom clock. It was half past midnight. She'd only been asleep for about forty-five minutes. In the murky shadows of the room, she felt a foreign presence, a movement of air that was so subtle it could have been her own breath.

A draft?

She squinted at the window. It was closed.

Somewhere in the house a floorboard creaked.

Philip must be home.

Tossing the blankets aside, she slid from the bed and walked to the door. Remembering the brick thrown through Sam's window, she froze. Her stomach fluttered as she imagined a gang of teen hoodlums breaking into the house.

But the alarm would go off, silly.

Still, she pressed an ear to the door and strained to listen.

At first, there was silence. Then another creak.

"Philip," she mumbled.

She was about to open the door when she heard an unfamiliar ticking sound. Had Philip bought a clock for the hall?

She listened again.

Tick… tick, tick.

Whatever it was, it was coming closer.

Her heart began to pound a maniacal rhythm and her breath quickened. When a shadow passed underneath the door, she held her breath. Her heart thumped almost painfully in her chest.

Then the shadow was gone.

Cautiously, she opened the door. Just a crack.

The hall was empty.

And no ticking.

Maybe I dreamt it.

With a tremulous laugh, she flung open the door, a show of false bravado. Maybe Philip was working in his office. Maybe he'd gone to check on Sam.

"Philip?"

She walked down the hall and stopped in front of Sam's room. Her toes tingled as a draft teased her feet. She shivered, then opened the door.

The window that Philip had replaced gaped open—black and hungry—like a mouth waiting to be fed. The curtains flapped in the night wind, two tongues lashing out.

She frowned. Philip hadn't left the window open. He'd gone to work early, without a word to either of them. And Sam couldn't have opened it. He wasn't tall enough.

Did I leave it open?

She crossed the room, barely looking at the mound in the bed. She reached for the window and tugged it shut. The lock clicked into place, the sharp sound shattering the stillness.

Then she glanced at the bed.

Sam hadn't even stirred. But then again, he never did. He was almost comatose when he slept and nothing could wake him early, short of a sonic boom.

She tiptoed to the bed and touched his hair. Then, closing her eyes, she leaned down, kissed his warm forehead and breathed in his sweet child scent. He smelled of chocolate and sunshine.

"Snug as a bug," she whispered.

She stepped back, her foot connecting with something soft and furry. Reaching down, she fumbled in the dark until she found the stuffed toy dog that Philip had given Sam the night before. She moved quietly toward the closet, inched the door open and tossed the toy inside. Then she stepped out into the hall, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

Her gaze flitted to the far end of the hallway, where shadows danced between silk trees that stood in the alcove. Beside the trees—two-thirds up the wall—was a small oval window, and through it, a full moon was visible. It hung in the cloudless sky, a pearlescent pendant on invisible string.

It was a beautiful night, one that was meant to be shared.

Loneliness filled her, but she shrugged it off and plodded down to the kitchen to get a glass of juice. Five minutes later, she went back upstairs, with every intention of crawling into bed and ignoring the fact that Philip hadn't even bothered to call on the night of their son's birthday party.

As she passed Sam's door, a flicker of light beneath it caught her eye. Then she heard a soft thud. Sam must have fallen out of bed again. He had done that on two other occasions. Usually he woke up screaming.

She opened the door and sucked in a breath as her gaze was captured by something that made no sense at all.

The window was open again.

She blinked. "What the—?"

Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the bed. It was empty.

"Sam?"

She reached for the light switch.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

At the sound of a stranger's hoarse whisper in her son's bedroom, she did the most natural thing.

She flicked on the light.

6

A black-hooded monster held her son in his arms.

Sam wasn't moving.

The oxygen was instantly sucked from the room, making it impossible for Sadie to breathe. The glass slipped through her fingers, orange juice pooling at her feet. Speechless, she took a trembling step forward. "Please—"

"Don't move!" the stranger growled from the depths of the sweatshirt hood. "You have ten seconds to make a decision. Let me walk out of here with the kid, or your son dies." He shifted Sam's limp body in his arms and a glint of metal flashed.

A gun. It was aimed at Sam's head.

She trembled uncontrollably.
Oh Jesus…

"Let him go," she said in a shaky voice.

He snorted, as if he found her comment amusing. When he twisted his head to glance over his shoulder at the open window, she saw a ghostly face with a hooked nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. A red smear gleamed in the crease that ran from the side of his nose to his wide, thick lips. His cheek was pale alabaster and flecked with spidery imperfections.

Pockmarks,
she guessed.

The man turned, examining her just as closely. "Are you that fucking stupid? Turn off the goddamn light!"

Although her hand trembled noticeably, she obeyed.

Dressed in black, the man blended into the shadowed corner.

She hissed in a breath. "What did you do to my son?"

"Just gave him something to make him sleep." The man sighed, frustrated. "Why'd you have to go and mess things up? If you'd stayed asleep I'd be outta here already."

"I want my son," she said with a whimper. "Just let him go. Leave. I won't tell anyone. Please. Just give him to me and walk out the door."

"That ain't gonna happen."

The man did something unexpected. He moved into the moonlight, sat down on the bed and propped her son in his lap, like a ventriloquist's doll.

"Is it, Sam?" He gripped Sam's chin and turned his head from side to side. "No, Mommy," he said in an eerie, childlike voice. "I'm going with this man."

Sadie staggered against the wall. "No, he's not."

The man tossed Sam on the bed. "Shit, shit,
shit!
"

She shivered at the pure madness in his voice.

"I'll tell
you
how this is gonna play out," he muttered. "First, you're gonna promise not to leave this room for twenty minutes."

"Wait!" she cried, tears flowing down her face. "Take me instead. You don't need him. I'll come with you, do whatever you want."

"I don't need you." He stroked the gun against Sam's hair. "I have what I came for. Five seconds."

She hitched in a breath, her heart aching, burning…dying.

"You sick…
per
vert," she said between gritted teeth.

"I'm no perv."

"Then what do you want with my son?"

"For fuck's sake, shut up! You've already screwed things up enough. No one's ever seen me. No one!"

That's when it hit her.