Submerged

A photograph of a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl sitting on concrete steps dominated the front page. Eight-year-old Cortnie Bornyk, from the north side of Edmonton, was missing. According to the newspaper, the girl had disappeared in the middle of the night. No sign of forced entry and no evidence as to who had taken her, but investigators were sure it was the same man who had taken the others.

Sadie opened the newspaper to page three, where the story continued. She empathized with the girl’s father, a single dad who had left Ontario to find construction work in Edmonton. Matthew Bornyk had moved here to make a better life. Not a bad decision, considering that the housing market was booming. But now he was pleading for the safe return of his daughter.

“Here you go,” Victor said, setting two mugs on the table.

“Thanks,” she said, without looking up.

Her eyes were glued to the smaller photo of Bornyk and his daughter. The man had a smile plastered across his face, while his daughter was frozen in a silly pose, tongue hanging out the side of her mouth.

Daddy’s little girl, Sadie thought sadly.

Leah flopped into an armchair beside her. “Who’s the hunk?”

“His daughter was abducted last night.”

“How horrible.”

“Yeah,” Sadie said, taking a tentative sip from her mug.

“Did anyone see anything?”

“Nothing.” She locked eyes on Leah. “Except the fog.”

“Do they think it’s him?”

Sadie skimmed the article. “There are no ransom demands yet. Sounds like him.”

“Shit. That makes, what—six kids?”

“Seven. Three boys, four girls.”

“One more boy to go.” Leah’s voice dripped with dread.

The Fog, as the kidnapper was known, crept in during the dead of night or early morning, under the cloak of a dense fog. He wrapped himself around his prey and like a fog, he disappeared without a trace, capturing the souls of children and stealing the hopes and dreams of parents. One boy, one girl. Every spring. For the last four years.

Sadie flipped the newspaper over. “Let’s change the subject.”

Her eyes drifted across the room, taking in the diversity of Victor’s customers. In one corner of the upper level, three teenaged boys played poker, while a fourth watched and hooted every time one of his friends won. Across from Sadie, a redheaded woman wearing a mauve sweatshirt plunked away on a laptop, stopping every now and then to cast the noisy boys a frustrated look. On the lower level, one of the regulars—Old Ralph—was reading every newspaper from front to back. He sipped his black coffee when he finished each page.

“So…” Leah drawled as she crossed her long legs. “What’s going on with Phil the Pill?”

Sadie scowled. “That’s what I’d like to know. He says he’s working long nights at the firm.”

“And you’re thinking, what? That he’s screwing around?”

Leah never was one to beat around the bush—about anything.

“Maybe he’s just working hard,” her friend suggested.

Sadie shook her head. “He got home at two this morning, reeking of perfume and booze.”

“Isn’t his firm working on that oil spill case? I bet all the partners are pulling late nights on that one.”

Sadie snorted. “Including Brigitte Moreau.”

Brigitte was her husband’s right-hand-woman, as he’d made a point of telling her often. Apparently, the new addition to Fleming Warner Law Offices was indispensable. The slender, blond lawyer, with a pair of breasts she’d obviously paid for, never left Philip’s side.

Sadie wondered what Brigitte did when she had to pee.

Probably drags Philip in with her.

“It could be perfectly innocent,” Leah suggested.

“Yeah, right. I was at the conference after-party. I saw them together, and there was nothing innocent about them. Brigitte was holding onto Philip’s arm as if she owned him. And he was laughing, whispering in her ear.” She pursed her lips. “His co-workers were looking at me with sympathetic eyes, pitying me. I could see it in their faces. Even they knew.”

Leah winced. “Did you call him on it?”

“I asked him if he was messing around again.”

Just before Sam was born, Philip had admitted to two other affairs. Both office flings, according to him. “Both meant nothing,” he had said, before blaming his infidelities on her swollen belly and her lack of sexual interest.

“What’d he say?” Leah prodded, with the determination of a pit-bull slobbering over a t-bone steak.

“Nothing. He just stormed out of the house. He called me from work just before you came over. Said I was being ridiculous, that my accusations were hurtful and unfair.” She lowered her voice. “He asked me if I was drinking again.”

“Bastard. And you wonder why I’m still single.”

Sadie said nothing. Instead, she thought about her marriage.

They’d been happy—once. Before her downward spiral into alcoholism. In the early years of their marriage, Philip had been attentive and caring, supporting her decision to focus on her writing. It wasn’t until she started talking about having a family that things had changed.