Pineapple Turtles

remember to act accordingly.
Her baby had been taken. What did he expect? Maybe he shouldn’t have dated his waitress if he felt—
She made a fist and pushed her fingernails into her palm to stop her thoughts.
Stop. Stop. Think about Mason.
She forced her attention to Jimenez. “Can we go? Can we go get Mason?”
“We’ve got officers on route. He’ll be back here before we could get there. It’s safer this way.”
“I can’t stand it.” Shana dropped her head into her hands. For some reason the rule about moving had expired in her head. “I can’t just sit here—”
Jimenez’ phone rang and he answered. Shana and Carl both locked gazes on him as if they had targeting systems built into their brains.
“What is it? Do they have him?” Shana stood as he ended his call. She grabbed Jimenez’ free arm, gripping it so he couldn’t avoid answering. Carl tried to grab her other hand to pull her back down to her seat and she jerked it out of his reach.
Jimenez put his phone on the table and put his hand on the fingers she used to clutch his sleeve.
“We have him.”
Shana felt her legs go wobbly. She squatted to the ground to keep from falling. “Oh thank God, thank you, Jesus. Thank you, thank you.”
Carl shook the detective’s hand and helped Shana back to the sofa. She knew it embarrassed him to see her squatting at the detective’s feet but it felt as if all the strength had left her legs.
“Can we see him now?” she asked.
“Sure. Sure. They’re taking him to the hospital—”
Shana felt another wave of dread rise in her chest. “He’s hurt?”
“No, no—sorry. They just have to check him out. Standard procedure. I’ll take you there.”
He led them to his cruiser. As Shana and Carl walked, gripping on to each other’s arms, Jimenez explained how they’d meet the other officers at the hospital, where their apparently unharmed baby would be checked out as a safety precaution.
The drive took forever but Shana felt as light as air as she entered the hospital. She knew in a few moments, she’d be holding little Mason in her arms again, kissing his fat little chipmunk cheeks. Her mistake had been erased, the weight of this most horrible day lifted from her shoulders. Carl wouldn’t hold it against her now. They would fall back into their roles and everything would be fine. She’d never take her eyes off Mason again.
She turned into the examination room, trying hard not to break into a sprint.
There he was with the doctor, gurgling, happy.
Mason.
My beautiful boy.
She dove to take him and Carl grabbed her arm. “Wait honey, wait until—”
She flashed him a look that said touch me again, I dare you.
He lowered his hand and offered the doctor an apologetic look.
She knew then, she had the power back.
Everything is back to normal.
“He’s fine,” said the doctor, handing Mason to Shana. “The baby’s unharmed.”
Shana scooped Mason into her arms and held him tight against her chest.
“Oh baby, oh baby, I’m so sorry.”
She lowered him to stare into his gurgling face.
Mason. Mason. Mason—
The realization started as a creeping prickle, working its way up her neck, like a praying mantis making its way up her spine.
Something’s wrong.
Mason’s smell was off. Maybe they’d used a different product on him?
No. It wasn’t only his smell.
Something about his eyes is wrong.
They weren’t the right shade, but more than that, he refused to look at her. He always looked at her. Mason always stared right into her face and grabbed for her nose. It was one of their things. From the very first day when the nurses insisted he couldn’t even focus yet, he still stared right into her eyes.
She looked at the doctor.
“What’s wrong with his eyes?” she asked, hoping he had an explanation.
But she could already feel the chant starting in her head.
No. No. No.
The doctor smiled. “Well, he’s still blind, of course.”
Blind? Shana shrieked the word in her head, but her lips never opened. They couldn’t—she felt frozen again.
Carl said the word out loud. “Blind?”
The doctor scowled. “You didn’t know?”
Shana looked at the baby. She could see it now. She could see it everywhere. His hair wasn’t as sandy, his nose was broader. She turned him over and pulled down his little pants, cheap ones, not the ones they’d bought for him during their last trip to Palm Beach. Not the ones he’d been wearing.
The freckle above his right butt cheek is missing.
The world began to swim around Shana.
“It isn’t Mason.”
Someone snatched the baby from her arms as she fell.

 
 
Chapter Eight
After individually checking in with their families, Frank, Mac and Tommy drove to T.K.’s house and knocked on what was now only his wife Elizabeth’s door. No one answered.
“She’s asleep. Knock harder,” suggested Mac.
Frank frowned and glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten. “Nah. I don’t want to wake her just to upset her. We’ll come back in the morning.”
“What if that guy gets here first?” asked Tommy.
Frank paused. “He said seven in the morning, didn’t he?”
“He might have lied.”
Frank ran his hand over his thinning hair. “What does that mean? Are you suggesting we sleep in her back yard?”
Mac hooked a thumb toward the large gravel driveway. “We could sleep in our cars.”
Frank chewed on his lip. He didn’t relish the idea of sleeping in his cruiser. On the other hand, he didn’t know what the stranger might be up to—big corporations could be slippery. They might sneak over in the middle of the night and establish some sort of claim to T.K.’s land, and with the King gone, he felt a need to