Brittan stepped closer, saw the curve of a smile on the child’s lip as if it were juxtaposed on the back of his brain. He was ready to grab the boy when Shag said, “Gampa.” The woman spun on her heels, looked into Brittan Courvalais’s eyes, saw some kind of trouble or ownership there, said, “Harry,” in a very demanding voice. “We have to go. Now! Now, Harry!”

The big man also spun around. Courvalias screamed, “Get the police. This baby’s been kidnapped. This is my grandson Shag.” He reached for the child. The woman spun away. The man pushed him. His knee pained its whole length. The mountain was in front of him again. The frigid waters of Lake Hwachon were there again for him. He reached, grabbed the man’s arm, pulled him at himself, and tossed him against a display.

Boxes tumbled. The woman screamed. “Help! Help! He’s trying to steal my baby!

”A man rushed down the aisle and went to grab Brittan’s arm. Brittan yelled, “Quick, get the police. Sawyer Billings is outside in the police car. Get him! Hurry.” His fist closed around the woman’s wrist. The baby let out a yell. Their eyes locked again. Then Brittan’s eyes locked with the woman's eyes. It was then she knew her first terror. It was so very real, so unexpected. They had only been looking for a simple night-light. A simple night-light.

Officer Sawyer Billings was Johnny-on-the-spot, having spent some off-duty hours at the mall, watching the old man from a distance. Cuffs were soon on the big man. The baby was taken from the woman’s arms and put into the arms of his grandfather,

who was feeling the ultimate joy, who could already hear the phone ringing at his daughter’s home 300 miles away.

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