And now a day they are using against him.

Below the photo there is Justin’s full name, birth date, height, weight, eye and hair color.

And then, a picture of Asher. The worst possible one they could find. He is looking just past the camera, sad, a moment of terrible depression caught on film.

He doesn’t know where they have even found such a picture; he has never seen it before. Zelda was always snapping away at every family gathering, so most likely it had come from her collection of poorly composed and out-of-focus pictures. Asher figures that in the original photograph, he had not been the subject, but was just caught in the frame as he stood in the background behind Justin (Zelda’s favorite—and really, her only—subject).

Beneath this picture is all of Asher’s information, too. Birth date, height, weight, eye color, hair color, no tattoos, no piercings. All of it on this card that would go out all over the eastern United States.

Below both the pictures, in big block letters like a scream: KIDNAPPED!

Asher takes in everything on the card: the pictures and words causing pistons to pump in his brain, flashing from here to there, all the thoughts firing back and forth until the feeling of dread floods him like adrenaline, leaving him exhausted. He has to draw in a deep breath and steady himself by leaning against the wall of post-office boxes.

Asher can see the shape of Justin in his peripheral vision: he has found something to busy himself, as he is always able to find something of interest no matter the situation.

If there is one of these in Bell’s box, there is certainly one for every person in Key West.

Then Asher sees the trash can, around which cards are scattered. People trying to get rid of their junk mail in a hurry, not noticing or caring about it. Maybe they hadn’t even glanced at the Kidnapped! card. But most likely they had given it at least a look. Pictures of little stolen boys have a way of burning themselves into people’s minds.

Asher snaps up each card.

He is aware of his labored breathing and then Justin is humming as he peers out the window, watching the chickens.

“Justin!” Asher can hear the firmness in his own voice. “Let’s go. Right now.”

Asher steers Justin down the sidewalk with his hand capped over the boy’s shoulder, toward the rack where they left their bicycles.

A couple of tourists are strolling across the parking lot. “Look at the chickens!” the woman cries out like a child. She is dressed for a day of golf. Only people with money can afford to go around all dressed in white. That’s what Evona told him one day when they were watching guests leaving for a day out on the island.