The Shepherd

4

Three days had gone by. The rain was coming down at an incredible pace. Oliver could hardly see in front him because of the vicious torrents that were falling from the sky. His hood was up and he was wearing the warmest clothes he owned, but they were soaked and could no longer protect from the chill of the day.

Oliver was standing in front of a shoe store. He looked at the shoes in the window display case longingly, with his hands in his pockets. His own shoes had been destroyed from the amount of walking— and trudging through rain and mud— he had done since his escape from the orphanage. As far as he could tell, no one was looking for him and the police had not been alerted of his 'disappearance'. He would rather have it no other way. Despite his freedom he still felt miserable, mostly from the weather. He had made himself a temporary shelter in a secluded alleyway just one or two blocks from the shoe store. It provided little shelter from a storm of this magnitude, however. He looked at the store a little while longer before gathering up the courage to go inside.

The store was much warmer and drier than the street was. He welcomed it with relief. The air smelled like pine and some soft music was playing in the background. It differed quite dramatically from the loud and constant downpour outside. There were a few people here and there trying on shoes or perusing the different aisles. One employee was stocking a shelf with shoeboxes, but the rest were lounging around and talking, waiting for a customer to call for aid or walk up to the counter. As Oliver walked slowly to the first aisle, one man gave him a weird glance; he already knew why. Compared to most everyone else in the store, Oliver's appearance was appalling. His clothes were wet and disheveled from the lack of a raincoat. His hair was dry from the shelter of his hood, but that didn't make it look any less disgusting or disheveled. He probably smelled less than flattering. The look was probably involuntary and most definitely justified, but it still hurt Oliver's feelings to be looked with such distaste, as if he were a wild animal. The feeling passed quickly.

Oliver picked out the first shoebox in his size that he could find. Upon opening it, he saw that they were basketball shoes. They probably fit just fine, but Oliver didn't like the look of it, so he put them back and kept looking. After some more time passed, he finally found a pair of blue sneakers that looked quite similar to the ones on his feet, despite their ruined state. He decided to get these shoes, even if there was a chance that they would be ruined just as quickly. He sat down on a nearby bench and slipped on the shoes. They felt incredible on his feet, which were sore and wet. He carefully tied them and walked around a few paces in front of him to get a feel for them. They had already grown on them. He smiled and grabbed the empty shoebox, replacing its original occupants with his old, ruined sneakers before putting it back in the shelf. Now he just had to get out. He had no money to pay for the shoes, and he figured that he would be caught for stealing them. Still, he silently hoped that he could get away with it, that fate would smile on him just this once. All he needed was a pair of shoes that didn't soak up the rain and fall apart every time he walked.

He didn't let his nervousness show. That, combined with his haggard appearance, would have given him away. Instead, he walked calmly and casually toward the exit, though he only made eye contact if necessary. These few moments seemed to slow down immensely from the suspense. He either would get away with this one theft, or he would be caught and.... So many things could happen to him if he were caught, none of them being terribly appealing. He finally, after what seemed like hours, got to the exit. He hesitated for a moment, but when an employee behind the register looked at him funny, he realized his mistake and quickly pushed on the door. Immediately the alarm attached to the door blared loudly through the store. Everyone started in surprise and looked up from whatever they were doing at Oliver. Every single pair of eyes was on him. He didn't wait for someone to say something. He walked out the door as quickly as he could without going a dead sprint. The employees, he assumed, must have figured the alarm was some sort of mistake, but Oliver leaving was a sure sign of his guilt. The cashier started to yell something, but the door shut behind Oliver before he finished the sentence, so the end of the exclamation was lost. When the door opened again, two security guards came out. One of them was burly and slow, but the other was much thinner and faster than his associate. He easily doubled the speed of the other guard, but he wasn't quite fast enough to reach Oliver— at least, not immediately. Oliver struggled to flee, slipping through the puddles and shoving his way through the dense crowds on the street. He had not had time to put on his hood before leaving, and so he became agitated by the big, icy raindrops that constantly pounded his head. He didn't bother to say 'excuse me' each of the numerous time had had to shove someone out of the way, to their dismay. He saw an alley to his left up ahead, but he misjudged his opening through the current of people and crashed into someone. They both fell onto the wet sidewalk. The woman whom he had hit was furious and told him so as he stood and brushed the water from the folds in her coat. Oliver remained on the ground just long enough for the thinner guard to cover the distance to him. The other guard joined the scene a few moments later, panting softly to himself so as to mask his exhaustion. The thinner guard wrenched Oliver to his feet with disgust, but said nothing until they had started the walk back to the store. Oliver was discouraged and very angry. He knew that the shoes would have to be returned and that punishments were in order. When they reached the store the big and burly guard growled, "Take the shoes off."

"I haven't broken them in yet," Oliver whined sarcastically. He didn't know what other reaction he had been expecting other than a loathing glower and repetition of the order, but he had always seemed to fall back on a very idiotic and flawed philosophy in the trickiest of situations: when in doubt, be sarcastic. In this case— and most other cases— it failed him spectacularly. The guard practically dragged Oliver through the doors and flung him to the ground. Then the two of them walked past and returned to their stations in the back of the store, leaving him alone with the bewildered customers and the store clerk who, upon closer inspection, Oliver realized was the manager. As he was untying the shoes from his feet, the manager walked from the behind his desk and stood over him. "The police are on their way," he said coldly. "I'll expect you to cooperate with them." He handed Oliver the box for the shoes, which contained his old and muddy pair. He swapped the two pairs of shoes and then proceeded to put his old shoes back on. They were still very wet and uncomfortable. There he sat on the floor, wet, cold, and defeated. He brushed a lock of wet, matted hair from his face and sighed.

Frustration and anger towards no one in particular coursed through him dangerously. He had considered soothing his violent desire to punch the store manager and run again, but he knew that his vengeance for being caught would be empty and vain and only end in more severe punishment. He was angry at the fact that he had been caught, and that he would be arrested. More specifically, though, he was angry at the fact that his long and impressive rap sheet, a consistently elusive and practically invisible thing to anyone outside of the orphanage, was now tarnished. Never in his reckless and mischievous lifestyle had he ever been caught for anything more than petty pranks. He had stolen things bigger and more impressive than a pair of shoes, and yet remained a shadow throughout his thieving career. He had tagged the side of a building with friends including Lucas when they were both eleven, and the two of them were the only ones who had remained free from punishment. This was the first time in a long while that he had been caught for a crime, though petty and small the others might have been. His inevitable stay inside of a holding cell troubled him less than the fact that he had allowed himself to be caught, his reputation to be soiled, for a pair of sneakers that he most certainly could have gone without. Pickpocketing someone or begging for change would have been an easy fix to his problem, but he chose to take the easy way out. Now he was going to pay, and it suddenly dawned on him that he was not prepared for it.