The Shepherd

5

A hollow apology and reparations for the sneakers would have been enough to shorten his stay for a single night. If only Oliver had done that.

He found that he did not have the dignity or humility to deliver those saving demands. Instead, he vowed to become a mute and defiant delinquent whenever under question. The officers who had arrested him at the store and escorted him to the police station were beginning to grow impatient with Oliver's gimmick very early on, though they could do nothing about him. They offered him a phone call, which he dismissed with a shake of his head. All they could do was leave him alone.

It was late afternoon by this time. Oliver had been in his holding cell for several hours, and his boredom intensified with each consecutive hour that passed. A meager substitute for dinner was served late by his guarding officer who, for some reason, hated him and no doubt had something to do with the delayed meal. All he had to do was sit on his small cot and read a sports magazine that he had snagged on his way to the cell. He didn't like sports or reading, but the pictures were interesting to him. After his meal he laid down on his cot and tried to dream, seeing as how he hadn't sleep much in days. He found it considerably easier to evade his nightmares than it had ever been in the orphanage. He wondered why.

In the morning he woke up feeling more refreshed than usual. He did not receive breakfast and his guarding officer was not at his usual post in front of the cell door. He didn't think much of it after the initial confusion and started to study the people that would occasionally bustle around him in the desolate hallway. He got bored of that, though, and tried fall asleep again. It didn't work. As soon as another officer passed by his cell, he asked, "Where did that one guy go?"

"Hmm? What guy?"

"You know, the one standing in front of my cell."

"Oh, him..." the officer thought for a moment, shrugged, and then walked away. Oliver cursed the officer under his breath and slumped back onto his bunk.

After another few minutes he was able to drift into a sort of half-sleep, but it wasn't very pleasant. Nightmares ensued subtly every once in a while, but he had no dreams for the most part. He was still conscious enough to be aware of everything, which prevented any kind of much-needed deep sleep. It was still relaxing, though. He took advantage of the peace he was getting from it.

Suddenly he heard a loud creaking sound and hollow footsteps that got louder with every moment. Oliver slowly rolled over and opened his eyes. A heavy silhouette was over him and he saw a tall police officer standing over him. Oliver sat up from his bunk and squinted his eyes from the light shining in the hallway. "What do you want?" he asked.

The officer gestured outward with a subtle smile, but said nothing. Oliver was confused. He repeated the question with a hint of uncertainty. He didn't know what the officer would or even could do to him, but he felt a strange sense of danger that he would be uncomfortable in ignoring. The officer smiled wider and said, "You are free to go," he said. His voice was warm and rippled through the air as he spoke. The smile he wore remained as he stepped out of the way so that Oliver could move past him.

Oliver didn't understand. Why would they just let him go? He stood slowly, clearly showing his confusion. "On what grounds?" he asked cautiously. He didn't want to seem ungrateful for his release, but he wanted know the answer.

The officer smiled wider. "You've been bailed out."

"Bailed out?" he gasped in disbelief. "Bailed out by who?"

The officer glanced over at the stairs leading up to the main floor as he heard someone coming down, and then said, "By that man there." Oliver looked to where the officer had been pointing, at the base of the stairs, and saw a man descending slowly down the last of the steps. He was tall and thin, though not as tall as the officer, and very important-looking. He walked morosely and with purpose, and as he stepped from the final step he casually began to walk over to the cell. He wore a seemingly flawless black suit. Installed into it was a light blue pocket square that caught Oliver's eye almost immediately. He assumed that was the point. The man also had a black fedora to match the suit and a smooth and sturdy cane, which had a gilded handle. He appeared to be in his late fifties, maybe older. His face was symmetrical almost to the point where it was off-putting. A healthy number of wrinkles covered his face, and one neat tuft of grey hair was visible from beneath the fedora. He smiled when he stopped and looked upon Oliver, who studied him skeptically and silently. When the officer mentioned that Oliver's belongings were in a locker down the hall, the man grabbed him gently by the arm, pulled him in close, and whispered something into his ear. When he released, he began to slowly walk back up the stairs. Oliver watched him as he went.