The Crime

The jewelry store was called “The Golden Shell,” which was a terrible name for a jewelry store. It was on Main Street, between the old movie theater and the pharmacy that had gone out of business. The display window was lined with velvet and spotlights, and every night, they left the lights on so the jewelry would sparkle for the passersby.

I walked past it at 11:47 PM. The street was empty, which was unusual for Shore County, but not entirely surprising. It was cold, and everyone was inside. I stood in front of the window and looked at the necklaces. Gold chains. Silver pendants. A diamond ring that could have paid for Mom’s medication for a year.

I didn’t plan it. I wasn’t planning anything. I was just standing there, thinking about all the things I couldn’t give the people I loved, and then I saw the back door. It was cracked open. Just a sliver. The lock was broken. I could see the splintered wood where someone had tried to break in before and failed. Or maybe succeeded. I didn’t know.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

My hands were shaking as I pushed the door open. The alarm didn’t go off; the owner was cheap, and the alarm was old, and I’d heard from a friend of a friend that it hadn’t worked in years. I slipped inside, my heart hammering against my ribs. The back room smelled like metal and dust. There was a safe in the corner, but I didn’t know the combination. I didn’t care.

I went to the display cases, the ones that held the less expensive pieces, the ones that tourists bought. Necklaces. Rings. Bracelets. I didn’t take all of them. I didn’t even take the most expensive ones. I just took a few. A gold chain. A silver ring. A necklace with a small pearl pendant. Things I could pawn for maybe five hundred dollars. Maybe more.

I thought about Mom. I thought about Miguel. I thought about the eviction notice. And I pushed the jewelry into my bag and ran.

I didn’t feel guilty. Not then. I felt something else, something I couldn’t name. Relief? Hope? Or just the desperate animal instinct of a creature backed into a corner, willing to do anything to survive.

I ran home. I buried the jewelry under my mattress. And I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the guilt to come.

It never did.