The glass broke at the perfect moment. The pain in an old woman's hip decided to flare up as she leaned improperly on her cane. Half a second, one distressed cry, and the sharp crack of a breaking display case later, everyone's attention in the jewellery store turned.

The automatic alarm system wailed. The man so politely attending you, letting you admire the winter-blue diamond pendant, uttered something louder then he intended and rushed over to help, along with everyone else in the store.

Call it madness, call it impulse, call it greed, but something possessed you to slip the sparkling strings into your coat pocket. It took the time of two breathes to walk out the door. The soft electric jingle went unheard beneath the sounds of cries, apologies, and the alarm blaring overhead. You didn't dare breath until the engine to your car turned over.

A thousand things crackled in your mind by the time you hit the first stop light, none of them good. What did that price tag read again? How many cameras in that store were plainly visible and how many were hidden? How close to home could you get before two dozen patrol cars and one pissed off jeweller ran you down?

By the time the light turned green, these and other thoughts were pushed aside by an image of how stunning you'd look in the red Jovani gown and studded Valentino pumps while sporting those diamonds.

The car filled with half-crazed laughter. You'd almost swear the diamonds laughed along too.

-

Two hours later you slammed the front door to your home shut and quadruple checked the locks, not fully trusting their heavy clanks and clangs. Oh girl, oh you crazy, crazy girl. What fine mad thing have you done now?

Stole something flashy, you thought. Stole something expensive. Stole something pretty.

You fingered the diamonds in your coat pocket, afraid to peek at them until every curtain and shade in the house were drawn tighter than a noose around a dead man's neck.

Blood rushed to your head and fingertips as you laid the coat across the sofa. The hardwood floor clack-clack-clacked in rhythm with your jittering teeth.

The last thing you wanted to do was the thing you needed to do most. Reach into the coat and make damn sure you took what you thought you took. The entire afternoon had to be a delusion -you popped a blood vessel in the brain when that old crone went a-tumbling into the glass case and caused a momentary disconnect with reality. You didn't actually steal those diamonds. That's not you, no, no, no, you never steal anything more than packets of creamer at coffee shops and perhaps the odd restaurant menu if feeling saucy.

Nothing that'd land you in the Steel Bar Resort & Country Club, one year for every dollar that necklace sold for.

Just reach into that coat pocket. Stick those french-tipped fingernails in there and end this little panic trip.

A finger and a thumb trembled on the pocket zipper. And...pulled….

You reached in and pulled out the most gorgeous five diamond pendant you've ever seen and a precious few number of people have ever touched. Even in the sunless, sixty watt light of the living room, they sparkled brighter than mountain lakes on moonlit nights. Your heart forgot to beat and lungs forgot to breathe, but the glimmer and shine of those facets lit your eyes with fireworks. Pale red lips muttered a word that sounded like 'eureka.'

Carrying the necklace as though it may explode, you stole into the bathroom. After locking the door, you turned in front of the mirror and held the necklace in front, marvelling its weightlessness. You brought the necklace across your collarbone and beneath your brown locks of hair. The ends hooked into each other easy as silk gloves onto manicured hands.

Spring breezes blew over your shoulders and the trumpets of jazz bands played. Bubbly wine floated across your nose and bows ran across violins. Were you wearing a dress? The image in the mirror seemed to change with each flutter of eyelashes. One blink, a form-fitting black dress, another, a red number seemingly made of thick, swirling roses worn on nights that played a lot of spicy Latin tunes. Spanish guitars twanged just out of sight.

Oh, what did you steal?

The platinum chain links jingled and sang a little tune as the AC kicked on.

Something worth stealing.

Someone knocked at the front door and you almost fell over backwards and cracked your head on the tub.

The word shit was yelped several times in quick succession as you unhooked the necklace and stuck it beneath several folded towels, trying not to tangle anything.

The police were waiting, wanting to ask some very serious questions. The jewellery store owner stood with a bag of doorknobs. Two guys named Knicked-Tooth Tony and Greg “The Diving Instructor” Clemaine cracked their knuckles. All sorts of people yearned to see you right now. The door knocked again and you almost burst into tears.

Two minutes later you ran back into the bathroom, locked the door, and slid to the tiled ground, trying not to have a heart attack. The damned mail man only wanted the scratchiest signature you've ever made on a letter.

Okay, the necklace was not worth stealing. Grab the thing, stuff it in a plastic bag and haul ass as fast as your '06 Chevrolet could go and return it. Tell them the old woman howling her dentures out and the ensuing brouhaha spooked you, sending you packing out the store and swear-I-didn't-realize-I-took-the-necklace-until-I-got-home. Apologize until the manager got sick and all-but begged you to leave the store, no harm done, please.

Please, please, please, you thought, uncovering the necklace like someone unearthing irradiated waste.

But then the buzzing bathroom light lit the edge of blue facets and panicky thoughts scattered. Breathing steadied because, oh, it looked so lovely…

A trembling finger traced the center diamond and the groove of its fitted silvery piece.

You drew the shower curtain and sat cross-legged in the eggshell white tub, touching the raindrop-cut diamonds, the line of your collarbone.

The jewellery store was far away. You didn't even visit that city all too often. The reason for that day's visit already faded from memory. Could they trace you home? Maybe. Maybe not. Places like that were insured, right? Of course, all big stores that dealt in precious, lovely things kept insurance. People got away with snitching expensive stuff all the time, just look at the news. And it's not like you were the only person in the store. Other people there probably snagged and ran at the opportunity. No telling who you could trust these days.

Much easier just to file the paperwork and call it a day than tracking you down.

A fingertip touched the diamond, then touched the tip of your tongue. A kind of ethereal sweetness reminding you of strawberries teased the buds.

Maybe, just maybe, you could get away with this.

Hiding it was the natural course of action. Wait a few months until the incident faded from the memory of anyone who'd care, then bring it out to wear at any ball and gala you'd please.

Don't mind that you never received invitations to those things before.

You leaned back in the tub, kicked one leg out, touched the diamonds and platinum against your skin, and shuddered as a tingle ran through veins and jolted your heart. Lightheadedness slid you deeper into the tub. A hand slid deeper somewhere else.

-

At three o'clock in the morning, you sat on the couch flipping through channels, thinking of a place to hide your new best friend currently draped across your thigh. The house made for a poor candidate. Far too easy for any snoopers to find any hiding spot you could devise. And what if the place got burgled? Never happened before, but no use in taking that risk now. The bank offered safety boxes, but that was out of the question for obvious reasons.

You changed the channel, something about archaeology. Maybe you could hide it in a tree? No, then a bird may take it for nesting material or do its business all over the silver.

The channel changed again, a show about people digging for gold. Eat it and hide it in your stomach. No, buffalo wings roughed up your tummy enough, no telling what damage jewellery would inflict.

You hit the remote one more time and saw Muppet Treasure Island. Seeing man and puppet dig into the sand showed a simple solution. It could only be done in the middle of some big nowhere. You'd need to buy a shovel, of course. Along with a pair of gloves.

Oh dear, you're going to get awfully dirty in the next few days.

-

Two days later you trudged through a forest with a bulky duffel bag bouncing off your shoulder. Mosquitoes nibbled your forearms and ankles griped when stepping over each bumpy log and uneven rock. This place was not your natural element, despite the abundance of nature. Just as well, no one would suspect you'd come out here for any reason. That suited your purposes just fine, but still, you wore the exact wrong type of shoes for this business.

The sun shone high over the tree canopy. You weren't too sure what to look for. Someplace unassuming, someplace secluded, that much at least. It was hard to judge how far to hike before considering a place to bury your secret joy. No point in digging out a hole only five minutes walking distance from your car.

You didn't spend a lot of time trudging before deciding that trudging sucked. But not even the dull ache in your calves stopped you although sore heels slowed things a little. The precious blue baby in the duffel bag needed putting to bed, and intuition said the cradle was a far way off.

Although the grit building on your cheeks and sweat beading into your eyes made strong arguments for turning around and scrapping the whole plan.

Instead of about-facing, you half-collapsed against a the trunk of a tanoak tree. A hand unzipped the duffel bag and you pulled out a water bottle. You twisted the cap off and guzzled, ignoring the lukewarm drops running down your chin.

Eyes closed, head pressed against green-brown bark, you said this affair was nothing. Easiest thing ever. You could do this all day, ignoring that this was in fact what you've done all day.

And the toll of all that doing came to collect when you fell asleep on the dirt and leaves.

For a little while you moved far away from the sunlit forest. Instead you went somewhere with polished floors and high vaulted ceilings. Paintings hung on the walls, and not the kind bought for cheap at Wal-Mart to pretty up bathrooms and hallways. Music played in the air and servants with trays of delicious, unpronounceable foods marched this way while people decked in well-tailored, extravagant clothing twirled that way.

Handsome men and beautiful women laughed, dipped, and glittered beneath candle lights and chandeliers. But none glittered quite like you.

In a ballroom of ballrooms you touched the stars draped around your neck.

Someone from behind asked to dance and just as you turned to extend a gloved hand, thunder cracked. Awareness flung you back to the forest floor, but wet this time.

A groan mixed with horror and disappointment escaped your lips. Bug-bitten legs pulled towards your chest and panicked hands dug into the bag, looking for a coat because you were at least smart enough to bring that, right?

After several seconds of disoriented rummaging, it turned out you were that smart.

You zipped the bag before too much rain water snuck in and ruined it's precious holdings. You clutched it close to the chest and ran deeper into the forest without paying attention to direction.

Ill-conceived could not begin to describe the entire venture. The sky overhead clapped in accordance with your suspicions. This was not a good idea. Huffing every cleaning product beneath the sink would have better outcomes than the one you found yourself in.

So why not drop the necklace under an ant-pile and head home?

Something inside the bag cried loud enough to make you slip over the mud. You shook your head, then shook the bag, confusion plastered all over your face. No more noise. Only the sound of your brain losing its bolts, that's all.

There. Going insane, that explained everything. The world seemed sensible a few days ago, right? Well, perhaps not, there was that weird spat of bizarre weather and disappearances that dominated the news a few weeks ago. But that was part of the larger world, not your world. Not the nine-to-six, ignore the check engine light, and definitely don't steal jewellery breed of world that you comfortably existed in.

The forest lit up in tall shadows and beads of rainfall. You jolted away.

Branches tripped you. Shrubs scratched your knees. Pits and uneven mounds would advise slowing the hell down if they could talk, but water clogged your ears to near-deafness.

An oh-so sensible voice asked that you stop, please. No diamond, jewel or buried treasure in the world is worth a third of this nonsense. Go home, just go home.

No. No, you have to keep going, said another voice that didn't quite sound like you.

But listen anyway! Those lovelies won't ever be safe if you go home. They'll only be safe here, beneath the shadow of trees. Somewhere here, far beneath roots and soil, where not even the sun can spot their glimmer. Somewhere only a digger can reach.

You grit your teeth and moved like iron fillings towards an unseen magnet.

Feet tracked through mud and scratches accumulated on your shins. Rain dribbled down the jacket's flimsy hood, bouncing against your nose and eyelashes. You didn't wipe any off because that meant taking a hand away from the bag.

For hours you walked and tripped and nearly twisted both ankles several times. Uphill, downhill, through brambly ravines and slippery creeks.

Exhaustion would've dropped you if a knot of branches and outcropping rocks on a hillside didn't catch the lightning and draw attention. You sloughed towards it, still wondering what the hell you were doing.

Hunched and dripping, you stared at the tangle of weeds and stone, sticking out the side of a hill like a hairy boil. Lightning crackled and split the sky apart, making you jump and lose your balance enough to fall into the tangle.

The branches weren't the strongest and snapped easily, but slowed your fall so that hitting the threshold of the disguised opening didn't cause much pain.

You panted on the soaked dirt and noticed the rain stopped hitting your head. Hands reached out and felt a rough ceiling of dirt and roots. You laid back, feeling like a car wash rag, dirtied and soaked.

After a minute of catching fleeting breath, you turned onto your stomach and felt ahead. The little dugout extended deeper into the hill. You dragged further inside and escaped the rain entirely.

Even in the dark, you could sense the tunnel sloping downwards. You opened the bag and pulled out a rinky-dink flashlight. Shining it around showed dirt, roots, and more dirt, along with a few crawly things best left ignored. But it also showed the tunnel extending a fair ways further. The tunnel opened up some, at least large enough for someone to crouch-walk.

A rain-soaked smile spread on your face. You never felt so glad to see a grimy hole in your life. This looked perfect.

Wiping your face and taking a deep breath, you shimmied into the tunnel. The incessant beat of rainfall outside grew muffled.

After crawling for several long minutes and spitting out dirt, you reached the end of the tunnel.

Once more you reached into the bag and pulled out the carefully packaged pendant. You unwrapped several layers of cloth and string and saw they remained safe. The cheap dollar store flashlight did not diminish their radiance. A moment ago you felt fit to go into a coma but there beneath the dirt, a burst of energy flowed.

How could anyone not grow giddy looking at those jewels? Holding those five lovely cuts of earth made perfect after millennia of heat and pressure. Purpose narrowed your brow and you wrapped the diamonds, put them back in the bag, and pulled out a small hand shovel.

You've dug before, although the bulk of that experience consisted of backyard gardening. The warmth from the jacket caught your attention. After digging, you'll probably boil with the thing on. Sleeve by sleeve, you took off the jacket and placed it to the wayside in a folded pile, promising to come back for it.

Studying the end of the dugout, you wondered the whole thing would collapse at the first pick drawn. You shrugged, filled with blind, half-crazed determination and shoved the hand shovel up to the hilt and pried out the first wad of dirt.

You could not imagine how many more would come.