Sherry ran as fast as she could down the back alley. Behind her she could hear the pounding of feet and the shouts and yells of the police as they pursued her through the streets and alleys of Lansing. Sherry tripped, banging against a trashcan and knocking it over, scattering trash and newspapers everywhere. Quickly scrambling to her feet, she ran behind a dark netted screen propped against the wall and hid behind it until the police had gone by. Only then did she emerge from her hiding place.
The twenty-three-year-old sat down on an overturned metal bucket to catch her breath and think back over the events of the past two months. First, she had joined up with a gang that sold illegal drugs to various people and stole money and bills to buy drink. Next, two members of the gang had been arrested, and Sherry had begun to fear she would be next, so she backed out of the gang. But then she had gotten in another jam. She had met a man who seemed to like her and he had asked her to be his girlfriend. She had accepted, and he introduced her into the life of pornography and cohabitation. But then the man’s wife had found out about their relationship and had tried to attack her in public, and the police had shown up. The woman had told the police everything she knew about Sherry, and the police had taken after her. But Sherry had escaped from them and was now sitting in a dark alley, thinking over her predicament.
Sherry knew she had to get out of Michigan before she was arrested. But she didn’t know her life was about to get a lot worse. . .
_ _ _
Sherry was sitting at her desk in her little apartment in Alabama writing a letter to her mother when the phone rang. It was her best friend from middle school, Glory Pamstrong. “Hello, Sherry.”
“Glory, hi! How have you been?” Sherry sat upright and set her pen down, eager for a chat with her old friend. Glory was kind and supportive, but Sherry had always found her repeated claims about Christ’s love and mercy rather annoying.
“I heard you’re wanted in Michigan,” Glory said in a no-nonsense tone. “Is it true?”
Sherry didn’t want to tell Glory about her bad choices and lifestyle, so she decided to make up a lie. “Of course not!” she scoffed. “Why would I be wanted?”
“I heard you were sleeping with another woman’s husband, and your name is on a list of members of an illegal drug gang,” Glory replied. “Sherry, is all this true?”
Sherry knew she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth. Glory knew too much. “Why do you care if it is?” she snapped. “Look, this is my life, and I can do with it as I please. Okay? I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me I’m wrong. I can live life on my own.”
Glory’s last words haunted her mind. “That’s what you think,” she answered quietly. “God says differently.” Then she hung up. That would be the last time she would ever speak to Sherry.
Sherry slammed the phone back on its cradle and scowled. Some friend Glory is! she thought. Trying to check up on me and my lifestyle! Who is she, my mom? She picked up her pen and went back to writing.
_ _ _
The following week, Sherry was out shopping for a few groceries so she could at least have a decent meal tonight. She figured she was probably going to lose her cashier job at Julie’s Market soon, as she had been rude and disrespectful to her boss and to others who entered the store. At one point, she had even picked a fight with a teenage girl for asking the way to the restroom. Sherry had rudely remarked that she didn’t care and that the girl had better go elsewhere to use the bathroom. The teenager had become a little more insistent, and the fight was on. Sherry didn’t want anyone getting in her way. If they did, they were going down, big time.
As Sherry exited Julie’s market, her bag of groceries in one hand and a beer bottle in the other, she spotted a bright yellow convertible with a black zigzag line on the hood parked by the sidewalk. The driver was standing with his girlfriend, a pretty woman with a fur muff wrapped around her shoulders. The key was still in the ignition.
Sherry looked enviously at the convertible. She didn’t own a car, not did she have enough money to buy one, but she had always wanted one. But perhaps, if she could just have this car. . .It would be enough to fill the emptiness in her life for good. . .
Sherry made up her mind to steal it.
_ _ _
Screams ran out from nearby cars as the drivers yanked their wheels to turn off the road. A flashy yellow car zoomed by, going above the speed limit. Another car, a dark blue one, hurriedly tried to pull over, but then it happened.
The two automobiles collided.
The hoods of each car were crunched in and the sound of metal resounded in the ears of all who had come to witness the accident’s scene. Two men spotted the gasoline pouring out of the tanks of the two cars and frantically dropped to their knees, reaching amidst crumpled, hot metal, trying to locate the occupants. One of the men spotted a black shoe and quickly seized it, yanking on the person’s foot and dragging her out into the road, safely away from the damaged cars.
“The other woman! Get the other woman!” screamed a hysterical woman, pointing to the blue car.
“Get back!” roared a police sergeant who had pulled up near the accident’s scene.
“But the other one!” the woman wailed.
“Stay back!” a female officer shouted.
And then, the horror occurred.
The cars exploded.
The flames leaped up and licked the cars, forcing the crowd to move back for the intense heat. There was a stunned silence. The women watching the scene were horrified and began to cry. The men looked grim. The police officers stared at the scene for the longest time, and a little girl spoke, “Why didn’t we get that other woman when we had a chance?”
The female officer bent over the living victim lying on the side of the road and gently rolled her over on her back. When she saw the woman’s face, her eyes narrowed. “At last, we’ve caught you,” she said darkly.
It was Sherry Yasmon.
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