A Short Story : A Story?

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He checked his rearview. Several cars back a white van followed. He’d noticed it twice now. It was the kind of van the mob used, no side or back windows, a solid screen separating the cab from the rear. He’d keep an eye on it. Doing so was second nature. Used to following, he was expert at knowing when he was followed. But the van turned off. He figured maybe, just maybe something would come from talking to Sherry again. Certainly with nothing else being promising, he had nothing to lose. He drove to her place. She was walking out the door. So young and fresh in a green jacket with yellow embroidered flowers on the pockets and high boots. He killed the ignition and jumped out. “Come to scare me again, Paul?” He nodded behind her. “I just need five minutes. Please, let’s go back in.” “Can’t. Going somewhere.” She kept walking. He caught her at the elbow and swung her around. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Sherry, I’m telling you I need five minutes.” He yanked her up onto the stoop. “Now get your keys out and open the door.” She slapped him. It was strange but the pain felt good. He deserved it. In fact, he deserved far worse. Maybe then. Maybe, he thought. Maybe then hell would be a good experience. Permanent pain, a just punishment for all the evil he’d done. “Get the keys out.” “No.” He pushed her up against the house. They were face to face. It was insane but he wanted to kiss her, his desire coming up for her as if she was still his wife. “I said get them out.” “And

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