St. Isidore’s wasn’t some old Gothic cathedral or early Colonial masonry marvel like you might expect. It was a simple wooden church with a cheap brass steeple which had long since tarnished to a puke colored green. St. Isidore’s was badly maintained but practically immaculate in comparison to the other buildings in the area. Condemned apartment complexes and abandoned storefronts bordered the street leading up to it. A dimly lit gas station cast the only light for blocks around that wasn’t filtered through stained glass.

Marybeth stopped and conducted a bit of business with the attendant.

She knocked on the thick wooden doors of the holy place with the kind of authority usually reserved for SWAT teams. Nobody answered. She wadded the pamphlet up in her clinched fists as tears poured down her cheeks.

“You ambush pregnant women with PAMPHLETS,” Marybeth screamed, “ABOUT HEAVEN AND HELL? To a SIXTEEN YEAR OLD?”

She emptied the gas can onto the doors and threw the flaming pamphlet at the engraved cross.