t was a warm afternoon in Spring and a good day to be out-of-doors. The block was lined with quarter million dollar houses, all of a similar style, but no two alike. Cheshire Downs was a new development of two-storied, four-bedroom homes, each erected on a half acre of lawn. Being a new community, the trees and hedges were small and sparse, allowing for an unhampered view of the protesters.

The protesters believed the day was well-appointed for doing God's bidding. They toted signs that read, "Abortion is Murder", "End the Genocide", "Dr. Stein is a Nazi", "Dr. Stein is a Butcher", "Dr. (Franken) Stein is a Monster." Some placards bore quotes from Scripture. Mothers brought their children and gave them signs to carry; "Please Don't Allow Us To Die Unborn", and "Jesus Loves the Little Children."

Kids walking home from school, crossed to the opposite side of the street and giggled among themselves at the sight of the protesters. They had been told to ignore them in the hopes that, lacking attention, the protesters might eventually stop coming.

Doctor Joel Stein drove up his street in his pristine, dark blue BMW. Seeing the protesters gathered on the sidewalk in front of his house, he continued past without stopping. Several of the protesters, recognizing him, lobbed a few jeers as he drove by. He continued along the street, passing Earl's parked Chrysler LeBaron. Earl watched Doctor Stein's car appear in the mirror, grow larger, pass by, and then lifting his head off his pillow to peer over the dash, saw Doctor Stein's BMW continue away. Earl noticed the car's telephone antenna with its twist like a pig's tail and told himself, "hell, he'll just call the police to clear them away." He laid back down on the front seat, sweating slightly in the car's still air baked by the sunlight. He returned his attention to the carefully angled rearview mirror.

It was just as he had predicted to himself. Two township patrol cars arrived, each with a uniformed officer. The protesters readily capitulated and dispersed. "After all," thought Earl, "there aren't no television cameras, no reporters this time. The media is jaded. The damn neighbors stay hiding in there expensive homes. But God, ah, He continues to watch."

The police never noticed Earl. From that distance the car didn't seem occupied behind the glare of its glass. They were too distant to read the two bumper stickers, Pro-Life and John 3:16. They disregarded it, believing it to be a neighbor's car.

The two officers remained until Doctor Stein's BMW returned. The door rose automatically for the empty two-car garage and swallowed the doctor's car. The door descended behind him as he stepped out on to the driveway to talk with the policemen. There was no handshaking. Earl suspected the doctor was not satisfied with the police, that the doctor was telling them they should have kept his sidewalk cleared even when he was not there.

It was approaching the dinner hour and the street was quiet. Earl closed his eyes and touched his chin to his chest. "Lord, I am Thy servant. Please send me a sign so that I can be sure I am doing Thy bidding, so that I can be sure that I am following in the path Thou hast chosen for me." He lifted his head and studied the doctor's home in the mirror. Small lamps along the edge of the walk from the front door to the driveway became lit. And then the lights outlining the driveway were turned on. All this and it wasn't even dark yet. The lights were inviting him. It was a sign from God.

He checked to see that no one was near, then grabbed the blue, hooded sweatshirt from the back seat and pulled it on. Adjusting the mirror to see himself, he combed his straight hair and his mustache. Unlocking the glove compartment, he withdrew a four inch barrel Colt Python, and a box of 357 magnum cartridges. He loaded the revolver and shoved it into the pouch pocket of his sweatshirt. He pulled the cowl of his sweatshirt over his head. Checking his mustache once more, he regarded the image in the mirror. It reminded him of a monk.

While he held the screen door open with his shoulder, Earl pressed the glowing button next to the door and heard a melodic series of chimes reminding him of church. He was committed, now, and he reminded himself it didn't matter how this would turn out. The courtroom would be his pulpit. The press would spread the Word of God, and they would know of God's anger. He would trust in God and submit to any sentence.

The door was opened by a slender, young man whose wide smile quickly dissipated when he failed to recognize Earl. Then the smile returned, modified to be less intense. "Can I help you?" the doctor inquired.

"Doctor Joel Stein, I presume?" said Earl. He had not rehearsed, had not planned what he would say, trusting in the Lord to inspire him in the moment.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"Would you mind terribly stating your business?" The doctor dropped any pretense of smiling and now gazed at Earl suspiciously.

"We need to talk, doctor," he said, and slipping the revolver from concealment, placed it against the center of the doctor's chest. The doctor was mystified by the gun. Earl's first step placed his foot at the base of the door so that it could not be closed. He shoulder the door wide open, breaking the doctor's limp grasp of the knob. Never taking his eyes off the doctor, he ordered the doctor to step back. He came in and with his free hand gently closed the door behind him.

The doctor didn't know what to watch, the gun or the eyes of the stranger. "Take whatever you want, just don't hurt me," the doctor said nervously.

"I'm not a thief," Earl sneered, insulted by the remark.

"Then what do you want?" For if it wasn't to rob him, the doctor thought, then it must be to kill him. The thought made his chest hollow and a chill emanated from his core to his fingertips and toes.

"Why don't we sit down, Doc?" Earl said and pulled the cowl off his head. "I just wanna talk a bit and we'll see what happens." Earl waved the gun to indicate that he wanted to go into the living room. They passed a mirror in the foyer. He caught a glimpse of himself, rough cheeks, sharp jaw, thick mustache, the slight gleam of sweat about his face, and saw himself rather like a sheriff out of the old west.

The living room was painted beige, had windows facing the street with the curtains conveniently drawn. There was a white brick fireplace with family photographs on the mantelpiece. Earl knew from newspaper accounts that the doctor's wife had left him, taking the two young children. She had said she couldn't stand the harassment and did not want her children caught up in the politics. One wall had bookshelves completely filled. "No television?" Earl inquired.

"It's in the den," the doctor said. He was beginning to think he might not be shot, or why would this stranger delay. "What is it that you want?" he said, allowing some of his annoyance to be heard in his voice, then hoping he didn't sound too annoyed.

"Sit down, doctor, and we'll see how you answer some questions." The doctor looked around for a place to sit, trying to consider which seat would be the most strategic, but could not make up his mind, and did not sit. Earl saw the drink and the magazine on the end table next to the corner of the couch, where the doctor must have been sitting before answering the door. Not knowing where to begin his talk, trying the kill the time in a casual way, Earl strolled to the couch, turned up the corner of the magazine and saw that it was "Business Week". He pointed at the glass using the gun. "Whatchya drinking?"

"Scotch. Chivas Regal, in fact." Then, affecting politeness, "would you like some?"

"I don't drink," was Earl's curt reply, and he turned his attention to the sound system built into the wall. The disc tray stuck out of the compact disc player. A case had been left opened beside the player. Evidently the doctor was about to play music when he was interrupted. Earl inspected the choice. Rachmaninov, probably Russian. It amused him that the pianist had the same first name as he, Earl Wild. Being conscientiously neat, Earl pushed the tray, so that it closed automatically, and being frugal, he turned off the power to the sound system. "Sit down, Doc," Earl said again, and pointed to the corner of the couch the doctor had occupied earlier.

The doctor sat there and was growing hopeful as he watched the stranger inspect the room. The stranger wouldn't be taking this long if he was going to kill him. The doctor lifted his glass and took a courageous sip of his Scotch.

Earl sat down in the club chair opposite the doctor and rested his feet on the ottoman. He rested the gun on his thigh, pointing in the general direction of the doctor, and he kept hold of it. "I guess you're kinda wondering why I'm here?"

"The question did cross my mind," the doctor replied, trying to sound brave.

"Well, Doc, I'm here to save your soul, or, if I can't do that, to send you to Hell."

Once more the chill spread through Doctor Stein. Being sent to Hell could only mean this madman might yet kill him. The stranger had made it sound like an option. He merely had to stay calm and outwit the stranger, but he did not feel calm.

Earl sat quietly, still not knowing where to begin, allowing his eyes to stray nonchalantly about the room and waiting for divine inspiration. Doctor Stein saw this hesitance, took another sip of his Scotch with a noticeably shaky hand, and decided to attempt the advantage by taking control.

"Why don't we start out with your name?" the doctor began with his most commanding voice.

Earl stared at the doctor a bit surprised. He quietly replied, "there's hardly any reason for you to know my name, Doc. All you need to know is that I am the right hand of God. I've come to see how He judges you."

"Judges me?"

"I'll put some questions to you and if you answer them right, I'll leave you alone. But if you give me the wrong answers," and he lifted the gun to aim it at the doctor's head, "I'll pop you." And he jerked the gun, imitating a recoil, while exclaiming, "pop!" It caused the doctor to jump. Earl gently rested the revolver on his thigh. That put the fear of God into him, he thought.

"Oh God," the doctor muttered.

Earl took his feet off the ottoman and leaned forward, "yes, God. It is God who has sent me." Then he leaned back and rested comfortably in the doctor's soft chair. The situation was his to command. "God is angry with you, Doctor Joel Stein, and he has sent me to put an end to your massacre of the children."

"You're crazy." It slipped from the doctor's mouth, expressed merely as a matter of fact, without consideration for the consequences of such a remark. The stranger didn't appear upset with the remark. Earl squinted and grinned, as if lining up his target. The doctor began to reach for his Scotch, but now he was shaking too much and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold the glass steady. He withdrew his hand and with it covered his eyes. He felt like he was going to cry. In that moment he hated himself for his weakness, knowing it would strengthen his antagonist's position. He began coughing in order to conceal his feelings. Collecting himself, he awkwardly straightened his back against the cushion of the couch. "Well, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to give up your foul practice of aborting babies."

"They are not babies," the doctor asserted.

"Yes, they're human babies and they have souls. God has given them souls at the very moment of conception."

"That's ridiculous, you can't believe that."

Earl opened his eyes wide. "I believe it with all my soul and all my heart."

"Well, let me tell you something, mister, I do not; and furthermore, there is no such thing as a soul detecting machine, so what evidence can you possibly supply that in one moment there is no soul and in the next there is?"

"I know it, and you would know it too, if you'd just let God speak to your heart."

"Oh God," the doctor sighed and closing his eyes leaned far back into the soft couch. With his eyes still closed he chanted, "I can't believe this is happening to me, I can't believe this is happening to me." Then he directed his attention away from the stranger. "Do you really believe this? It's like I'm living in history." Then, addressing the stranger as if he could be pressed into a sympathetic listening, "this is like living in the Dark Ages. Civilized people don't think like this anymore, don't you understand?" The stranger's heartless stare indicated he did not share in the doctor's insight. The doctor once again perceived the stranger as a threat. "You don't see it, do you? You believing that the fetus is a human being doesn't make it so." Then, as if pondering the thought aloud he said, "and it is no different than believing in transubstantiation."

"Transub— what?"

The doctor stared. "Aren't you Catholic?"

"No, I'm not Catholic," Earl responded, evidently insulted.

"Transubstantiation," the doctor lectured him with unconcealed condescension, "as in the Eucharist, is the belief that the wafer and wine they serve at mass is actually, miraculously, the very flesh and blood of Jesus."

"Oh, that's nonsense," Earl snorted. "Besides, I'm a Christian, not a Catholic."

"Yes, exactly, of course it's nonsense, and great men like Luther, and Wyclif, and Calvin preached against it. And people went to war over it during the Dark Ages. And people who ripped apart the bread and poured out the wine meant for communion, to prove it wasn't really flesh and blood, were put to the stake and burned alive. And that is no different than what you are doing to me, sitting there threatening me with a gun." The doctor took a deep breath, proud of his reasoning.

"Yeah, but they were ignorant."

"Yes, but your belief is not different when you attribute a soul to a fetus," the doctor said as he leaned forward.

"But that's different, that's really true. The fetus does have a soul."

"That's your religious opinion, but you don't have the right to force me to accept your religious doctrines."

"It's not like that at all, Doc," and now Earl also leaned forward into the conversation. After all, a fetus isn't made outta crackers and wine, it is really flesh and blood."

"So is a tumor."

"But a fetus has a soul."

"That's your opinion."

"No, Doc, that's the truth."

The doctor put his head between his hands, his elbows on his knees. "I can't believe this is happening to me," he said, and a nervous laughter escaped from his throat. Then he lifted his head and wiped his tearing eyes with his sleeve. "This is the twentieth century, nineteen eighty-seven. Where were you educated? You talk as if you never heard of Evolution or that the world is round."

"Evolution!, now that's another issue. I don't believe in Evolution."

"I can't say that surprises me. The same mind that thinks a fetus is to be accorded the same rights as a human probably wouldn't believe in Evolution."

"Look, if Evolution were discovered to be true, you'd hear about it on the TV news, or something. But they don't. They always give equal credence to the Creationist. Anyway, everyone is entitled to their opinion." Then Earl snickered and said, "everyone has an opinion and an asshole."

The doctor looked at him with incredulity. The stranger's lighthearted remark didn't fit the occasion. Wasn't he to be murdered for holding a different opinion. "Yes, that's right. And I am entitled to my opinion about abortion."

"No," Earl snapped. "The unborn baby has a soul and that is not an opinion."

"And you are atresia ani," the doctor said, and full of shit, he added to himself. The doctor was pleased with himself, certain of his superior intellect.

"I don't know those big words," Earl replied, "and you know what, Doc? I don't like you using them. You're not very smart, are you?"

"What do you mean?" The doctor was peeved.

"I mean, I'm sitting here with a loaded gun ready to blow your head off and you're making it easier for me." Earl was please with himself, certain of his faith and the superior power he held. He saw the doctor tremble and enjoyed his advantage.

"What do you want from me?" the doctor asked. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want to stop you from doing abortions, Doc. I can stop you simple with just a bullet, but here I'm giving you a chance to repent; but I tell ya, you're gonna have a hard time convincing me you're sincere." Earl paused and looked around the room. "You know, I don't see a cross, or a picture of Jesus anywhere." He leered at the doctor. "You're Jewish, aren't you Doc?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Stein sure sounds like a Jewish name to me."

"Perhaps, but in my case it is a German name."

"You believe in God, Doc?"

"Yes, I think so."

"You think so? What kinda answer is that? You know, Doc, you're only making it harder on yourself. I was hoping you'd get on your knees and pray for God to forgive you, and swear to our Lord that you won't do anymore abortions. Then, maybe, God would instruct me to spare you. 'They also that erred in spirit shall come to understanding, and they that murmured shall learn doctrine.' But I don't see how I'm gonna be convinced you mean it, if you're not even sure you believe." He stared into the doctors eyes. The doctor covered his face.

"Why me?" The doctor began weeping into the palms of his hands, no longer caring of the impression of weakness. "I'm not a bad man." His hands muffled his whining. "First Cynthia leaves me and takes the kids, and now I'm going to die." He lifted his head to look at his killer. "Do you realize that probably twelve percent of all pregnancies end in abortions, natural abortions, without the patient, or her doctor even knowing about it or causing it. Even God does not seem to particularly value the embryo."

"That's blasphemous," Earl barked and leaped from his chair. "Get down on your hands and knees, right now," he ordered, pointing his gun once again, his face creased with ferocity, his eyes again wide. The doctor poured off the couch and on to his knees. He huddled there holding his head. "That's better. Now, let's hear you pray."

"Please, I beg you, don't kill me," the doctor sobbed.

"That's not praying," Earl countered. "Do you think I want to kill you? Do you think I have a choice? It is God's commandment. You should be addressing him."

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," the doctor murmured in thoughtless panic.

They were interrupted by the sound of a melodic series of chimes, this being the doorbell.

She pushed the doorbell a third time. At last the door opened, but only a crack.

"Hello, Ellen," Joel said. His face was red and his smile crooked. "I'm sorry, Ellen, but I won't be able to meet with you tonight. I'm sorry you had to come all this way."

"You knew I was coming." He did. He had turned the outside lights on for her.

"Yes, but—"

"You know how important this business is." She was not asking questions, she was reminding him, informing him.

"Yes, but—"

"And why is it you can't meet with me?" She was annoyed.

"Something personal came up. I can't go into it right now, but I'll call you tomorrow."

It made her suspicious that he would not open the door wider and that he was sweating and shaking. "What's going on, Joel, you are looking especially sick." She watched the affect of her words, how he squeezed shut his eyes and grit his teeth. "What is this all about? And who is it that is standing on the other side of this door?" Earl stroked his mustache to be sure it was neat, stepped clear of the door and opened it wide. He pointed the revolver at her. He saw a stoutly built woman wearing a gray suit and a white blouse buttoned to the throat. She was wrinkled and gray-haired, the hair worn short, and she was glaring at him unafraid.

"Oh ma'am, I'm sorry you had to—"

She cut him off, pushing her way into the foyer. "Who the hell are you and what do you think you are doing?" she demanded of him.

Earl gently closed the door. "Ma'am, this doesn't concern you, but now that you're here, um, why don't we all go into the living room and talk?" He didn't know how he was going to extricate himself from this situation. He couldn't shoot her, she was an innocent. She darted into the adjacent living room so quickly, Earl worried about losing sight of her. He shoved Joel to keep up with her.

"Sit down," Earl ordered. Joel regained his place on the couch, but Ellen did not sit. She spun around and confronted Earl.

"What's you name?" she demanded.

"There's no reason for you to know my name," Earl replied. "All you need —" She interrupted him.

"Young man, I cannot talk to you if I don't know your name." Young man? He was thirty-nine, older than the doctor, and hardly considered himself young. She puzzled him. He looked down at his revolver wondering how had it lost its power to compel. "Well?" she demanded, like a school marm before children.

"Earl." It came out of his mouth disobedient to his will.

"Well, hello Earl. My name is Ellen. Now, Earl, what do you hope to accomplish with the gun?"

So then she did see the weapon. He didn't like her. She was pushy. But he couldn't shoot her. He wasn't a murderer. "Ma'am, please sit down," he urged her, "you're making me nervous." His voice wavered.

"Earl, I'm sixty-seven years old," she announced, "I don't want to sit down. I am more comfortable pacing. If you don't like it, you can shoot me, I'm just an old lady." Joel lifted his head from his slouch, astonished by her disregard of the threat. Earl looked towards the doctor for assistance, but the doctor could only shrug his shoulders. She crossed her arms and took turns looking at both of them. "Well, what is going on here?"

"This man is a killer," Earl said, nudging the barrel of his revolver in the direction of Joel.

"He's no such thing," she countered. "Why would you think he is?"

"He does abortions," Earl said.

"Abortions are not murder," she said. "They are tragic, but they are not murder."

"Yes, they are, damn it!"

"Who told you they are?" she demanded.

"I've seen it for myself. I've seen movies."

"Movies?"

"Uh, yeah. There's one called 'The Silent Scream'."

"That movie is the utmost nonsense. Why should a fetus open its mouth to scream in a fluid-filled space. It won't even have functioning lungs. Listen to me, Earl. Despite the human-like appearance of the fetus, even by the end of the second trimester the hundred trillion synaptic connections necessary for perception have hardly begun."

"Shut-up!" he shouted at her. He lifted his gun higher, pointing it at her face.

Ellen's arms dropped to her side. She didn't loose her calm for a moment. She turned her gaze past him to stare at something else. Then commenced to walk right past him. She said, "is shooting me a lesser murder than aborting a fetus?" She reached a window that looked out on to the front of the house and delicately pulled the curtain away to gaze out, her back to him.

"Leave that curtain alone," Earl yelled.

She allowed the curtain to fall back into place and spun around to face him. "Give it up, Earl. Back away from this before you do something you will regret."

"I am doing God's work," he said in a boisterous tone.

"You are doing no such thing. How do you know it is you who are the agent of God and not me? Maybe it is me and I've come to save you from a mistake. You can't be sure."

"You're trying to confuse me, but it's not going to work. What makes you think a baby needs these 'napses' to think and feel? What makes you so smart?"

"I am a doctor."

"You're a doctor, too?" He turned to Joel for confirmation.

"Yes, your speaking with Doctor Ellen Stemmons," Joel explained. "She's the regional head of Planned Parenthood."

Earl turned back to stare at Doctor Stemmons. She saw in his face a new fury. "So, you're Doctor Stemmons." His voice had become hushed and he took a step closer to her. "I didn't know you were a woman." She was about to reply, but he screamed at her, "SHUT-UP you bitch!" She was taken aback. "You think you're so smart, but 'I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.'" He raised the revolver to take aim, but heard the noise behind him. Joel, in grabbing the poker from the rack by the fireplace, spilled its remaining contents of broom, log tongs, and shovel.

Earl quickly swung around. Joel hurled the poker at him. He dodged and swatted the poker away while firing the revolver. The bullet passed through Joel's chest. Joel twisted and crumbled to the floor. Ellen smashed into Earl's back, knocking him off his feet. She stomped on his wrist with one foot as he tried to roll to his back and she kicked the revolver from his hand with her other foot. Earl grabbed her ankle and she fell, but then she twisted and was holding his weapon, pointing it at him while he was lifting himself off the floor. He backed away.

Joel, meanwhile, was breathing rapidly, groaning with every exhalation. He was turning white, his lips becoming bluish. She lifted herself from the floor and went to him. With her free hand she began tearing away his shirt. Earl was quietly stepping backwards towards the front door. "Shoot him," Joel gasped.

"I can't do that," she replied. "I'm a doctor."

"Then I will," and he tried to reach for the gun. Earl turned and dashed for the door. "Give me that gun," Joel cried. Ellen kept the revolver out of Joel's reach and gently pushed him back. Earl made it out the door and down the street. He stumble with getting the keys from his pocket to unlock the door of his LeBaron. When he was behind the wheel and the engine ignited, he pressed the acceleration peddle to the floor. The tires screeched briefly and the car leaped three feet, and then stalled. He started it again. Again the tires screeched for a moment before the engine again stalled. He started it a third time, checking his rearview mirror. No one seemed to be coming from the house in pursuit. This time he gently accelerated the car away from the curb and sped off, around the block, out of the community of Cheshire Downs, through the first major intersection with no heed to the stop sign, and was smashed in the left rear fender by a pickup truck with the right-of-way. It sent his LeBaron spinning off the road and into a drainage ditch.

At the hospital Cynthia Stein was reunited with her husband. Despite Doctor Ellen Stemmons's protest, Doctor Joel Stein decided to quit performing abortions. Not that he believed it was a sin, but it wasn't worth the turmoil and the absence of his family. Ellen couldn't blame him entirely and was happy to see that, at least, this ordeal brought back to him his family. "Let them stay ignorant and pregnant," he told Ellen, "if that will keep them from shooting me. Let them pollute their neighborhoods with babies. Let them starve and murder among themselves, just so long as they stay out of Cheshire Downs."

Cynthia had stayed late and together they watched the eleven o'clock news.

"A spokesman for the Right to Life organization has denounced today's shooting," the anchorman reported.

A young, bespectacled man, looking very much like a lawyer, appeared on the television and said, "our organization does not condone any act of violence, even in an effort to advance our moral cause. The whole essence of our movement is to preserve life, not to take it. We are glad to know that Doctor Stein is recovering from his wounds. If Mr. Earl Egan was a member of our organization, he was not acting in our behalf when he committed this act. But I'd like to point out that such acts to preserve the nation's moral standard, to end the genocide of unborn babies, is not entirely unexpected, and although we do not support such acts, we would not be surprised to see more such acts in the future. When the laws of our Nation permit murder, such vigilante acts are a bad law's repercussion."

The anchorman returned. "Mr. Earl Egan was apprehended when his vehicle was involved in a collision while trying to leave the scene of the crime. The driver of the other vehicle was unharmed while Mr. Egan had been knocked unconscious. He suffers from a broken arm and concussion and is now in protective custody at Lincoln Memorial Hospital." It was the same hospital in which Doctor Joel Stern was presently recovering from his bullet wound through the lung.

"In this hospital?" said Cynthia with alarm.

"Didn't I tell you earlier?" said Joel. "And do you know what Ellen Stemmons said to me? 'Just think, Joel, now you will have an opportunity to continue with him the dialogue I interrupted.' She thinks that his kind can be educated with dialogue. Like hell."

Then nothing was decided, Cynthia thought to herself, except that her husband would step out of the conflagration. She was satisfied, just having him to support her and the children.

© Bruce Bentzman