Painting With Fire by K. B. Jensen Page B

blond hair behind her ear and nervously bit her nails.
    “No he isn’t.” Janice’s mouth formed a grim, straight line.
    “Yes, he is.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “Because I’ve talked with the police about what’s going on,” she said. “He kind of confided in me. I told the police what he said. I had to. I wouldn’t call it a confession, but he kind of hinted that he had done something he regretted.”
    “What do you mean, confession?” Janice threw up her hands and then placed them on her hips. “That’s news to me.”
    “I was talking to him about God,” Alice said softly. She placed her hand gently on Janice’s shoulder. “We started having some conversations before he disappeared. You saw us together. He said he had done somethi ng terribly wrong and he regretted it. He never told me exactly what it was, but he didn’t need to.”
    Janice stood up and shook Alice’s arm off of hers. “Get away from me. You lying bitch. My son’s innocent. My son would never … My son would never ever do that. I begged him to tell me what was bothering him. I begged him and he wouldn’t and you think he’d tell you?”
    Janice started crying and pushing the tears away with her hands.
    “He said he was a sinner,” Alice mumbled softly. “I think he just wanted some peace. He said he couldn’t bear to tell you. At least, he’s accepted Christ into his heart. I know it’s hard and I’m worried about him too, but maybe you can at least find a little comfort in that he’s trying to get on the right path now. I’m just trying to do the right thing. Should I have kept that information from the police?”
    Janice walked down the block, swinging her arms wildly behind her.
    Alice didn’t get up, but sat slumped forward a bit, from her perch on the curb. She bent her head and heaved a deep breath. “I just pray God will take care of that kid, you know.” She wiped her eyes. “He’s just so young. You just can’t win.”
    Then she lifted her blue eyes to the heavens and let her lips curl around the water bottle in one last swig.
    “It’s so sad,” Alice said, twisting the bottle in her hands. “Look at how out of control Janice is right now. I feel bad, but I couldn’t not tell her.”
    “Maybe it will help Janice understand what’s going on,” Claudia said with a sigh. “She needs to accept it. She thinks that boy is an angel and the fact is he’s not.”
    Alice picked up one of the fliers with Kevin’s picture and stared at it for a moment. She folded it neatly in half and slid it into her designer purse.
    “Maybe I should scan it and put it on Facebook,” she mumbled. “M aybe that would help us find the kid.”

 
    Chapter 17: Running
     
    Kevin had been on the Greyhound bus for only four hours before the eight-year-old girl started throwing up next to him. The vomit hit the aisle with a series of splats and guttural sounds. He checked his pant legs but didn’t see any chunks, just an orange spot or two on the top of his right sock.
    “You ok?” he asked, looking up.
    The girl nodded, wiped her mouth and went over to sit on her mom’s lap.
    “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” she whispered.
    It was the first time he was headed to his grandfather’s house voluntarily. It was always so damn cold there at Christmas, he hated visiting and his mom never got along with her family. Even as a five-year-old, he could feel the unease in the pit of his stomach when he tried to sleep in the old house with its creepy, vine-covered wallpaper. He’d drink a glass of water, thinking he was thirsty, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.
    But there was always one place he felt safe, by the fireplace watching the flames feast on wrapping paper. He loved the warmth on his back as he reached for the next present in front of him.
    Would it be better there without his mom? His grandfather loved to break all the rules when he was a kid. He always let Kevin do whatever he wanted, stay up late,