THIRTEEN

The days after Kerry’s death had been dazzling for Beth. It was hard to get used to hearing all those sounds again. After a few days being questioned by the police about Kerry’s death she slowly was trying to pick up her life again. His death was ruled as a suicide, the real explanation of course to hard to fathom for local law enforcement. The boy had been staying over at her place, making sure she was all right. He was such a wonderful young man.

She was behind her easel, putting some more brushstrokes on a canvas as he walked in.

“Good to see you are painting again,” he said.

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“It feels good. With Alastor gone I discovered I still know how to paint. The subject matter is just different,” Beth told him.

The boy smiled. “The likeness is quite good.”

She blushed. “Thank you.” On the canvas was a very good likeness of Father Kerry.

“Good idea to honor him like that.”

“I guess it’s least I can do. I will be forever in debt to him. And to you. Thank you so much. You saved my life.”

“I was just there to help you along to save your own,” the boy said.

“You’re way too modest.”

“Not sure about that. Listen, Beth… I’m here to tell you I will be leaving. I didn’t find the fear here I am looking for, so I have to move on. I will be picking up the clothes at Melanie’s place and catch a Greyhound bus.”

“You’re amazing, kid. Have a good journey. I hope you find your peace.”

“Thanks, Beth. I’m sure I will see your work somewhere on my travels. Take care.” With those words he walked out the door, slinging his backpack around his shoulder.