“HELLO?”
“Hi, is this…Mike Storch?”
“Speaking.”
“Oh, hi. My name’s Chris Spears, I’m a marketing assistant with Warner Brothers. I work with DC Comics, mostly, and I—”
“Oh! Great, thank you for calling me. Did you…”
“Yeah, I had a look at that police sketch of the kid you faxed to our offices. Someone put it up in the break room.”
“I should stop you right there, Chris, and say that it’s not actually a police sketch. It was done by a police sketch artist, but I am not with any law enforcement organization.”
“Oh. Well, is this kid in trouble or something?”
“No, probably not. Some people are looking for him, is all. Did you see him at the San Diego Con?”
“Yeah, I’m certain of it. I moderated this DC editors panel, and we gave away a couple prizes before the show. The kid tried to win the prizes, made a real ass of himself, if you ask me.”
“Okay. That’s something. You’re sure it was him?”
“Pretty sure. He looked like the sketch, and the height and clothes are right, and…you say something here about strange behavior? Aversion to sunlight?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, this kid had a pretty bad sunburn.”
“I don’t suppose you talked to him much.”
“Well, that’s the thing—our prizes went to the people who’d traveled the farthest to be there. And this kid said he’d come from Philadelphia.
“…Hello? You still there, Mike?”
“I’m here. This is outstanding news. You’re sure it was Philadelphia?”
“I’m sure. He shouted it twice, and then he tried to convince everyone that it was farther away than Maine, and…I don’t think I’d remember all this normally, but, like I said, he was a pain in the ass.”
“A pain in the neck, if we’re lucky.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing, Chris. Thanks for your help.”