The Offices of M. Coopersmith

Chapter Three

A few blocks over from the Offices of M. Coopersmith lay the poorest section of Summerville:  a sprawling neighborhood called Brickman.  It was a sad stretch of cityscape, replete with shotgun houses, poorly maintained trees, wild shrubbery, packs of feral dogs, and half-collapsed wire fences.  And at the same moment that Chris and Samantha were departing the Offices of M. Coopersmith, two more travelers were arriving…with the same destination in mind.

Even at twilight these newcomers, given their size and lack of concern over being detected, would have been easy to spot—that is, had anyone been around to notice.  In the gloom of early evening they descended slowly, at once beautiful and terrible in appearance:  gleaming, twirling, ribbon-like creatures that had dropped out of the sunset-tinged clouds moments ago and now drifted to the ground in a monstrous interlocking spiral.  No doubt that, had pedestrians been present, a crowd would have formed to watch the extraordinary sight of the beasts reaching the surface.  But the street onto which they sank was deserted at the moment, and it was a good thing too.  For no human being who saw them would have lived to tell the tale…

***

"I've forgotten my phone."  As he spoke these words, Chris felt the back of his neck grow hot, flushed with embarrassment.

"Oh, Chris," Samantha groaned.  "Tell me you didn't."

Again the boy rifled through his pants pockets, but knew it wasn't there. 

"I don't have it," he said, unable to keep the despair out of his voice.  The iPhone was an expensive device.  If he had lost it, he was going to take a major ass-chewing when he got home.  Even worse, he wasn't getting a replacement phone.  Worse still, he had all kinds of text messages on the thing right now, and whoever found the phone was bound to see them.  But absolute worst of all, while Chris had text messages from many friends and even some girls, it would be easy for the same nosy person to see that the single largest exchange of text messages had been between Chris...and his mom.

They were "mom-type" messages too:  When was he coming home?  Here's what they were having for dinner tonight.  Had he taken out the garbage that morning?  He had left his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor again.  Love you, baby.

Yes, mom messages, one and all.  There for the world to see.  He would never be able to show his face in public again.

Only a few minutes into their drive Chris had felt strangely lighter, less weighed down.  He didn't realize at first what he was missing, just that he had less gear on his body than normal.

And then it hit him.  He reached into his pockets and clawed at emptiness.

So the slight improvement in the mood of the Mustang's cabin was now gone.  Samantha was mad, he could tell.  And no doubt she wanted him to be able to tell.

"I forgot it," he blathered.  "I'm sorry.  I must have set it down in Coopersmith's office while we were talking.  That's the only place it could be."

Samantha shook her head.  "I can't believe this."

"Look, just stop the car and let me out here.  I'll walk back to Coopersmith's office and get it.  Then I'll walk home afterwards."

"That's stupid, Chris. It’s after dark.  You don’t need to be walking the streets of downtown Summerville after dark."  Then, her tone calibrated to show maximum irritation, she growled, "I'll take you."

“I’m sorry,” Chris said after a moment.

“No, it’s fine,” Samantha said as she pulled into the parking lot of the local Hardees to turn around.  Of course, she had made it obvious that things were not fine.  Not remotely.