Wicked Company

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Tucker, what are we doing here?" I hissed, glaring at him as we strode towards the elevators hand in hand.

The lobby alone made me want to gouge my eyes out. It was floor-to-ceiling white marble, the walls beaming brightly against the sunlight pouring in from the elongated windows behind me. A tan, elderly man stood in the corner by the employee door past the elevators, mop in hand. He looked tired and worn, but somehow inviting to me. He reminded me of my uncle.

"You okay to stay here, Barbie?"

I nodded absently, my eyes glued to the old man in the corner. I felt Tucker's lips press softly to my temple before he stepped away. Slowly, my legs guided me towards the stranger as the elevator door closed in my peripheral vision.

"Hello," I whispered, but the man frowned up at me.

"I need to clean? You spill?" His voice was ragged, his eyes tired. A thick accent poured through his words, a deep Spanish, so much so that I could barely understand his question.

I shook my head with a soft smile, reading his name tag. Javier Ignacio.

"Javier... Did you know a man named Mario?"

He perked up. "Aloisio? Good man. Mi amigo."

Tears pricked behind my eyes and I sighed, twisting my arm to show him the tattoo on my forearm - the one that had been passed through my family's lineage, Zio included. "My uncle."

"Daniella?" Javier's eyes shot up and a grin plastered on his wrinkled face.

He let the mop go, its handle clanging on the marbled tile of the floor below. Nodding for me to follow, we stepped through the employee's door and into the small utility area. A small, feeble desk with a single lamp sat in the corner, papers jammed in the top drawer and hanging out in wrinkled clumps. He turned to close the door and I nearly leapt out of my skin.

"No! Please. Leave it open."

Javier, frightened and confused at my outburst, frowned, but nodded. He took my hand and led me to the desk, excitedly grabbing the top drawer open and shuffling through the ruined papers, grinning deeper when he found what he'd been searching for.

At the bottom of the creaky, worn compartment held safe a picture of my uncle, young and tall, holding me as a baby. Even just months old, I looked happy and carefree with him - traits I'd never exhibited with my own parents. They'd never hung pictures holding me around the house. There hadn't ever been any that I was smiling in with them.

But Zio - he was my best friend. He was my father. Not the sperm donor of a man that had kicked me out at fourteen.

I felt emotions begin to overwhelm me. Clutching the picture to my chest, Javier patted my shoulder softly, his eyes warm as they promised me I was safe with him. Safe to let my wall down. To talk to him, or even just sit.

The elevator door dinged loudly from the lobby, it's joining wall with the cramped office leaving little peace to be kept. I cleared my throat and glanced down at the picture once more, smiling and tracing my fingers slowly over my uncle's face. I leaned into Javier, hugging him quickly and kissing his cheek.

"Thank you. Thank you for keeping this safe."

His eyes crinkled at the corners and he placed a hand over his heart, shuffling with no excitement back to the lobby. He left me alone to have a moment, but the longer I stared at the picture, the longer I wanted to suffer. I wanted to bring myself pain. Agony. Why? Because my uncle had always been the one to pick me up and dust me off. I wanted that feeling again. I wanted his memory, his love, again.