Nico

October, 1941

A chilly gust of October wind blew through my hair. I shouldered my way through the congested sidewalks, the deafening uproar of the city filling my ears. I navigated my way down the street until I reached Times Square. Buildings towered high over my head. Cars and trucks sped by in a parade of city clamor. Business men bustled along side women herding their children down the sidewalk. 

I turned spotted an enormous building more than thirty stories high across the street. The glass window panes glittered in the early morning sunlight. People in the streets stopped to stare in awe at the glorious structure. I felt excitement rising inside of me. I've made it. I'm actually here. I'm staring up at Times Tower, the location of my new job. 

Without even bothering to look both ways, I bolt across the street. Several drivers honk and curse at me, but I don't care. I'm here. I'm actually here. I pushed open the doors and rushed into the lobby. A receptionist with caramel colored hair and rich brown eyes sat at the front desk, her hands splayed against the surface of the desk as she waited for her fresh coat of red nail polish to dry. 

I cleared my throat, "Excuse me, Miss."

She looked up from her fashion magazine and smiled. "Hi there! How may I help you?" she asked. 

"I'm here to see the editor. I'm the new employee," I replied. 

"Oh, of course! How could I forget? Mr. Zeus said he was expecting you," The receptionist exclaimed. She closed her magazine and shoved it under the desk. She swiveled around in her chair to face a black rotary phone on her desk. She dialed a number and pressed the phone to her ear, "Editor? Yes, Mr. di Angelo is here. Okay... yes... of course... alright... okay... bye now." 

The receptionist hung up and returned her attention to me, "Mr. Zeus says to send you right up. Go to the thirty second floor in the elevator. His office is in through the door at the end of the room."

I nodded, "Okay, thanks!" 

I hurried past the desk to the elevator. I hit the button, and a few minutes later, I step into an elevator full of stern looking men and women. They stared at me with disdain as I entered the elevator. I didn't blame them. A twenty three year-old kid with unkempt black hair and a disheveled suit paled in comparison to a bunch of adults dressed in expensive clothing from upscale city joints. 

Finally, the elevator stopped on the thirty second floor. The doors slid open, and I rushed out of the elevator and into the office. About fifty people were in the room, bustling between the tightly spaced desks with enormous stacks of papers in their arms. The rhythmic click clack click clack of typewriter keys reverberated through the office, mingling with the chatter of the workers. At the opposite end of the room, I spotted a wooden door with gold lettering that spelled "EDITOR" nailed to the front. I approached the door and gingerly rapped on the wood. 

"Come in!" A thunderous voice replied from the other side of the door. I creaked open the door and entered the room. A tall, lanky man with thick, salt-and-pepper hair sat behind the desk. He was dressed in a gray pinstripe suit, and a cigar dangled from his lips. He looked me up and down with his harsh, stormy gray eyes and gestured toward a chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat," he said.  I cautiously took a seat in the chair. 

I took a deep breath, "Hi, I'm Nico di Angelo, and I'm here for the-"

"You will speak when spoken to!" Mr. Zeus shouted. 

I jumped back in surprise. So much for a good first impression. "I-I'm sorry, sir," I stammered. 

Mr. Zeus folded his hands and rested his chin on his knuckles, "The article you wrote for the Duncaster Gazette about the recent murder investigation was quite impressive."

"Thank you, sir," I replied as I silently prayed that I hadn't blown the opportunity of a lifetime. 

"Truly spectacular for a person your age," Mr. Zeus continued. He stood from his desk and began pacing around the office, "That article is what caught my attention. The New York Times has been looking for some fresh, new talent, and it seems like you are exactly what we've been looking for."

I felt my cheeks get hot, "Thank you, sir."

"As I'm sure you're already aware, we have offered you a position on the paper. I would be happy to allow you onto my staff, that is, if you accept the offer," Mr. Zeus said, raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

I shot up from my seat, "Of course!" I suddenly heard a crash behind me. I whipped around and spotted my chair knocked to the floor. I winced and bent down to pick it up. Mr. Zeus frowned as he watched me hastily stand my chair back up. 

"As I was saying," Mr Zeus snarled through clenched teeth. "I will be happy to have you on my staff." His eyes traveled to the chair before darting back to my face. "Though I wouldn't mind if you took some pride in yourself and stopped acting so..." he paused for a moment. "...foolish," he finished. 

I gulped, "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

He forced a smile, "Lovely. I will expect you here on Monday morning, at eight."

I nodded, "Great. I will be here." 

I waved goodbye to Mr. Zeus and hurried back through the newsroom to the elevator. I proceeded through the lobby, and joined the crowd of people fighting their way down the sidewalk. 

When I returned to my tiny, dingy apartment, I was surprised to find a letter on the floor in front of my door. I picked it up, shoved it into my pocket, and entered my apartment. As usual, it reeked of mildew. Dirty clothes were strewn across the grimy carpet. My threadbare sheets laid in a tangled mass atop my lumpy mattress. The minuscule kitchen counters were covered with a thick layer of dust from not being touched in months, and the fridge was empty. Again. I sighed and perched myself on the edge of my bed. I pulled the letter from my pocket and looked at the address. It was from my stepsister, Hazel. 

I've been here for a week and she's already worried, I thought with a smile. 

Hazel was pretty much the closest thing to family I had. My father had never really been around, so I lived with my mother and my older sister, Bianca. But, when I was ten, they died in a fire. A few years later, my dad married Hazel's mother, Marie, and we moved to a tiny town in Massachusetts called Duncaster. Hazel and I got along pretty well. When my father wasn't working, he was off somewhere with Marie, leaving Hazel and I alone. I never cared much for my parents, I always felt like Hazel was the only person that cared about me. When we got out of college, both us where too poor to buy our own place. So, we pooled our money and rented a small house in Duncaster until we could afford our own homes. 

I remember the day I left for New York. Tears were streaming down Hazel's face as she hugged me tightly, telling me over and over about how she loved me and how much she was going to miss me. I recall hugging her back and promising her that one day, when I had the money, I would make sure she could come to New York, too. It could be Nico and Hazel against the world, just like it had been for ten years. I sighed and ripped open the letter:

Dear Nico, 

Even though it's only been a day since you left, I miss you to pieces. I told Mom and Dad where you went, but, as usual, they didn't care. They simply said, "That's cool," before going off to drink some more. I really wish you were here. Things are so lonely without you. Frank came over earlier today and offered to help me maintain the house and give me some company. 

The neighbors are still in awe about your job offering. Nobody can believe that your article landed you a spot with The New York Times. As you can imagine, the rest of the newspaper staff is jealous. Just yesterday, Ocatvian stopped by to rant about how he thought you shouldn't have gotten the offer. I listened for about thirty minutes before I shut him up and told him to get off our property. 

Anyway, enough about me. How's New York? Is it everything you hoped it would be and more? What's the paper like? Are you happy? Are you safe? Please write soon, I can't wait to hear all about it!

With love, 

Hazel

I smiled and placed the letter on my bedside table. Mental note: write Hazel about the wonders of New York, I thought. I laid down on my bed, thinking of all the wonderful things I would tell her. Soon, my eyelids grew heavy, and I fell asleep.