“I’m not really hungry.”
“You should eat something. Might I suggest the pork roll sandwich?” the man, formerly at the counter and now sidling into the booth across from her, remarked.
“What is a pork roll sandwich?” she asked.
“Two,” the man said to the waitress and stared at her as she moved away. Satisfied that she was gone, he turned back to Theresa and plastered an odd smile on his face.
Despite the heat of the diner and sitting close to the window, Theresa shivered. “Who are you?” she asked curtly, aware that this man was quite handsome up close despite the intense stare and the crooked smile. His hair was blonde and frizzy, his facial features Greek or Italian. His body was well-chiseled under his tight, black T-shirt and faded blue jeans.
“Some call me Satan,” he said and spread his hands on the table. The smile dropped, replaced by a genuine one. “Actually, my mom calls me that. Everyone else calls me Stan.”
Theresa chuckled. “That has to be the lamest pickup line I’ve ever heard.”
“Come here often? What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this? Are your feet hurting?”
“Because you’ve been running through my mind all day,” Theresa finished.
“I know why you’re here,” he said calmly. “I’m not here to hurt you; I’m here to help you.”
“Help me with what? I don’t even know why I’m here.”
They both sat quietly as the waitress placed two plates before them.
“What is this?” Theresa asked, poking at the sandwich before her.
Stan smiled. “Take a bite; you’ll love it. If you’re from Jersey, you were raised on these bad boys. Nothing like it in the whole world.” He took a healthy bite from his sandwich and laughed as cheese ran down his shaved chin.
“If I eat this, will you tell me more?”
“Take a bite first.”
She did and was pleasantly surprised. “It’s pretty good. Now spill your guts.”
“Aren’t you alarmed in the least? You seem very calm,” Stan said.
“I’m shaking inside, actually. I drove two hours to this place to meet you, apparently. I’d like to know why so I can get home to my normal life.”
“Fair enough.” Stan took another bite and motioned for her to do the same.
When they were finished with their meals, Stan dropped a twenty-dollar bill down on the table and excused himself, heading to the bathroom.
I could walk right out of here. I could get back in my car and head home, she thought. Carefully, she stood and walked to the exit, waiting for her body to betray her with every step. So far, so good. She pulled her keys from her purse, unlocked her car door, and dropped into the driver’s seat. When she glanced back into the diner, all she saw was the waitress clearing the table.
She peeled out of the parking lot back in the direction she’d come. Just as she pulled up to the red light to make a right onto Route 36 and back to the Garden State Parkway, her hands jerked the steering wheel.
Theresa Barrett began to cry in frustration as the Civic made a left when the light turned green and drove south and away from home.
A vacant lot greeted Theresa when her body forced the Civic to park. She’d left the Marina Diner and cruised along Route 36 through several seaside towns like Leonardo, Highlands, Sea Bright, and Monmouth Beach. The ocean was to her left, and she breathed in a heady mix of salty air. Seagulls swirled on a light breeze above her car, dipping and diving out of sight over the stone wall barrier separating the street from the beach.
Apparently, Long Branch was her final destination. Her fingers turned off the car, and she pocketed the keys. She looked at the street sign: Chelsea Avenue.
She shrugged. No idea where I am. But at least she knew what Chelsea meant now.
It was mid-afternoon, and the short street was empty, the only noise the cars flying by to their destination on Route 36. The block itself was devoid of structures. Where three houses had stood behind her were only burnt husks of buildings, the blackened front steps the only way to figure out where the houses used to stand.
The lot that had drawn her here—and she was sure that this was why she was here—was overrun with tall weeds, standing water, sea grass, rusted shopping carts, a soiled mattress, and several bald tires. She wanted to inspect it, but her feet wouldn’t let her move again. Cursing, she flailed her arms at the sky. “Where can I go?”
She began moving toward the ocean, crossing over a deserted street and, gingerly, hopping a crumbling wall and railing. Theresa kicked off her shoes and buried her toes in the sand. The wind whipped at her hair and tossed tiny daggers of sand into her eyes, but she loved it here. It was calm, peaceful.
Thoughts of Donald came back to her, and she sighed, idly tossing sand into the air and watching the wind whip it around her. Theresa had never said it, but she was in love with him, and she knew that he felt the same. He’d made some off the cuff remarks about never again getting married and settling down, but she could see through that. His failed marriage had hurt him; that was easy enough to see. But he had a great heart and a gentle kindness that she loved.
Even her mother had approved of Donald, and that was saying a lot. It was the first boyfriend that Theresa had that she tolerated even though her mother was quick to point out that having a child at her age was ridiculous. Ridiculous was even talking about children, but that was her mother. Always a negative thought to air, a crushing blow to her daughter’s ego.
Despite her nonchalant attitude at the diner when confronted with the strange man and the fact that she couldn’t control her body or where it took her, she was about to pride herself on not wilting, not crying in the face of this strange day.
The wind was cold against her cheek, and she wiped it, her fingers coming away wet. She had been crying. Staring into the vast expanse of the ocean, she wondered if she would be allowed to swim away, like she was inside a video game and she needed to test the boundaries of this imaginary world.
The real world was beyond her grasp, and she shook. Sobs racked her body now, and she curled up with her arms covering her legs. She tried to clear her mind, and the panic rushing through her now, shutting her eyes as tight as she could and praying to a God she didn’t know if she believed in but giving it a try anyway. What the Hell. Maybe there was a Higher Being and he was looking down on her, listening to her cries and pleas to make everything alright. And she’d open her eyes, and she’d be sitting in her classroom with all of the kids smiling at her, and they would be talking about penguins, and then it would be snack time, and then…
Theresa opened her eyes, and darkness surrounded her. She shot up from the sand, and her legs, wrapped under her body for who knew how long, gave out. She crashed to the beach and rolled over onto her side. The ocean crashed, ceaselessly, the surf a dull lullaby that must have put her to sleep.
She rubbed the cramps from her muscles and took her time rising. She guessed it was nearing midnight, and she sighed in frustration. By now, she was hoping that someone would have found her abandoned car or a huge manhunt would have been started with local and national news agencies searching desperately for her, a smiling picture, taken from last Christmas, plastered on every news channel.
I guess I’m not as popular as I thought I was.
She hopped back over the crumbling wall and saw her car, now resting under a yellowed streetlight. She wondered if she could successfully get back into the car and drive home. As she made her way across the street, she felt eyes upon her and stopped.
Spinning in a quick circle, she caught a glimpse of nothing out of the ordinary; of course, except for the dull streetlight, darkness surrounded her. An occasional car sped by, a block away, casting wicked shadows.
When a shape detached itself from the dark before her, she pushed back and fell to the ground. I’m going to die or get raped in the middle of this desolate place, she thought.
“Are you alright? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Theresa was dumbfounded to see Stan from the diner. He put a hand out, and she took it. She noticed, for the first time, his haunted stare. So different from the man she’d met in the well-lit diner. His likable smile was gone.
Once she was back on her feet, Stan turned away and began walking slowly toward the abandoned lot.
“Wait!” she cried and followed him, unsure if it was her own will or if her body had taken over again. “What’s going on?”
“That’s not important. Who you are is much more important,” he said without turning. He stepped, casually, over a rotting cardboard box and was soon lost in the gloom and the weeds.
She followed, stumbling over something metallic in the dark. “Where are you?”
“Here,” he said next to her. She flinched but kept herself from falling. “Are you scared?”
“Do you know why I am here?” she whispered, sure that he did. It was no coincidence that this man was out here tonight. She’d never quite understood what the haunted eyes of her mother signified all these years, but now, she thought she was beginning to realize. She moved her head to get a better glimpse of his in what little light there was.
Stan produced a small notebook from his person and flipped it open, putting his face as close to it as possible. “What is your maiden name, please?”
This is insane, or am I insane? Her mind screamed for her to run, but she knew that she wasn’t in control at all. “My maiden name is Barrett.”
He seemed to smile and tapped the pad. “Your mother is—”
“June Barrett. My father left when I was three, but my parents never married.”
Stan looked annoyed. “I didn’t ask about your father.” He produced a pen and began scribbling furiously on the paper.
Theresa could do nothing but stand there, unable to voluntarily blink if she wanted to. She was frozen to the spot, the ocean breeze drifting to her and swishing her clothing.
“Last question: Do you have any children?”
“No.”
He scribbled one last thing and then put the notebook in his back pocket. “Excellent. Then you are the one.”
“The one?” she was able to force with her lips.
“Yes, the one that I will need to sacrifice in this lot.”
Unable to scream and not granted passing out by the God she was sure did not exist, all Theresa Barrett, only daughter of June Barrett, could do was stand rigid as Stan Zielinski, former guitarist for an unknown local band, produced a small knife. She stared into his eyes and finally understood what burden her mother had been carrying with her all of these wretched years: knowing that the inevitable was coming to reclaim you. He began to carve her flesh, discarding pieces, carefully dropping them into the largest puddles.
“Why do you stay here, Manny? It’s like a fucking ghost town,” Mark Dowd asked.
“This is my home,” Manny Santiago replied with a smile. The two men were cruising, slowly, down Broadway on their way to 3rd Avenue. “These are the streets I grew up on.”
“So what?” Mark said with a laugh. “This town smells like despair if you ask me. Working here is bad enough, but living here must suck.”
“Who asked you?”
“No one asked me, but I have a valid opinion. In my opinion, Long Branch is worse than Asbury Park.”
“Again; don't care about your feelings.”
“That really hurts to hear you say that,” Mark said and put a hand lightly on Manny's arm. “Don't hurt me, baby.”
Manny elbowed him in the side, forcing his hand away. “Keep that crap up, and I'm going to have you up on sexual harassment charges. Your career will be over. Finished. And you know why? Because I'm the best thing that you ever laid eyes on, and you know you can't have me. I'm too good for you. In so many ways.”
“There's something wrong with you,” Mark said.
“I'm serious.”
Mark laughed. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.”
“Let’s stop and get us a hot dog or something before I fade away to nothing.” Mark adjusted his pistol and holster. His brown eyes never stopped moving, watching every movement, real and imagined, outside of the car.
“We need to check out one more place for Bobby. Then we can eat, okay?” Manny asked.
“I just want a damn hot dog,” Mark grumbled.
“I’ll give you a hot dog,” Manny said with a laugh and slapped Mark on the shoulder. “As soon as this little prick is caught, I’ll buy you a damn hot dog.”
“You ain’t ever paid for lunch in the three months we’ve been partnered,” Mark said.
“And you ain’t never stopped complaining about working in Long Branch. I think you need to start using that gun of yours instead of tugging on it all day.”
“I’ll use it on that little chicky you got up in Asbury Park,” Mark said with a laugh.
“No idea what you’re talking about—”
Mark slapped Manny on the back. “I’m a fucking detective, my man. You think I don’t know that you got something on the side?”
“It’s not like that.” Manny turned onto Route 36 South. “Me and Camille are just friends. We had a beer and saw a band at the Stone Pony one time, but nothing happened.”
Mark put his hands up. “I’m not judging you, bro. What you do outside of your marriage is your own thing. But one of the guys saw you and her going into the place, and now rumors are starting.”
“Who said something? Fucking Allen, right?”
“You know it. That motherfucker’s had a hard-on for you ever since you made undercover and he got passed up.”
Manny sighed. “Actually, it goes back further than that. Gina and Allen were high school sweethearts. Even though it’s been years, he still holds a torch for her. I think he was pissed to see her dating a fellow shield.”
“Gina is a great girl, which makes it harder for me to figure out why you’re hanging with another chicky.” Mark’s stomach groaned. “Let me know when you guys are separated. I’d love to tap her big ass one time.”
Manny punched his partner in the arm. “If I didn’t already know what kind of dick you are, I’d pull this car over and beat the fuck out of you.”
“Then I’m glad you are in love with me. Besides, you weigh like a hundred pounds more than me, fat-ass.”
“Get out,” Manny said and pulled onto Brighton Avenue.
“Calm the fuck down—”
“I just passed the hot dog place, idiot. Go grab us some dogs.”
Mark put a foot out of the car. “Wait a minute; you said you’d pay.”
“No, I said once we caught Bobby, I’d pay.” He turned and took a long look into the backseat of the car. “I don’t see Bobby.”
“Fucker.”
Manny pulled into the Brighton Bar parking lot. Let the little shit walk a block. After three months of being on the street together, Mark would know exactly where he’d parked. He thought about driving another four blocks to Monmouth U and parking there, but Mark would just be annoying and chatter on his hand-held until he came back. He’d done that before. The guy was a great partner, and he had more in common with Dowd than Galvin. As much as they joked, Mark had his back. He knew him openly telling him about Camille meant quite a few guys on the force knew about it, and Allen would spread the word in town, so it would get back to his wife.
What am I doing with Camille? He asked himself for the hundredth time. He’d met her on a routine stop near the old boardwalk, after she didn’t signal on a turn. He remembered her warm smile and seductive, darting tongue and couldn’t get the thought of her pert breasts from his mind even now. She was a sexy woman and knew what she wanted.
Manny had lied to Mark. He’d been with Camille on a number of occasions and could kick himself in the ass for her convincing him that it was no big deal to go out to the Stone Pony, see a band, and grab a couple of drinks. He knew better, and he was sure that Gina would know, sooner than later, about his indiscretion and
go ape shit on him. He genuinely loved his wife, but a woman like Camille was too much to resist. He wondered if anyone could resist her and if anyone had. Ever.
And he wondered how much of a pain in the ass it would be if he ever called the affair off because Camille didn't seem to be the kind of woman to take no for an answer. He'd painted himself into a corner with no way out. Manny wondered if the damage had already been done anyway. Even if he called Camille right now and broke it off, Allen would be spreading the rumors, and it would eventually get to Gina. And for what? Sex with an incredibly beautiful woman? He already had this with Gina. He didn't deserve her.
“Two chili dogs for me and two for you. Don’t say I never bought you anything,” Mark said and climbed back into the car. “And stop parking so fucking far away. I’m not the one that needs the exercise.”
“No onion rings?”
“Nope. Let’s go grab Bobby, and then we can swing back around, and you can buy us Cokes and onion rings and some fries. Now drive.”
They patrolled Long Branch for the next two hours, scanning neighborhoods, slipping into convenience store parking lots and fast food restaurants, talking briefly with people on the street and making it known that Bobby was wanted for a chat.
The street itself would dredge him up. There was no better communication than making it known you were searching for someone and you needed to talk to them. If they wanted to be found, they'd make themselves known. But if they thought they were slick, they'd run or hide, but there was always someone out here who had an angle or needed a few bucks to make their lips flap. It never failed.
“Let's go pay mama a visit,” Manny finally said. “She usually has him under her thumb or at least houses him when he runs out of cash or is in trouble.”
“And he's always in trouble,” Mark said. “The boy spent most of his teens in and out of the system.”
“He's a good kid, just needs some supervision, a father figure, and a good beating.”
They pulled up to his mom's house.
“Stay here and watch. If he's here, he's hiding, and he has an escape route,” Manny said.
Chelsea Avenue Page 9
