Chelsea Avenue

by Armand Rosamilia

  He pulled two twenties from his pocket as he stood. “Bartender, take care of Dorella for me.” He handed him a third twenty before turning to her. “I thank you for the company.”

  “I'm confused,” she said.

  “Me, too. I just need to be alone.”

  Andrea Salter was going to make a mint on these property deals. In the last year, she'd negotiated deals for fifteen key beachfront properties from Sea Bright to Asbury Park. Her “official” goal was to help shape and revitalize these small beach communities and get them back to their glory days.

  Working with individual town mayors and board members, she'd been involved in cleaning up long stretches of formerly vacant lots and sites, all the while purchasing adjacent spots that would grow in value over time.

  “What about an extended pier?” she asked her assistant, Dean.

  “We can try.”

  Andrea laughed. “We can always try.” She stepped onto the faded, warped, wooden boardwalk. “Wasn't there an amusement thing here?”

  “The haunted house used to be here. That was a long time ago,” Dean said.

  Andrea tapped on his pad. “Write that down.”

  “Write what down?”

  “Haunted house. We can rebuild it, try to get some old pictures and do the outside just like it used to look.” Andrea started walking, knowing Dean would fall in line and write out her thoughts. “To either side of it, we do a small boardwalk stand thing with cotton candy or games of chance.”

  Right now, the boardwalk actually dipped toward the beach below, a rusting metal railing curving down as well as if the sand was trying to pull it over and down.

  To Andrea, it was prime real estate. She envisioned a half-mile stretch of boardwalk with restaurants, a nightclub, perhaps a chain fast food place as an anchor, and one of those great pizza places.

  She turned, sighing as she looked across the street. What had been a busy parking lot years ago was now cracked asphalt and weeds. Andrea decided that would be her own purchase. In order to park and shop and eat at the new Long Branch boardwalk, the town would need parking meters and land. She'd simply purchase this lot in the next day or so. When the time came to begin construction, she would rent out her space for the crews and then work with the town to install meters and get her cut.

  “Find out for me, today, who owns this lot.”

  She turned back to the ocean, expecting to see Dean right behind her. He was gone. “Dean?”

  She turned and saw him walking down the road, his pad and pen in the street. “Hello?”

  Dean had been working with her for years. Andrea loved the guy to death and genuinely liked his wife and daughters. He was a local and knew everyone, which made him so important to her. Last Christmas, she'd given him a ten thousand dollar bonus after the huge year she'd had. He was loyal, he was a friend, and he knew that when she started doing these walks, she would ramble on and on, but he'd take every important thought and put it to paper and ignore the ones that made no sense.

  Andrea ran as fast as she could in her heels, which wasn't nearly fast enough. Dean turned into an overgrown lot on a corner and disappeared.

  “Was it something I said?” she yelled after him. With no occupied homes or businesses on the stretch of road, it was suddenly eerie to Andrea. Instead of looking to the future and a thriving, busy street, she only saw the desolation and the debris strewn across the cracked streets and broken gutters.

  When she got to the lot, she was confused. This was the corner they'd walked together a week ago, the corner of Chelsea Avenue where she envisioned her matching condominium buildings overlooking the ocean. All they needed was to track down the owner of the property and make them a generous offer.

  "Dean, what are you doing in there?" she asked when she heard him moving around, splashing in water and rubbing against thin trees. She thought she caught a glimpse of him deep in the lot.

  "Come on. Is there something I'm missing?"

  When Andrea heard the strangled cry of Dean, her friend and assistant, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed 911.

  For the first time in fifteen years, he could actually taste the sweat on the skin of the human. He could smell the fear and touch the tender parts of the body.

  He was getting stronger and more substantial. He was close, so close he could literally taste the victory and the storm to come.

  The ocean, his eternal home, called to him, so close yet so far away. He could manipulate its ebb and flow but not its true strength and fury, watching helplessly as nature controlled the power that was rightfully his to command.

  Fifteen years to sleep, to dream, was nothing compared to the centuries he'd existed. Yet he was an impatient god now. He'd never achieved true greatness and dominance since the Beginning.

  His three brothers had taken away his control, all four equally managing the world. He wanted none of that; he should rule and rule alone.

  As the human sunk and drowned in the swirling water, he sighed. One more year, one more turn of the world, before he would be at full strength and full power, he knew.

  He reached out with his mind, reveling in the touch of objects and creatures he had forgotten about over the years, things he hadn't been able to poke and prod.

  Two left.

  If he had a mouth, he would have laughed aloud because by this time next year, on this date, he would return and Ascend and destroy the world, covering it with water. His brothers would be swept away: Og of the Flame extinguished, Dir of the Earth broken and mixed into nothingness, and Soh of the Wind inconsequential.

  Wiy of the Water settled back into his prison and drew strength from the dying human above him.

  Chapter 17

  July 1st 2003

  Manny woke from the dream, but this time, he remembered it.

  Remembered it all.

  The night in Murphy's Law, the night everyone was killed in the fire, and losing his parents.

  In the dream—and he realized, now sitting up in bed covered in sweat like most mornings, the same dream he'd had for over fifteen years—he was standing on the stage at the club while people screamed and ran around him, fire licking at the low ceiling.

  Ron Freeman and Christine Gouveia ran past, soaking wet. His cousin Alberto, dead all these years. Will Anderson, Brian Philbin, Craig Reynolds, John Regan…everyone covered in water and looking for an exit.

  He knew each and every person that ran past the stage and out of his sight, and knew this was the order of their death. They'd shared the same fate thanks to being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  His old partner, Mike Galvin, and his dad went by. Rick Toland, Brian Renn, so many more he hadn't seen since high school and people he didn't know were even there that night but knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, they were.

  The ceiling collapsed from the fire, a cloud of angry smoke reaching for every corner of the room. Manny didn't choke and didn't feel the heat from the flames.

  He felt calm as he watched the scene unfold. Those covered in water had survived while others—and all their names came back to him—perished in 1987.

  When a column of flame separated from the destruction and seemed to move toward the stage, Manny was not surprised. He'd dreamt this same dream thousands of times.

  “It is time,” the flame said to him.

  “I don't understand.”

  “We only have one week to right this, but you need to be strong. Gather your strength, focus your mind, and prepare for the battle ahead."

  “I still don't understand.”

  “You will.” The flame dissipated, leaving the continuing scene of destruction in its wake.

  Manny was confused until he saw the only person not covered in water and not running from the fire. He'd never actually met her, but fate had intervened and set her in Murphy's Law the night of July 8th, 1987.

  Her name was Tammy Kelly.

  Tammy Kelly stared at her daughter and sighed. She was going to be twelve soon even th
ough she already acted like she was thirty. “Eat your chicken.”

  Stephanie scrunched her face up and shook her head. “I'm a vegan.”

  Tammy laughed. “You're a little girl who needs to eat your lunch.”

  “Kitty says that man wasn't meant to eat the flesh of animals.”

  Tammy wanted to scream but instead put on her best fake smile and leaned toward her daughter. “You're not a man. You're an eleven-year-old girl. Now, eat your flesh.”

  Stephanie laughed and took a bite from one of the chicken nuggets.

  If I hear one more word about Kitty, I'll scream, Tammy thought. Kitty was the younger, stupider, larger-breasted version of Tammy. Randy (she made sure she always called him Randy instead of Doctor Randall McCall) had only been dating his newest nurse conquest for six months, but already, she was putting weird thoughts into her daughter's head.

  Last weekend, she told Stephanie she should be ‘accentuating her God-given curves’ to land herself a rich man and to start working on it before the prized ones were gone. Of course, Randy dismissed it as Tammy being jealous that their daughter got along with the newest bimbo, who was closer to Stephanie's age than Tammy's.

  “Can we go to the movies tonight?” Stephanie asked.

  “And see what?”

  “28 Days Later. Kitty said it looked awesome.”

  Kitty again. “What's it about?”

  “This guy wakes up in a hospital, and the world is full of zombies.”

  “Uh, no. How about Rugrats Go Wild? I saw the commercial, and that looked funny.”

  “Yeah, if you're five.”

  “Well, zombie movies are for when you're twenty-five. I'll get the paper, and we'll see what's opening Friday and, maybe, go then.”

  Tammy got the paper and opened to the movie listings, glancing at her daughter until she got the hint and kept eating. She frowned and put the paper on the empty chair next to her. “Nothing this weekend.”

  “It's because of Fourth of July. Am I going to see Dad Thursday?”

  “He hasn't called yet.” Randy never seemed to call, and Tammy never pushed it. It seemed like Stephanie had to call him first before he remembered he had a daughter. That was another fight that fell on deaf ears.

  They finished eating, and Stephanie reluctantly helped with the dishes. “What do you say we run over to Blockbuster and rent us some chick flicks?”

  “Sounds good. Can we buy some popcorn and candy?”

  “Of course.”

  They got ready to go, Stephanie racing outside to jump in the car. As Tammy grabbed her keys, the phone started to ring. She hesitated, key ring in hand and one foot out the door. If it was Randy, he'd screw up her plans with her daughter for the night since he usually wanted everything done on his schedule. She knew she was being selfish, but she wanted her little girl to herself tonight. He'd get an extended weekend with her since Friday was the Fourth of July. If he bothered to call back or leave a message.

  If I don't answer, he'll leave a message, and I'll act like we just missed him. That way, we'll have the movies and our plans set, and I can tell him to pick her up Thursday after school.

  The answering machine clicked on just as she closed the door.

  Manny knew she lived in Arizona near Flagstaff. He knew that from the dream. There were only two T. Kellys and one Tammy Kelly listed when he called information. The first two were the wrong person, and the third, the actual Tammy, didn't pick up, and he didn't leave a message.

  He needed to go to her and bring her back here and do it before the week was over. “Simple enough,” he said with a laugh.

  “You mind telling me what's going on?” Mark Dowd asked him, offering him a beer. When Manny shook him off, Mark smiled. “You look like a fat, pudgy version of the prick that taught me about these streets.”

  “Thanks.” Manny sat down on the couch and shook his head. “If I told you, you wouldn't believe me.”

  “I never believed anything you said. Talk.”

  Manny stood back up and went into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and helped himself to a can of soda. When he returned and sat back down, Mark laughed.

  “Suddenly clean and sober? What's going on, partner? We've known each other, what, ten years?”

  “Probably longer than that.” Manny didn't know. His head was so filled with crazy thoughts. He was afraid to speak them out loud for fear they would sound as ridiculous to Mark as they did to him. Looking at his former partner, he realized Mark could look at him like he'd finally lost it. Being an alcoholic, unemployed, self-destructing bastard was one thing, but add being the guy who now believed that a talking flame was speaking to him in his dreams…

  “I'm waiting.” Mark finished his beer and started on the one he'd originally offered Manny. “Enough with the melodramatics. You were always such a queen when it came to saying what was on your mind.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Waiting for you to start.” Mark laughed.

  “I'm glad you're having fun at my expense.”

  “As usual.” Mark stood and chugged his beer. “Collect your thoughts, Princess, while I grab another adult beverage.” Mark went into the kitchen. “Oh, and just in case I didn't say it before, help yourself to my soda or whatever else you'd like.”

  “Not a problem.” Manny knew if he didn't tell him soon, he'd be pummeled into submission. You never wanted to be on the wrong side of a verbal attack from Dowd. “Have you talked to Tankard?”

  “You want to play this game now? Sure, the Chief is doing great. Last time I talked to him, he was getting fat down in Florida. Not as fat as you, of course, but pretty big.” Mark stood and flexed his arms. “Me, on the other hand, I look even better each day I wake. Look at these guns, bitch.”

  “Bitch?”

  “Start talking or I'll call you worse, and you know it.”

  “Give me a second.”

  “We can talk about your ex,” Mark said and stared at Manny. The look dared Manny to say something.

  Instead, Manny closed his eyes and told Mark about the recurring dream in detail.

  When he was done, Mark didn't say a word. Instead, he went back into the kitchen and pulled another beer and a bag of pretzels. He sat back down and popped open the beer.

  “Well?” Manny finally asked.

  “What?”

  “Not a fucking word out of you? Suddenly, you have no opinion?”

  Mark slurped his beer. “Oh, I have an opinion. Mark Dowd always has an opinion.”

  “It's like pulling teeth,” Manny mumbled.

  “There's more than just a dream here. I want to hear the rest.”

  “There is no rest. I just keep having a crazy dream.”

  “Bullshit. You came here looking for more than a dream deciphering. And I heard you calling Arizona and the woman from the dream, this Tammy chick. Finish.” Mark sat back and went to work on the pretzels, not bothering to offer any.

  “Alright. I think it's more than just a dream.”

  “How so?”

  “Everything in the dream really happened. Every person I saw doused in water was killed after the fire and everyone else killed during. Everyone except me and Tammy Kelly were killed that night.”

  “And every year, on the anniversary of the fire, no matter what we did, someone else died. Some years, more than one,” Mark said and put his pretzels down. He stood excitedly. “You're thinking a serial killer, someone tied to the club?”

  Manny sat back, deflated. He knew this wasn't going to be easy, and he supposed the leap for Mark to take about a serial killer was far enough. No one ever looks at clues from a crime or a string of crimes and thinks, “Yep, obviously the work of creatures with super powers that can control people over the course of over a dozen years. Makes perfect sense.”

  Mark stopped. “Not even close, am I?”

  “Again, if I told you my theory, you'd commit me.”

  “You're thinking it's a supernatural force beyond our comprehen
sion pulling the strings from behind the curtain.”

  “Exactly,” Manny said. “You hit the nail right on the head.”

  “I was afraid you'd say that. You do realize if you did tell anyone that idea but me, they'd commit you?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.” Manny knew he'd missed the obvious signs over the years, how to piece together the clues and solve the mystery before it came down to this. Over forty more people killed since the fire, lives lost because he was too busy trying to deal with his own ruined life instead of doing his job, being a good cop, and being a good person.

  “How do you solve this? Call in Superman? Mulder and Scully?”

  “For the first time, since 1987 when I know the dreams began, I'm able to remember every detail. I don't know if they'll stop now or if there will be more messages. I do know that I need to connect with this woman before the week is over.”

  “She's clear across the country. How do you propose to pull her from her normal life and convince her to come to New Jersey because a flame told you in your dream?”

  Manny laughed. “I'll just repeat that. Do you think it sounds like the words of a madman?”

  “Make sure your one phone call from the county jail isn't to me. I'm not flying to Arizona to pick you up.”

  “Yes, you will.” Manny stood and stretched. He was feeling ten years older. His body, out of shape and overweight, was not going to be his friend this week. He still smelled alcohol sweating from his pores even though he hadn't had a drink today. For the first time in years, he thought bitterly.

  “I need to know the most important piece of information you've left out so far,” Mark said.

  Manny smiled. “Yes, she's very attractive.”

  “Regardless of whether or not I believe all this fairytale crap you're selling, you know I'm just a phone call away if you need anything. You need money?” Mark asked.

  “Money is just about the only thing I have. In fact,” Manny said as he pulled his keychain out and took off a small lock key, “this is my safe deposit box key.”