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Lachesis Publishing
www.lachesispublishing.com
Copyright ©2007 by Laura Marie Henion
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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Lillian's Love
Laura Marie Henion
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www.lachesispublishing.com
Published Internationally by Lachesis Publishing
1787 Cartier Court, RR 1,
Kingston, Nova Scotia, B0P 1R0
Copyright © 2007 Laura Marie Henion
Exclusive cover © 2007 Jinger Heaston
Inside artwork © 2007 Carole Spencer
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing, is an infringement of the copyright law.
A catalogue record for the print format of this title is available from the
National Library of Canada
ISBN 1-897370-41-5
A catalogue record for the Ebook is available from the
National Library of Canada
multiple ebook formats are available from
www.lachesispublishing.com
ISBN 1-897370-42-3
Credit: Giovanna Lagana, editor
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author and publisher recognize and respect any trademarks mentioned in this book by introducing such registered titles either in italics or with a capital letter.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
About the Author
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Acknowledgements
To my family, Mom, and friends, I thank you for all the support and encouragement. To Daddy for your continued technical support and wisdom, I thank you.
To my husband Tim and my three children, I love you always.
I want to be sure to thank a very good friend of mine who continues to support my writing endeavor through his wide investigative knowledge base, his professionalism, sincerity, and connections. Sergeant Dennis Stoll of the Rockland County Sheriff's Department.
I would also like to thank Senior Detective, Henry (Hank) M. Bender, Jr. of the Rockland County Sheriff's Department, Bureau of Criminal Investigation Unit. Thank you for allowing me to interview you in my effort to depict a more authentic description of the B.C.I. Unit and its homicide detectives. In doing so, I have gained an even greater respect for the work that you and everyone involved in the B.C.I. Unit engage in on a daily basis.
A final thank you to Detective Dean Golemis for giving me a tour of the B.C.I. Unit as well as a detailed understanding of the tools and hi-tech equipment used by yourself and other investigators to help solve crimes.
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Dedication
Lillian's Love is dedicated to local law enforcement individuals throughout the United States. Most people take for granted the hardships and sacrifices, which are routinely made by these unsung heroes and heroines. Consequently, you may not always hear a thank you from those you protect and serve. However, we are grateful for your hard work, your sacrifices, and your continued actions that symbolize peace, authority, and security.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Lillian's Love
Laura Marie Henion
[Back to Table of Contents]
Prologue
He kept his apartment impeccably clean. Everything had its own place, its precise location. He separated each can of Campbell's chicken soup and beef barley by plastic dividers, then lined them up one behind the next. Every week, it was the same routine. He would spend hours organizing the cupboard after returning from food shopping. He strived for organization, for perfection.
Everything in his life had a purpose, a reason that he could control. He hated imperfection, challenged it with authority and knowledge. That's exactly what sat across the room squirming, sobbing.
He focused on the artistic, creative craft on his desk, not glancing up a moment to acknowledge her presence. His latest victim had come as a complete surprise to him. She was not the intended target. She was practice.
The killer stared at the photographs lined up one after the next, exactly 11 1/2 inches wide and 22 1/2 inches long. He measured it again.
Five were still missing. Five more souvenirs to show the one he loved just how unique she was, the perfection she possessed. A goddess created for his destiny. He smiled at the thought of her, knowing he would not have to mold her to his liking. She dominated his every dream, every fantasy that he wanted to make realty. Some day, he would do just that.
He could see her whenever he wanted to. He could watch her, smell her. It drove him crazy with want, but everything had to be just right. He couldn't make any mistakes. He had a plan to spend eternity with her. “Stay calm,” he whispered, counting the seconds he held his breath before he released it.
He looked at her picture—long beautiful hair, a perfect body, so delicate, so much in need. Closing his eyes a moment, envisioning her in his apartment, he inhaled deeply from his core. His senses stood at attention as her scent consumed him. He reached out to her, was about to touch her, but she wasn't there, he couldn't feel her. Disappointment replaced desire, and it was too much to handle. He bowed his head in silence, deep in thought about his immense desire.
He heard the moaning, a sob, a punishable interruption. He rapidly rose to his feet. The chair he sat on went flying a few feet backwards. He never reacted to the sound. Instead, he sprinted across the room. In a flash, the blood scattered in many directions, most of it landing on the wall. She died the instant the knife slit her throat. No more sobs. How dare she interrupt his moment of fantasy?
He wiped the knife on her clothing, left to right, two swipes. He slowly stood up, looked back across the room where his desk sat, shocked by the ability to move so swiftly in an instant. The sight of the chair on the floor angered him. He reacted, filled with fury, kicking the lifeless body in the ribs.
He sat back down at his art desk, only minutes later as if nothing had happened. Her life, everything it represented, was meaningless.
He lifted the picture up, glided his finger across it, never even flinching at the paper cut it made. He stared deeply into the intense dark green shade of her eyes.
"'My Lillian, my beautiful, precious Lillian.’”
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Chapter 1
Detective Michael Fields slowly got out of bed. He glanced back toward the blonde he met last week at Louis's Bar. Michelle, a knockout with a nice body but not the best personality, lay sleeping beside him in the bed. She talked about herself a lot and her assista
nt manager's job, complaining about not getting promoted and not having a clue why.
Michael figured that reason outright. The woman probably couldn't handle a management position. No way. Her talents lay in other places, like the bedroom. He smiled when he thought about last night, how he shouldn't have stayed over at her place again, knowing she would get the wrong idea, start pushing for a commitment and try to run his life.
No way was that happening. He needed to break things off, now.
He slowly rose from the bed, started getting dressed, when he felt her hand grab a handful of his backside. He hated those damn, fake nails of hers, the way they felt against his skin was creepy. Everything about her was fake. The bright red lipstick-colored smile, annoying laugh, her fake sincerity and intelligence were all an act. Instantly, he felt her silicone breasts wedge up against his ribs. He didn't flinch. He knew about her power trips even though they had only been with each other a week. Predictability turned him off.
"Where do you think you're sneaking off to?” she asked as she sat up in bed, allowing the covers to fall to her waist. She sat there naked from the waist up, perky, ready for another round, the damn control freak. The temptation to go for it one more time entered his mind but only for a moment. That move, against his better judgment, could prove disastrous. He needed to cut the string, rid himself of this month's special, cool down for a while, then get back into the game.
Michael buttoned his shirt, pulled on his boots, while taking a deep breath.
"Mikey, baby, where are you going?"
Damn, he hated her calling him Mikey.
He touched her cheek gently with his hand. It would be easier if he made a quiet exit. Yeah, it was the cowardly way—to wait, not return phone calls, avoid her any way he could—but he couldn't be sure of her reaction.
"I've got to go. I'll see you around."
"You'll see me around! What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” she yelled as she instantly sat up on her knees in front of him on the bed.
"Listen, let's not do this, okay? You're great, but I'm not into commitments. That's what you're looking for. I can't fulfill this dream you've got going, honey. My job just doesn't give me enough time, the flexibility to dedicate to a woman like you. It's been wonderful.” He touched her cheek. This time however, she slapped his hand away. An angry facial expression held his gaze.
"A woman like me? A woman like me? What the hell does that mean? You're so full of shit, Fields, I should have known better than to give you the time of day!” she screamed at him, but he just kept heading toward the door. Just as he opened it, the object came flying straight at his head. He didn't freeze. He ducked just in the nick of time. The large colorful pottery smashed against the door, immediately breaking into many jagged-edged pieces.
He looked back toward the bedroom. He could see Michelle grabbing for more ammunition.
Michael made a run for it, down the hall, across the outside exit and emergency staircase.
"I hate you ... I really hate you!” she screamed as plates came crashing down on the sidewalk. There were people around gawking. The guys didn't appear to be worried about the flying objects. Instead, their attention seemed to focus on the fully naked blonde hanging over the balcony cursing profusely.
Michael made it to the safety of his truck just in time as another object hit the driver's side door. He quickly started the engine and sped out of the parking lot. While on his way home, grateful he had gotten out of that relationship before it got out of hand, he thought about what just took place. Obviously, Michelle was some kind of psycho.
Michael laughed at the thought, then headed as far away from town as possible, relieved Michelle wasn't from his neighborhood.
Halfway home, he felt a little bad about the way things worked out with Michelle. He learned early, the hard way, that one just can't make people be who he/she wants them to be. He just hadn't met the perfect woman yet. That may never happen, but at least he could have some fun while searching. That's if it didn't kill him first. He laughed about it, then wondered how his best friend Jimmy would react to this story.
Michael wasn't trying to have a decent relationship with a woman. He wasn't even attempting it, which suited him just fine.
Thoughts of Michelle's irate reaction made him laugh. The woman didn't think twice about parading around in the nude. Never mind, throwing dishes, lamps, other damaging objects over the balcony at him while onlookers gawked. The woman was definitely not dealing with a full deck.
He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he followed the right head, getting the heck out of there. He continued driving, heading back home to get ready for work.
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Uncertainty and fear filled Allison. Her body shook. She wanted to get up off the bed, get away from her boyfriend.
"You're hurting my wrists. Why are you being so rough?” Allison asked as her boyfriend held her down. He wasn't himself lately. He had suddenly become possessive, kind of rough in bed. Tonight, he had a mean look in his eyes.
He didn't answer her, causing an overwhelming feeling of fear combined with confusion inside her. He was her boyfriend for six months, still she felt she knew nothing about him. He would come and go as he pleased, knew just the right words to say, yet her gut told her not to trust him. He flipped out last week when Allison's grandmother showed up unexpectedly at her apartment. Allison couldn't wait for her grandmother to meet her boyfriend. She knew he didn't want to meet Allison's family, had even told her up front ‘no commitments,’ but she hoped she could change his mind.
Allison was wrong. Instead, he slapped her around a bit.
He made up for that fast. Tonight, they were supposed to be celebrating. He promised to change, to commit to her, come around more often. She believed him after a wonderful dinner and kind words. He even presented her with a sexy negligee.
"White is for the innocent,” he told her. She loved him, thinking of her that way. She knew damn well she wasn't innocent. The guilt she felt now for all her promiscuity, lay heavy on her heart.
Instantly, pure fear replaced the guilt as her boyfriend ripped the white material from her body. He proceeded to have his way with her.
She never felt so dirty, so hurt, worthless.
He called her all sorts of horrible names, each one pierced through her ears as she closed her eyes. She tried to cover her ears with her hands. He wouldn't allow it, prying her hands away, then grabbing her neck.
He yelled at the top of his lungs. She tried her hardest to breathe, but she couldn't catch a breath.
"I love my, Lilly. My beautiful Lilly, you're nothing like her.” Her eyes widened in shock.
"Who is Lilly?” she asked, everything around her turned black.
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To Live Is To Survive
Dear Journal:
I can't believe I'm still writing in here a whole year later, but I figured what better way to celebrate the anniversary of my new life than in a log to you. A year ago, I thought the counselor's idea would not work when she recommended writing my feelings, my ideas, down in a journal. I'm shocked that my pen became my strength, my encouragement, my power. I have accomplished so much in the past year. I haven't had any nightmares in months. I've made a new life here in New York. I've made new friends, I also look forward to the future. Carla is still the only person other than Aunt Mabel who knows what happened to me, what I went through. It's been fine keeping it that way. It's not that I'm ashamed or anything, because I know that I'm a survivor. I just don't want or need the extra attention. It's taken a while for me to forgive myself for staying in an abusive relationship, for not escaping sooner. I nearly died. That is not something to take lightly. I'm stronger now than I've ever been. I've dated a few people. My little café, bookstore is thriving.
I don't know when I'll have time to write again, but I thank you.
Lillian
Lillian Baxter closed up her journal, preparing to head to work on the first, sunny April day. The rai
n had passed, a sure sign the summer months were just ahead. She prepared for a shipment of books this morning, had a local accomplished writer Miss Laura Thomas premiering her new book this Friday night—For Love, For Destiny. In Lillian's opinion, the book would be a best-seller, just like Miss Thomas’ two novels before it.
Lillian's assistant store manager, Kelly, a Godsend, had handled all the catering and entertainment for the premier. Lillian and her aunt cooked numerous homemade dishes, created all the invitations and hired servers for the party. Everything appeared to be all set. She imagined her little bookstore packed if all went well. Hopefully, if the weather held out, she could make good use of the back patio and the surrounding gardens she created behind the store.
Lillian owned a great corner lot in the center of town with a half acre of property. It had originally been an old Victorian style house. A few other Victorian houses on the block were converted into different businesses. The other two Victorian homes on the same street were converted into attorneys’ offices. The third house was a dentist's office.
Lillian lived in the upstairs of the bookstore. She had a builder come in, divide the top floor, converting it into a two-bedroom apartment. She had a living room, dining room, kitchen, and two bedrooms. One of the bedrooms she used as an office, the other she turned into a master suite. She kept the original fireplace, decorated her bedroom in an old Victorian style, warm and romantic, in her use of deep burgundy with beige colors.
Lillian was a ‘romantic.'
She locked her door, walked down the hallway passing the used book section located upstairs. She decorated the walls in the hallway and upper level with old black and white family portraits of people from the surrounding area. She also incorporated some old historical pictures she found at garage sales.
She loved the ones containing the first dirt roadways and original houses. She enjoyed the clothing styles of the Victorian era, embracing the extravagant dresses, hats, and furniture. The wallpaper throughout the main hallways was done in a geometric pattern, light green color with multiple top and bottom extravagant borders of gold.
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