Laura Marie Henion - Lillians Love

---

Lachesis Publishing
www.lachesispublishing.com

Copyright 2007 by Laura Marie Henion

---

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.

---

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 picturelong 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.

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 assistant 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.