Hillcrest Haven

Copyright © 2012 by Lawrence R. Boswell.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012901489

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-5769-6

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4691-5768-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-5770-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

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[email protected]

110280

This book is dedicated to my wife Gwen, and son Anthony.

Also, in memory of a dear friend Linda Brooks;

who left us at a very young age.

CONTENTS

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Epilogue

Another Day

Dawn, the sky is fire all aglow

Reddish, orange-purple, and blue

Birds flying across the horizon low

The grass glistens with sparkling dew.

A cool breeze caresses the skin

Aromas of nature impress the nose

The leaves of autumn slowly bend

The pleasures of life surely grows

Say sky, sun, and breeze if you can

Oh the joy, no illusions or dismay

Completions of nature is at hand

The cycle of life for another day

Greeted by the lights of early morn

The value of life passes my way

Uneasiness within no longer scorn

Thankfulness abound for another day

-Lawrence R. Boswell

Unparalleled View

With an unparalleled view,

I watched the mountains meet the sea and sky,

The rainbow aglow in full hue,

A lone ship on the horizon lie,

With an unparalleled view,

I watched a pelican dive, a dolphin rise,

The sun shone a glitter too,

A lone ship on the horizon lie,

With an unparalleled view,

I watched the sand shift, the waves drift,

and a starfish clung to a reef,

A lone ship on the horizon lie,

With an unparalleled view,

I watched an otter play, a crab stray,

and a sea gull circle high above,

A lone ship on the horizon lie,

With an unparalleled view,

I watched the waves curl, the surf swirl,

And the few clouds adrift,

A lone ship on the horizon lie.

-Lawrence R. Boswell-

Our minds and bodies know the winds of time.

-Lawrence R. Boswell-

ILLUSIONS

Illusions; make believe, anything we cannot truly perceive,

a slight of hand, magic tricks, sometimes our reflections

in a mirror,

Illusions, not here but there, maybe an untimely intrusion,

a moment to spare, although rare as a photograph of one’s life,

Illusions; growing up, growing out, growth within or growth without,

A soulless gauge, a measurement of doubt, or of destiny.

Illusions; never here, ever there, sometimes righteous,

      Sometimes fair,

Forever changing, re-arranging our character and aspirations,

Illusions; unyielding, unwilling, dare we lose our control,

    Shall it possess our very soul, I fear not,

    I think not, for it’s just an illusion.

Lawrence R. Boswell

Any bright light will dim with time.

Lawrence R. Boswell

CHAPTER 1

The time on the antique grandfather clock which guarded the top of the stairs, was nearing two a.m. The house seemed unusually dark and quiet. The thick pile carpeting, muffled the sound of Lillian Hillcrest frightened footsteps as she entered the large, poorly lit hallway. The voice had been faint enough to summon her out of her room.

Lillian! . . . Lillian! . . . It’s me… I’ve got a surprise for you down stairs.

Michael? . . . When did you get home? What is this all about?

I’ve brought you something you’ve always wanted, but you must keep quiet.

Okay Michael, but where are you?

I’m downstairs Lillian, but try not to wake everyone, they can see it later.

Her steps became more confident, as she reached the stairs.

Hillcrest Haven was large, and the vast emptiness of it often frightened her. She remembered how her husband patiently re-assured her, that she was the mistress of the house, and everyone in the house should fear her.

Carefully she descended the steps, while her eyes searched the darkness. She tried to catch a glimpse of Michael.

"Is this a game? Michael, are you playing a game with me?

Where and why are you hiding?"

I’m in the living room Lillian, with your surprise.

Michael was closer now, she began to relax. Her curiosity was building, she was even a little embarrassed for being so frightened.

Scary cat! . . . Scary cat! . . . Lillian is a scary cat.

When she was a child the kids at school always called her that; she hated them for it. She always said they were mean, and just as scared as she was.

Lillian… Come into the living room.

I’m coming sweetheart, be patient.

She couldn’t let Michael see her trembling. Her shoulders straightened at the thought. Her pace quickened, as she neared the living room. It was as dark as the rest of the house.

How come the lights aren’t on Michael?

Because it will spoil the surprise I have for you.

She was getting excited.

It must be something grand or unusual. She whispered to herself.

Suddenly! Without any warning, her small delicate neck, were engulfed by large strong hands. The darkness spun wildly around her.

Her arms became numb.

Why was Michael doing this to her? . . . It hurts badly.

She thought, trying to seek justification for his irrational actions I can’t breathe sweetheart, please stop hurting me.

Her speech was more a gasping sound, than understandable words.

The sweetheart brought a chuckle to her mind, even in dying.

She could feel herself talking, but Michael wasn’t listening to her.

Maybe if I stop kicking, he might stop hurting me.

She thought, without realizing how much she was resisting his actions. However, her assailant was too strong for her to break the grip he had on her neck. Her body went limp, and she never realized the last few moments of her life.

The frail trusting body was eased to the floor. The silent void returned to the large, dark living room. The mere shadow of an intruder melted away into the still of the night.

Everyone else in the house continued to sleep undisturbed.

CHAPTER 2

It was early autumn, there were only a few days remaining in what had been a particularly balmy September. For some mystifying reason, I had decided to drive up through the New England states; since I had never seen the area outside the pages of travel magazines. The beauty of the magazine photographs seemed almost too perfect to be believed. It was almost impossible for me to comprehend that anyplace could actually be so colorful.

I figured the time had come for me to see for myself.

By the way, before I continue, let me introduce myself. My name is Richard Freeman, a free-lance writer, amateur artist; and even worse musician… Now you know who and what I am, let’s get back to the story.

I thought a long drive, particularly at this time of year, would help me develop some sort of inspiration for a novel. Since we survived the millennium scare, and doomsday is still ahead of us, I decided to continue with my quest to write a best seller. Carefully and painstakingly, I studied a guide map I picked up at the local auto club. I at least had some idea where I was going. However, I get this urge to visit places not in the guide books. I suspect I would this time.

From the very beginning the question that constantly nagged me, particularly with terrorist all about; was which direction do I head in first? You see, I am leaving from Syracuse, which is equal distance from Vermont, Massachusetts, and Connecticut. Now to most people, this may not be considered a major problem, but to me it was a mole hill, which I had to make a mountain out of. I decided to solve the problem, by determining which route had the best highways, and start out in that direction. I surmised, due to the mere fact that I was anxious to get there; what else could be the most logical answer?

Without any further delay, I pulled out my trusty Rand McNally. I began to peruse the states as they unfolded in full color before my eyes. In a matter of minutes the problem was solved. I decided to drive to Schenectady, then to Rutland, Vermont, via The Green Mountains. Somehow in principle, it was an easier drive starting at the top of the map, and working my way down. With those problems behind me, I was soon on my way.

After what seemed like days behind the wheel of my Grand Cherokee. I wasn’t sure my plan was the right one.

As I had previously ascertained, whichever way I chose, there were too many tourists. Many of them I suspected were there, because the 911 terrorist made air travel somewhat of an ordeal, and people were afraid to leave the country. At any rate, I was soon through Rutland, heading northeast to Bethal. All the way, I couldn’t help but marvel at the multitude of colors along the sweeping mountain sides. It was as if I was driving through an oil painting.

By the time I reached Montpelier, fatigue began to dictate my body’s functions. I decided to spend the night in a small, very old Inn, which looked like something that should be in a horror movie. It reminded me of a soup can, stuck on a chandelier of crystal and emeralds. Nearby stood an almost hidden, quaint, but beautiful little township of Marshfield, which sat on the banks of the Winooski River. I secretly complain about my lodging, but I was never so happy to see a bed in my life. All I could really think about was sleep, and sleep I did; just like the proverbial log.

After dragging myself out of bed the following morning, and into the shower, where the water never reached beyond lukewarm; I was on my way again. I had decided to have breakfast in St. Johnsbury, before crossing into New Hampshire. It was a short distance, and I never eat so soon after getting out of bed. I love driving in the mountains, but it was physically draining. However, the never ending beauty kept me going. I decided to turn and head south, once I reached Berlin,

New Hampshire. I was much too tired to take in Maine. I tore that page right out of the tourist guide. I decided to stop in Wolfeboro. I had a perfect view of a beautiful Lake Winnipesaukee. It was quiet and like the night before, I didn’t have any trouble getting to sleep.

The following morning, as soon as the sun began to peak through the window, I was up. There’s something about a motel that makes it difficult for me to oversleep. I suspect a very diligent maid is going to enter my room, and make up my bed; while I’m still in it. The feeling is probably due to my writer’s paranoia, or over-active imagination.

After outmaneuvering the motel maid, at least in my mind; I had breakfast and headed south again. All along the way, I had an odd feeling, like I was driving directly into the past. From time to time I would get an eerie chill. It seemed like I was entering into the twilight zone. This part might be a slight exaggeration, but what else can one expect from a writer. The old farms, and wooden covered bridges, were probably the reasons.

The weather was comfortable most of the way, not too hot. It wasn’t long before I entered Massachusetts, headed for Haver Hill.

After some thought, I decided to bypass Boston. Past experiences left me unimpressed with it. Instead, I decided to turn inland, and head for Worcester. Somehow along the way, I must have missed a road sign, because suddenly I was totally sidetracked. After driving a few miles along my unplanned detour, it began to capture my interest.

The countryside was like a continuation of New Hampshire. At least it appeared to be a fun route to explore. I decided to stop early and get some rest, since I wanted to spend at least a day or two, exploring the area. Most of the people I met seemed unusually friendly and relaxed. I felt if nothing else, this would be worth a short stay; from the cultural stand point. I must have been extremely tired, because just as I was about to change positions in the bed, and go back to sleep, it suddenly dawned on me; the whole room was sunlit. I almost panicked, as I clumsily fumbled for my small travel clock; it was almost nine-thirty a.m. I was angry with myself for sleeping so late. I couldn’t believe how quickly the night had slipped away.

Hurriedly I dressed, and rushed through my mourning hygienic ritual. While eating, I began to think about what I hoped to find in this small, quiet, sleepy community. I was truly at a loss for an answer to my question. There was no logical explanation, or even a rational one; why I chose this particular area to stop in. I knew I would have to give the whole situation a little more thought.

I was back into the same vicious circle. The same menacing problem that continued to plague me. Only this time, the problem was on a much smaller scale. It was the problem of which direction to start in. However, this time it was perfectly obvious I could not use an atlas to save me. I even doubted if I could find a town this small on the map, except for the one which probably hung in the local town hall. I decided to let the wind determine my fate. I pulled up a few blades of grass, which seemed to be a little more stubborn than I had suspected, and threw them to the wind. Of course I waited to be sure no one was watching me. I wasn’t sure how a small town like this would handle a visiting loony. The grass gently fluttered along with the soft breeze in a northwesterly direction. I happily accepted the winds judgment.

However, it was also fortunate to have a road heading in that direction.

The road hadn’t been paved in years, but who was I to dispute the wind, so I followed it. Besides, my Grand Cherokee was in its own element, as it bumped and rocked along pothole lane. I tried to take in as much of the view as possible, and still keep an eye on the road.

I soon came upon a dense wooded area, with a small clearing just off the road. My curiosity was too much for me. I pulled into the clearing, parked and got out. I looked the car over, and gloated over its off normal road performance. After satisfying myself that I had bought the right vehicle, I turned my attention to the problem at hand; which was the forest in front of me.

A few minutes of exploration brought me to a rather narrow path, which was partially grown over with weeds and grass. It stood out enough for me to follow it into the thick growth of trees. It seemed like an open invitation to keep going. After a few brief moments of hesitation, I proceeded. I wasn’t sure whether I should be marking trees or something, like to boy scouts do, to find my way back, or be forever lost in some remote New England woods. Well, not so remote, I did pass a mall down the road. For some odd reason, I began to wonder about the eulogy my remaining loved ones would recite at my memorial services.

This stupid, foolish, grown man, decided to wander into an unknown forest, and become lost forever; without regard for his loved ones.

I chuckled at the thought. My greedy, lazy siblings, couldn’t get a dime of my insurance money until I was missing for seven years or until my body was found. I was sure that would be the one thing which would hurt them more than my mysterious disappearance.

The trail began to get wider and smoother, as I moved deeper into the woods. I soon spotted an opening ahead of me, and slightly quickened my pace. I broke free of the dense trees, but froze in my steps at the sight ahead of me. It was like an oasis in the desert, or in this case; a Camelot in the wilderness. The brilliant rays of the sun seemed to light up the huge mounded clearing, freshly whitewashing the colonial mansion that dominated it. The sunbeams formed an eerie shower onto the clearing, which gave me a sudden chill. The lawn had the appearance of recent expert landscaping, and was surrounded delicately by late blooming Fall flowers. A huge circular marble fountain stood majestically on the front lawn, inside a natural fence of shrubbery, which also bordered a large semi-circular driveway.

I began to wonder whether I should continue on, or turn back. I certainly didn’t want to trespass on someone’s property, but the place looked completely deserted; and inviting. My curiosity in no way, shape or form, was going to let rationalizations get in the way; and surely a simple trespassing law didn’t stand a chance. My feet unglued themselves from the ground underneath, and I proceeded with extreme caution. I ascertained the rear of the mansion warranted investigation first, and then maybe if I deemed it safe, I would check out the front.

As I neared the apex of the slight incline, I noticed there was indeed a lot more to the estate, than was visible from the forest edge below. A huge swimming pool soon caught my attention. It appeared to have been empty for some length of time. There was also a relatively large sun deck in some disrepair, with slightly rusted patio furniture on it. Last, but not least, there was a perfectly trimmed maze of shrubbery, with two heart shaped hedges at its entrance. I quickly decided against going inside of the maze to investigate. I didn’t need to get lost inside of there, on top of everything else. I was just about to head for the front of the house, when a large beautiful garden caught my eye. It was hidden from view by the maze. It wasn’t that I was turned on by the flowers, but there were several handsomely decorated white wrought iron benches, which sat serenely in various spots throughout the garden. My feet were getting tired from the hike through the forest below. Besides, there was no place else that could be more relaxing, it was one of the few shaded areas in the entire clearing.

I checked my watch after finally sitting down, it was almost noon.

Wearily, I stretched my legs out to give them a rest. I figured a half hour would be more than enough time to catch my breath. The surroundings were absolutely perfect to relax and think. The view of the house was ideal, but there was still no movement inside or outside, which puzzled me. I decided that after I felt adequately rested, I would go up to the house, and maybe pretend to be a lost tourist. In reality, it was not a lie, I was exactly that. A somewhat curious but lost tourist.

CHAPTER 3

A warm, soft breeze caressed my face, as I sat in the garden day dreaming about what I would do if this grand estate was mine.

My eyelids were becoming heavy. I knew full well, I couldn’t let myself fall asleep on someone else’s property, but I was quickly losing the battle. I figured when I did wake up, I would probably be on my way to a local police car. With a little will power, I was beginning to win the battle over my sagging eyelids, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Needless to say, that little surprise immediately caused me to leap to my feet. Of course my first reaction to the unexpected was preparation to run.

Hold on young man! . . . Relax! . . . I won’t hurt you.

The frail, soft voice seemed sincere. I froze momentarily, and pivoted on my heels. I was slightly startled by the sight of the old lady. There was something unnatural about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I figured maybe it was the way she was dressed. Her attire was elegant enough, befitting someone of wealth; but extremely dated. She wore what seemed like layers of make-up, and even the wig she wore didn’t appear to go with her body.

Forgive me please. I guess I was just day dreaming, and didn’t hear you coming.

I knew I had to think fast, feeling like a rat caught in a trap. I managed to muster up the words for some kind of excuse, explaining my