Crossroads Of The Heart

By Lee Cushing

It was Lily's first driving lesson and her instructor was Michael Bennet. It was Michael's disarming style that made Lily fall in love with him as the driving lessons progressed. 

 

As their love for each other grew, Lily began to share Michael's passion for stargazing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Cushing
• Release date: Nov 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223833390

Lee Cushing

Lee Cushing is a paranormal thriller author and a lifelong fan of the occult. Having become obsessed with supernatural folklore and the world of horror from an early age, Lee has spent years studying tales of the occult and immersing himself in stories of otherworldly phenomenon. He’s also the owner of a number of vampire and horror-related groups in Facebook, where fellow fans of the supernatural come together to celebrate and discuss all things paranormal.  His debut novel, Voodoo Mambo, blends high-stakes action and shadowy agencies with a dark underworld of demonic creatures and their insidious plots to attack humanity. Lee draws his inspiration from classic horror movies – including Hammer and Universal – as well as beloved TV shows including Doctor Who, Supernatural, The Avengers, and Buffy The Vampire Slayer. 

Book preview

Introduction to Lily and her world.

Under a sky brushed with the tender strokes of dawn, the small town of Maplewood began to stir. Nestled between the embrace of whispering pines and the gentle babble of the Hudson Creek, the city was home to a medley of souls, each dancing to the rhythm of everyday routine. Among them was Lily Archer, a senior at Maplewood High, who lived in a quaint, ivy-clad house on Magnolia Street, where the scent of wisteria mingled freely with the promise of the morning.

Lily’s world was one of structure, a neatly plotted garden of responsibilities and expectations. Her parents, Margaret and Richard, saw the world through a lens polished by tradition and steadfast values. To them, every choice was a step on a predestined path leading to a well-regarded career, a respectable partner, and a life mirrored in the generations before.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, it found Lily awake, her fingers deftly turning the pages of a worn-out copy of Pride and Prejudice hidden under the covers. Reading was her silent rebellion, a window open to worlds where heroines defied convention and chose their destinies. Each page whispered to her of possibilities, of passions that refused to be penned within the lines of societal expectations.

Her room, a cozy nook adorned with strings of fairy lights and walls lined with shelves overflowing with books, was her sanctuary. Here, among the penned words of Austen, Brontë, and Wilde, Lily dreamt of writing her own story, one not dictated by the legacy of her family name but crafted from the yearnings of her heart.

Yet, beyond the confines of her room, the rest of the house hummed with the rhythm of routine. Breakfast was a silent affair, the soft clinks of cutlery on china the only conversation at the table. Lily’s parents sat with the stoicism of statues, newspapers, and schedules more engaging than the thoughts of their daughter, who, like a ship longing for the sea, felt anchored in the doldrums.

At school, Lily was the epitome of academic excellence, her name a fixture at the top of honor rolls and dean’s lists. But her achievements were not passion’s progeny; they were the fruit of necessity, borne from the expectation that she would follow in the footsteps of her father, an esteemed lawyer in Maplewood.

Maplewood High was an institution steeped in as much history as the town. Its red-brick facade and sprawling grounds were a testament to tradition, yet within its walls, Lily found little of the inspiration that fueled her private dreams. She maneuvered through the halls with a grace that made her seem untouchable, a young woman whose path was clear and whose destiny was seemingly already written in the unwavering ink of family legacy.

Lunchtime found her at her usual spot at the library, nestled in the embrace of books, her faithful companions. Friends often teased her for her choice of refuge, but they respected her dedication to her studies, unaware that her true love was the narrative arc of fiction rather than the factual lines of law texts and case studies.

Lily's secret passion for writing flickered within her like a clandestine flame. She penned stories with heroines who dared to love, dream, and stray from the beaten path. In the privacy of hidden diary pages, she poured her soul into tales of adventure and romance, starkly contrasting the monochrome world of expectations that wrapped around her like a heavy shawl.

When the final bell rang, signaling the end of another day of disciplined learning and restrained socializing, Lily made her way to the driving school located just on the outskirts of Maplewood. It was an unusual arrangement, her parents had insisted, to prepare her for the independence that came with college—a college they had meticulously chosen, one that mirrored their values, not Lily’s wishes.

The driving school, run by Michael Bennett, was a breath of fresh air in Lily’s scheduled life. Michael, with his easy smile and relaxed demeanor, seemed to drive in a lane entirely his own, unconcerned with the opinions of others. His lessons were peppered with laughter and lightness, a stark departure from the somber tones of Lily's home.

Behind the wheel of Michael's well-worn Chevy, Lily found an unexpected freedom. Each lesson was a small rebellion, a chance to navigate more than just the roads of Maplewood. Michael treated her not as Richard and Margaret Archer's daughter but as Lily, the individual. He listened to her thoughts on books, her dreams of seeing the world beyond the small town, and her hidden desire to write stories that might one day touch the hearts of others.

In those fleeting hours, Lily's life was no longer a straight road paved with expectations but a winding path of potential and promise. With every turn and stop, she was learning more than just how to drive; she was learning how to steer her life in the direction of her choosing, guided by the whispers of her heart.

And when she returned home each evening, parking the car with a precision that belied her inner turmoil, she carried with her the seeds of change. In her room, under the soft glow of fairy lights, she wrote with an enthusiasm that belied the quiet ticking of the clock, stories that mirrored her journey, each word a step away from the life plotted for her and toward the life she yearned to live.

The quiet hum of Maplewood at dusk had a calming effect on Lily as she strolled back from her driving lessons. The amber glow of the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and with each step, she gradually returned to the reality of her life. But inside her, the ember of independence that the day's events had stoked continued to smoke, warming her with the courage of newfound aspirations.

At home, dinner was an orchestrated ballet of passing dishes and polite yet superficial conversation. Her parents would discuss cases from the law firm and neighborhood gossip, carefully avoiding topics that strayed from their carefully curated comfort zone. Lily would offer nods and the occasional smile, her contributions to the discussion as rehearsed as her piano recitals had been when she was a child.

Later, while her parents settled in front of the television for their nightly ritual of news and commentary, Lily retreated to her room. It was her haven, a place where her true self could breathe. The fairy lights flickered like tiny stars as she opened her diary to a blank page. The pen was her wand, and with it, she conjured worlds of her own making—worlds where love was not a contract but a feeling as wild and free as the wind.

It was in these moments that Lily's stories took flight. Characters danced from her imagination to the page, weaving plots that twirled and soared on the updrafts of her creativity. Each line was a quiet revolution, a testament to the strength of her spirit and the depth of her inner life.

Yet, as the night deepened, so did the shadows of doubt. The fear of disappointing her parents lay on her like a shroud. They had given her everything, afforded her every opportunity, and in return, they expected her adherence to the legacy of the Archers. Her dream of becoming a writer, of penning the narratives that filled her soul, was a comet streaking across their traditional sky—brilliant but fleeting, and perhaps, to them, an omen of misfortune.

As the clock ticked towards midnight, Lily closed her diary. She tucked it away in its secret nook, a sliver of space behind a loose floorboard—a place she deemed safe from prying eyes and the judgment that would inevitably follow if her passion was brought to light. Her stories, like her feelings for Michael, lay hidden, yet they pulsed with a life of their own, a life that yearned for expression beyond the confines of secrecy.

Sleep came to Lily in fits and starts. Dreams of open roads intermingled with visions of her family's disapproval. Yet, in the deepest hours of the night, she found solace in the thought of tomorrow's driving lesson, a temporary escape that offered a glimpse into what her life could become.

And as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, Lily awoke to the familiarity of her room. But within her chest beat the heart of a dreamer, unyielded by the bounds of expectation, resilient in the quiet knowledge that the road ahead was hers to chart, with stories yet to be told and a life yet to be lived on her terms.

The journey ahead was uncertain, but Lily Archer was ready to face the winding road with a pen and hope as her compass.

––––––––

Lily’s first driving lesson and initial impression of Michael.

Lily had been counting days off her calendar, each red X a step closer to freedom, or so she thought. Sixteen had arrived with the promise of wind through her hair and the open road underfoot, but there was a hitch—she had never been behind the wheel before. And that's where Michael came in, the certified instructor and her gateway to the open road.

On a Saturday that blushed with the early signs of spring, Lily stood on the curb, tapping her foot impatiently. The driving school’s sedan pulled up, a beacon of her newfound independence. Michael stepped out with a clipboard tucked under his arm and a disarming smile.

Ready to conquer the roads, Lily? he asked with a cheer that felt too bright for the early hour.

Lily couldn't help but return the smile. Michael was younger than she expected, maybe in his late twenties, with an ease about him that made her nervousness simmer down a touch. He had that quintessential surfer-dude look, with tousled hair that defied gravity and a tan that spoke of days spent under the sun—not the typical instructor she had braced herself for.

Her first impression was a mix of relief and curiosity; he wasn't the stern taskmaster she'd envisioned, ready to pounce on every mistake. Instead, Michael radiated an almost contagious calm, and as they settled into the car, Lily felt a flicker of excitement.

The driving lesson began with the basics—seat adjustments, mirror alignments, and the litany of car functions. Michael's instructions were clear, his patience seemingly endless. As they progressed to ignition and gentle acceleration, Lily’s grip on the steering wheel loosened fractionally, her breaths coming easier.

Michael's teaching style was unorthodox, peppered with anecdotes and jokes that had Lily laughing, the sound surprising her in the small cabin of the car. It was a stark contrast to the rigid academic life she was used to, where every smile had to be earned with perfect