Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Prologue to Waterlilies Over My Grave--a shameless promotion

What would you do if you were in an abusive relationship? Let me rephrase that. What would you do if your husband were trying to kill you?


Go to the police? Suppose hubby was well-connected and the powers that be don't believe you. Stay with hubby even though he pushes you down the stairs and you land in the hospital? Oh, did I mention you were pregnant at the time. But the tried and truly well-known psychiatrist spins a tale like, your hormones were getting in the way and you slipped. And what about if you were pushed in front of a moving subway car in the middle of New York City? What would you do? Stay and be killed?
Take a job in the middle of nowhere and start out anew. And, what would happen if he found you.

Is this Sleeping With the Enemy? No, it's Waterlilies Over My Grave and nothing like that great and scary movie starring Julia Roberts. Here is the prologue.




NEW YORK CITY AT TWIGHLIGHT


Water Lillies Over My Grave
Patricia A. Guthrie
LSP Digital ISBN: 978-0-
9792030--8-4



Betrayal.
Sentence--death. A judge and jury of one.
“No mother, no! Oh God no!”


The movie ‘Psycho’ muffled the noise
coming from the New York City streets that
ran in front of Dr. Duncan Byrne’s private
study. The large cherry hutch that encased
the television stood against heavy dark
maroon curtains, blocking all illumination
from the window. A corner desk lamp and the
doctor’s lap top screen provided the only light
he needed.


A ‘to-do’ list lay by his laptop, scrawled in a
handwriting virtually unreadable by anyone
but himself. No matter. He’d shred it anyway.
No sense condemning himself with the
evidence.


She would die.


Her divorce papers lay in a picture perfect
neat stack next to his legal pad. D-I-V-O-R-C-
E. Nobody got rid of Duncan Byrne unless he
wanted to be gotten rid of, and he wasn’t
quite through with Annabelle Lee just yet.
He grabbed a bottle half-full of Johnny Walker
Red, poured the amber liquid into a crystal
whiskey glass. He took a sip and let the
liquid swirl around on his palate before
letting it slide down his throat.


What method shall I choose next?


He eased into his office chair, his hands
behind his head. Thinking. The ideal set-up,
should have had Annabelle standing
precariously close to the edge of the over-
crowded Lexington Avenue Subway platform.
An express barreling its way through the
station. One firm push.


But, it hadn’t worked. Someone grabbed her
as she pitched forward.


No. This new method had to be full proof. He’
d been wrong to think a public accident
would kill her. He needed a more fitting and
private death.


The face of his beautiful Annabelle Lee
perched in a sterling frame on the corner of
his desk. The broken glass from when he’d
smashed it, formed a mound at its base. He
stared at the photo. A beautiful woman--a
modern day Helen of Troy. A contemporary
Jezebel. He eyed his gun cabinet and
frowned. To pierce her beautiful, voluptuous
body would be sacrilege.


He sipped his whiskey and stared into that
ethereal face, with those perceptive eyes and
the long, silky hair that even Helen of Troy
would envy. So innocent when he’d married
her, so diabolical when she’d divorced him.
So much like--


An image of her fall down the stairs last
month drummed up a song in his mind:
She flew through the air with the greatest of
ease
The daring young girl on the flying trapeze


He gulped. The whiskey burned his throat.
After coughing for a few seconds, he sipped
it slower.


Annabelle had flown through air all right. She’
d struggled to keep her balance, bounced off
the stairs, swirled like a top and crashed
onto the hardwood floor below.
The scream he’d heard sounded more like a
child than a woman. It must have come from
that She-Devil she carried inside her. He
shuddered and took another sip.


So much like his mother. Sooner or later they’
d all betray him. Bitches; all.
As far as he could tell, Annabelle had no
cognitive recall of the incident. She’d woken
in the hospital with Disassociative Amnesia.
She couldn’t remember the push down the
stairs. But, her subconscious knew, and it
would surface, sooner or later. The police
had ruled the whole unfortunate affair an
“accident.”


Gulping down the last remnants of his
whiskey, he pondered killing methods that
would not pierce the skin, yet would provide
glorious, exquisite agony. He’d like there to
be bubbles. Bubbles and bubbles and
bubbles. Just like in his bathtub as a child.
First the paralyzing fear of being held under,
then the struggles and frantic splashing of
water as the body, hungry for air, would
starve. Duncan shuddered. There’d been a
time when he was paralyzed with fear. When
he’d been the one desperately splashing.
When his body had been the one starved for
air. And there’d been laughing in the
background.This would be no joke.


Something caught in his gut. The
visualization was no longer Annabelle Lee. It
was his mother.


The phone interrupted daydreams of terror.
Damn. He’d been enjoying this.


“Morning.”


The woman on the other end was pleasant,
almost bubbly. He hated bubbly.


“Good morning. Is this Dr. Duncan Byrne?”


“Yes, Dr. Byrne speaking, can I help you?”


“Dr. Byrne. This is Dr. Julia Driscoll from the
Lake Nager Medical Center in upper
Wisconsin. We received an application from
one of your students. I believe she recently
received her PhD?”


His eyes rolled up. Another one? “Yes?”


“She’s applied for a position at our medical
center here in Lake Nager, Wisconsin.”


“Her name?”


“Dr. Annabelle O’Brien.”


Well, well, well. He still might have control
over her destiny. He hadn’t been sure where
she was going. Whether or not she’d even
stay in New York. Now, apparently, she was
planning to move--far. And, he’d know exactly
where she went.


Dr. Byrne cleared his throat. “I can’t
recommend Dr. O’Brien highly enough. In
fact, she was my best student. Has a great
deal of insight and excellent with patients.
Yes, I’d be happy to recommend her.”


“Thank you, Dr. Byrne. May we have a letter of
. . .”


“Of course. I’ll send one out to you on our
official stationary, if you’ll just give your
address to my secretary?”


He transferred the call and sat back to think.


I know where you’re going,
my darling Annabelle Leeeee.
I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth
‘til you come back to meeeee.


Tomorrow, I'll post a page a day on Waterlilies, then maybe switch to Legacy of Danger,a work that's been in progress for ten years now.

Waterlilies is my second published novel and can be purchased on Amazon and Barnes and Noble plus other online book sellers.

Hope everyone got everything they wanted for Christmas. Our next holiday is New Years Day.

Pat

3 comments:

Author of "And the Whippoorwill Sang" said...

Hi Pat. I enjoyed reading your pro;ogue even though I read and loved the book. I was reminded again how really great it is. I'm looking forward to seeing parts of Legacy of Danger, which labor pains have been taking too long for the birth of the wonderful novel.

Micki

Author of "And the Whippoorwill Sang" said...

Hi Pat. I enjoyed reading your pro;ogue even though I read and loved the book. I was reminded again how really great it is. I'm looking forward to seeing parts of Legacy of Danger, which labor pains have been taking too long for the birth of the wonderful novel.

Micki

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