Patricia A. Guthrie
author romantic suspense
Waterlilies Over My Grave
author romantic suspense
Waterlilies Over My Grave
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WATERLILIES OVER MY GRAVE
Tags: Water, psychosis, stalking, murder, waterlily,
romance, new life, Annabelle Lee, collie, burned-out
detective, psychologist.
Tags: Water, psychosis, stalking, murder, waterlily,
romance, new life, Annabelle Lee, collie, burned-out
detective, psychologist.
"YOU CAN RUN,
BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE"
Psychiatrist, Duncan Byrne
BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE"
Psychiatrist, Duncan Byrne
In a spiraling fall into obsessive madness, psychiatrist Duncan
Byrne vows revenge against his ex-wife for divorcing him. When
she flees New York, he reflects, “You can run, but you can’t
hide.”
Psychologist, Annabelle O’Brien begins a new life in the popular
resort town of Lake Nager, hoping to find peace and normality.
But anonymous threats follow, and Annie finds herself
terrorized by a stalker.
Burned-out Detective Mark Driscoll, detests the new
psychologist who recommends he take time-off. How dare she?
But when somebody slashes her tires, ransacks her apartment
and kills her cat, Mark spends his mandated furlough playing
body guard.
They don’t count on falling in love; something neither wants,
but both need.
Nor
Women resembling Annie being murdered.
Fear becomes the summer slogan for Lake Nager.
Byrne vows revenge against his ex-wife for divorcing him. When
she flees New York, he reflects, “You can run, but you can’t
hide.”
Psychologist, Annabelle O’Brien begins a new life in the popular
resort town of Lake Nager, hoping to find peace and normality.
But anonymous threats follow, and Annie finds herself
terrorized by a stalker.
Burned-out Detective Mark Driscoll, detests the new
psychologist who recommends he take time-off. How dare she?
But when somebody slashes her tires, ransacks her apartment
and kills her cat, Mark spends his mandated furlough playing
body guard.
They don’t count on falling in love; something neither wants,
but both need.
Nor
Women resembling Annie being murdered.
Fear becomes the summer slogan for Lake Nager.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
POEM: ANNABELLE LEE by
Edgar Allan Poe
The poem Annabelle Lee was an inspiration
for Waterlilies Over My Grave. It's the poem
the demented psychiatrist Duncan Byrne
constantly croons to his wife while he stalks
her on the phone. Annabelle Lee is my
favorite of Edgar Allan Poems poetry. (who
couldn't love it?) I hope you enjoy Annabelle
Lee.
ANNABELLE LEE
Author: Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may
know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other
thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than
love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me
Yes! that was the reason
(as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we
Of many far wiser than we
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing
me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright
eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the
side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my
bride,
In the sepulcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
POEM: ANNABELLE LEE by
Edgar Allan Poe
The poem Annabelle Lee was an inspiration
for Waterlilies Over My Grave. It's the poem
the demented psychiatrist Duncan Byrne
constantly croons to his wife while he stalks
her on the phone. Annabelle Lee is my
favorite of Edgar Allan Poems poetry. (who
couldn't love it?) I hope you enjoy Annabelle
Lee.
ANNABELLE LEE
Author: Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may
know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other
thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than
love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me
Yes! that was the reason
(as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we
Of many far wiser than we
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing
me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright
eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the
side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my
bride,
In the sepulcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
This book may be
purchased at:
Amazon
LSP Digital
Coming soon: This book
will be available at all
online book stores
and will be orderable at a
book store near you.
purchased at:
Amazon
LSP Digital
Coming soon: This book
will be available at all
online book stores
and will be orderable at a
book store near you.
Prologue (from Waterlilies
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
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
