Kindle Edition
Amazon
Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: Starshow Publications
ISBN-10: 1646330323
Type: Fiction
Pages: 341
Copyright: August 18, 2019
ISBN-13: 9781646330324
Price: $5.99 (eBook)
A man finds love on the internet. But is it true love, or is she a Black Widow.
This is a true story of seduction and corruption. All the events occurred in the town of Burkesville, a small farming community in South Central Kentucky.
Charlie Mason is a happy, retired gentleman living in Syracuse, New York; one of the snowiest parts of the nation. He yearns to move to a warmer climate such as Tennessee or Georgia. A romantic relationship in his life would be nice also.
He meets a woman on the social media platform Craig's list, who promises to be everything he desires. She is a beautiful redhead; a business owner who is smart, funny and vibrant. Her name is Patricia but most people call her Patriche. After many email and phone conversations, she invites him to visit her at her home in Kentucky.
He takes a chance and travels by bus to her location. Their first meeting is absolutely magic. Charlie has always had a penchant for redheads and Patriche is gorgeous. She owns a horse farm and is part owner of a construction company.
Overall, Charlie is impressed by her industrious nature. They seem to have so many things in common, including the fact that she is originally from upstate New York. Charlie believes he may have met his soul-mate. Their days are filled with love and laughter as Patriche shows Charlie the beauty of the Kentucky landscape as well as the local sites.
But the real fireworks happen in the bedroom.
Even though neither of them are 'spring chickens', their sexual responses to each other can rival couples half their age. Charlie and Patriche decide to travel to upstate New York in order to pick up their various possessions, visit friends and return to Kentucky.
There is only one problem. This lady is a deadly Black Widow in disguise.
Through their nightly conversations, Patriche discloses several events of her past that shock Charlie. She was responsible for the death of her oldest daughter, she is estranged from her children, she had her ex-husband deported to Canada, and her last lover put a shotgun in his mouth and blew his brains out.
The story now becomes a painful voyage into perdition. Suffering at the hands of a sadistic lover is only the beginning. Patriche has Charlie arrested for a heinous crime for which he is innocent. While he is incarcerated, Patriche takes her possessions, as well as Charlie's, and moves back to upstate New York.
Charlie is sentenced to a 5 year term in Federal prison. Physical and emotional abuse from a corrupt judicial system could possibly lead to his death. In the face of overwhelming odds, Charlie fights to save his life, his honor, and his sanity. Throughout this journey, the reader will come to see how one man used every single ounce of his being to survive.
Passionate Oversights offers a glimpse of domestic abuse from the male point of view and is a 'must read' for anyone considering an Internet-Based relationship.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PzCRHDm2-wQ
Excerpt
The following Saturday, brought big doings to Burkesville. When I say big doings, I mean big for Burkesville. It was the annual Memorial Day outing and car show. From all around the local area including Tennessee, motor heads brought their classic cars into town to show them off. It gave the public the opportunity to see some nice machines of all different makes and models. This was one of the few outings in town that wasn't 'church related'.
We finished breakfast, including my medicine routine, and headed into town. There was a lot of 67-69 Camaro's, Corvettes, Corvairs, Desoto's, Ford's and every other type of vehicle imaginable. Three-Wheel Harley Trikes, Drag GoCarts and a 1932 Cadillac Hearse were some of models that are more exotic. One person even brought a wheelchair powered with a Briggs and Stratton engine.
I parked my red '97 Camaro right in front of the local Subway shop in a space where I could see it from every angle of the town square; and everyone else at the show could see it.
"James is going to love your car," Patriche told me, "he collects Camaro's."
"Who's James?"
"James is the local Sheriff," she said, "and head of the whole Sheriff's department. He lives over the bridge off Route 61 and he must have 3 or 4 classic Camaro's in his garage."
"Hmmm," I said, "maybe he'd like to buy it?"
"Oh no you don't! She dictated. "You are not selling that car until we get a Corvette to replace it."
"Yes, ma'am," I said. "He probably wouldn't want to pay what its worth anyway."
The activities stretched across downtown - food vendors, a sign-up booth for the Cumberland River Rats car club, and the local high school band. All the participants showed off their local talent. I walked around and viewed all the cars while holding Patriche's hand.
I wanted people to know who I was, since I was new to the town and she had lived there for over 3 years. Other than the cars, not much was happening. We bought some raffle tickets and hung around for the drawings, but after 3 hours of all this 'high-level excitement', I had seen enough.
"Let's get out of here babe," I said.
"Where do you want to go?" She asked.
"Let's go back down to the Sawmill, get some beer and chat."
"I'm good with that," she said, "besides, I think I've seen enough classic cars for one afternoon. I like your Camaro the best of all."
"So I guess you would like to drive?" I asked.
"You don't have to ask me twice," She said. "Bear with me though because I haven't driven a stick in a few years."
We got in the car and she fired it up. I told her to wait a second; I was going to pull the roof panels out because it was such a beautiful day. She loved that. After a bit of getting used to the clutch, Patriche was like an old pro behind the wheel.
She did tend to slip clutch a bit more than I liked but I wrote it off as just a need for practice. We left the town square with her red hair flowing in the breeze, in a hot red car, and headed for the Sawmill. I figured we would have a few drinks, pick up a 12 pack and maybe do some sightseeing at Dale Hollow Lake.
"I need to go to the liquor store," Patriche told me.
"I thought you had that Rum and Vodka from when we went to Bowling Green," I asked.
"Ha … that was gone before we left for Syracuse," she said, "and I forgot to pick anything up when we were traveling. So I need to go now."
"OK, no problem," I said, "do you want to go there first?"
"No I can wait," She insisted, "just don't forget."
We pulled into the Sawmill and saw a few cars there. We walked in and sat at the bar with six or seven others – all having their afternoon cocktails. We got our drinks and sat there staring at the TV set on the wall. I tried to engage Patriche in some small talk but she was somewhat unresponsive. All of her answers were pretty much 'one syllable'. It was almost as if she was doing me a favor having a drink here and couldn't wait to leave.
I asked her if she wanted to go sightseeing at Dale Hollow Lake and she said we could take a drive down there because it was right on the way to the liquor store. She told me that there was not much there to see except a bunch of houseboats in a marina.
"Honey, I just like looking around down here," I said. "This is my new life and I want to get to know where things are so if I like them, I can go back."
We finished our drinks, grabbed a 12 pack to go and left. I let her drive again because we had only had 2 drinks and it was the middle of the afternoon; and she loved the car.
"I love this baby, Charlie," she said as she broke the tires loose coming out of the drive. "How fast do you think it will go?"
"It's got a Corvette, LT-1 motor in it," I said. "Probably 150 or 160 I'd say. But let's not try it here."
"Of course not idiot," she said, "I just wanted to know."
I damned well did not like her 'idiot' reference; kidding or not. Maybe she was still pissed off about our conversation in Wheeling but I thought she was over that by now. Her tone indicated a total lack of respect for me, even though she could be so nice at times. I thought better of saying anything though because she was driving and I didn't need a pissed off driver in a speed demon's dream of a car. I let it ride.
We pulled into the liquor store and she turned and asked me "Do you have a $ 20 bill I can borrow?"
"Sure," I said and reached into my wallet,
"Make that $ 50 if you have it," She followed.
"What are you buying?" I asked.
"I decided to get us a nice bottle of wine too," She added.
I gave her the money and watched her wiggle into the store. Dammit she has a great looking ass.
She came out with a carry basket, and less $ 50 dollars for booze. Booze I didn't even drink. She knew I was not a wine aficionado. I wondered what happened to all the money I had given her. I forked out $ 100 at the casino and I don't think she blew it all; maybe she did. Oh well, anything to keep her happy. That was my job.
"Pop the trunk," She commanded.
I opened up the trunk and she unloaded the carry basket. There were two bottles of Rum, a liter of Vodka and 2 bottles of wine. She was either stocking up or we were going to have a party; I didn't know which.
"Are we inviting guests?" I asked.
"Well, it's good to have something on hand in case people come over," she disclosed. "Besides, it's not like it's going to go to waste."
I accepted that answer and we got on the road. We went up to the Dale Hollow Lake Marina and looked at the sailboats and houseboats out in the cove.
"That's it," she said. "Now do you see what I was talking about? There's nothing else here to see."
We decided to go back home and relax. I was still a bit tired from the trip and it seemed that relaxing was one thing that living in Burkesville was good for; maybe to a fault. It was getting on toward dinnertime anyway and I thought it would be nice to just sit and chat again.
I cooked dinner tonight for a change. I made Spanish rice with plenty of spicy chilies, onions and ground round. It was quick and easy and tasted great. Cleanup was a snap too, with everything made in one large pan and poured over the rice. That kept the rice from getting soggy. Patriche told me that she had never had it that way but she liked it better than her own. I took that as a compliment.
"Hey," she said, "that reminds me. Where's that pot you bought?"
"I'll go roll us a joint." I said.
I got up and went into the other room in search of my stash. I went through my overnight bag, my suitcase and then it dawned on me. We were in such a rush to leave the motel room in Wheeling that I completely forgot about getting the stash from the lower drawer at the motel. Of course the slight hangover I had hadn't helped either.
"Shit!" I said as I returned to the porch, "Guess where the stash is?"
"Don't tell me you left it in the motel room?"
"You got it," I said. "We were in such a rush to get out I forgot to check the drawers; Looks like the maid is going to have a good time."
"YOU STUPID FUCK!" Patriche yelled. "When the lord passed out brains, you must have thought he said trains and asked for a slow one."
"Bite me bitch. Where do you get off with that remark?"
"I wanted to have a nice relaxing night and catch a little buzz," she said, "and now I find out that Mr. Moron had his head up his ass and ruined it for me."
If I hadn't had problems with my blood pressure before, I damned sure would have now. I was hot enough to fuck. I'm not a violent man but her berating of me was more than I wanted or needed right now. It was a little bag of pot; Not a big deal. But Patriche was going off on me like it was a major catastrophe. I can see where some men get so strung out that they would turn to hitting their mate. I've never been one to subscribe to that answer and I wasn't going to start now.
I got up, picked up my beer and went into the house. I thought about going back into my office and doing some work but I was too pissed, so I sat down on the couch and started going through my CD's, looking for some music to play.
"DON'T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME YOU PRICK," a voice echoed from the porch, "get your ass out here and finish this discussion."
"Patriche, I'm not going to discuss this anymore," I yelled from the living room, "What's done is done and I can't change things. I am sorry for being so lax but we were rushed and I didn't do my normal reconnaissance before we left. I'm sorry for ruining your night."
Patriche came in the living room and sat down on the opposite side of the couch. "You're right," She said. "There is no sense in fighting about it. I know you didn't do it on purpose."
I was relieved that she understood I had made a mistake and that maybe we could get back to the 'heaven' we once enjoyed. The only thing that stuck in my brain at the time was the fact that she hadn't really apologized to me for the nasty barrage she had unleashed.
Rather than get into that, I just passed it by and asked her, "What do you think about setting up a list of priorities for us?"
"I think that is an excellent plan, my love," was her response, "Maybe it's just that this town that is pissing me off more than anything."
"I can see that, Honey," I replied. "We are both social people and we are kind of like 'in jail' out here in this barren wasteland."
"The first thing that has to be done is the double-wide," She told me. "I was planning to live in it but if we move, I can rent it out if we just put a little money into it."
"I remember when I looked at it and seemed to me it just needed some drywall and a set of lower kitchen cupboards." I said.
"That's it … an easy fix up." She confirmed. "The cabinets are going to be the expensive things but I'm looking on the swap sheets for used ones."
"Tomorrow, I'll go down there and measure everything we need," I said. "Then we can hunt around and get the ball rolling on that. Do you want to set a moving goal?"
"Well, I don't really want to spend another winter here," she admitted. "I'd like to be out of here no later than late October if we can."
"That sounds like a good time frame," I followed. "By then, I can have my Internet business set up and get the trailer fixed and ready to rent. You need time to sell some of this stuff on EBay that you have here too, don't you?"
"Are you kidding?" She said wryly, "I've got so much to sell its not funny. Just look at all those vehicles out there. The two pick-ups, a sailboat, these antiques; all this stuff has to go."
Just looking around the room and thinking about all of the stuff that was in the pole barn, I got a sense of how much there actually was to get rid of; even without having to do any work on the doublewide. Just inspecting, photographing and listing the antiques and other items on EBay would take 2 months. Then there was tracking the sales, packing and shipping the items. October was only 4 months away and it seemed like trying to complete everything by then would be really pushing it. Especially since I hadn't really seen Patriche do any actual work since I arrived here.
"Are all those vehicles yours?" I asked.
"They are now," she exclaimed. "They used to belong to my ex, but he abandoned them. All I have to do is get titles for them in my name. Or I could forge his name; he'll never know."
"That's a dirty trick Patriche," I said. "I think you should go about it the legal way and get them signed over to you. If I ever lost my vehicles like that, I'd feel like a raped ape."
"What would you know about rape?" She stared at me. "I was raped before and it's not a fun thing."
"I didn't mean it like that," I said. "I merely meant that losing vehicles in that manner would get me so pissed off I'd probably do something stupid … like hunt that person down. I would have to hurt someone who did that to me."
"Well, I'm just telling you," she continued, "even the word rape brings chills to me."
"When did this happen?"
"When I was 12 years old," she answered, "and I was petrified of men for a long time afterward."
"Did they ever catch the guy?"
"I don't want to talk about it. It brings back bad memories," she stammered. "Besides, we were talking about my ex-husband anyway. That shit head will never be back here because I had him deported. He was a Canadian National."
"Wait a minute," I interrupted, "You had your husband deported back to Canada?"
"Charlie, he beat me up one night when he was drunk," She cried. "The police came and had to Taser him because he was so belligerent. My deputy friend Scott and I had a good laugh about that when hubby was in jail. Scott came back out here because he needed some forms filled out. I filed for divorce right after that and because of the incident, the court deported him."
"What happened when he got out of jail?" I asked.
"The Sheriff's deputy escorted him out here so he could pick up some clothes and one of his cars and then he was gone; never to return. The last thing I heard about him was that he was back living with his mother in Canada."
"How did he get the rest of his stuff?"
"Fuck that!" She touted. "I figured what he didn't secure was mine, to pay for the abuse I put up with. I kept his backhoe, cement mixer and the rest of his shit."
"And he didn't have an issue about you keeping everything?" I questioned.
"He couldn't do a fucking thing about it," She crowed. "When he was in jail, I sold everything and because it was considered community property, nothing happened."
"And that was it," I said. "He lost his equipment, the house and everything for domestic violence."
"I had to fork over $10,000 to him to get him off the fucking deed to the house," she cursed, "but the rest of the stuff was gone. My buddy Scott helped me with everything but house closing issues. He had to deal with that."
"How did he accomplish all that, if he was in jail?" I asked.
"He hired Stephen Poindee, a local attorney. Stephen arranged everything. All he had to do was sign the papers and pick up his check."
"I can't believe it," I told her, "He just up and left all this stuff, his vehicles, his construction equipment and everything for $10,000?"
"It was that asshole Poindee who did it," She complained. "He made it sound like I would have to take him back and put up with more of his shit. When he finally was arrested, it wasn't the first time that he had assaulted me. By then I was fed up with him. I was pissed I had to pay him anything, but at least I got to be friends with the Sheriff's deputy out of it."
I'm no lawyer and I didn't know much about the laws; especially in Kentucky. Nevertheless, I got the feeling that there was more to this story than Patriche was telling me. Just like the bombshell she dropped on me earlier in the week about the guy who killed himself. Something didn't fit but I couldn't put my finger on it. Then, there was the bit about the rape she mentioned. She had told me of her past before, but one thing I remembered was that she said she went to Woodstock when she was 15 and came back a virgin. What was up with that? She either misspoke or lied about something. I was hoping that maybe it was just the booze caused her to have memory lapses; as opposed to her being a pathological liar.
I knew how she got when she was drinking and I decided not to press the issue. Add that to the fact that both of us were pretty wound up from the past 2 weeks. One of these days, I would find a proper time to fill in the blanks. Until then, I was just going to have to be happy with the solitude of country living and my beautiful red haired princess.
Though I was seeing a more than a few dents in her crown.
THE FULL VERSION OF ‘PASSIONATE OVERSIGHTS’ IS AVAILABLE AT WWW.CHARLESWMASSIE.COM
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