The Twin
(Sprache: Englisch)
The instant New York Times bestseller!
In this twisty psychological thriller from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of THE CELLAR, Ivy finds out that her twin sister, Iris, is trying to push her out of her own life--and might be responsible for...
In this twisty psychological thriller from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of THE CELLAR, Ivy finds out that her twin sister, Iris, is trying to push her out of her own life--and might be responsible for...
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The instant New York Times bestseller!In this twisty psychological thriller from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of THE CELLAR, Ivy finds out that her twin sister, Iris, is trying to push her out of her own life--and might be responsible for their mother's death.
After their parents divorced, 10-year-old twins Ivy and Iris were split up--Ivy lived with Dad, Iris with Mom. Now, after a tragic accident takes their mom's life, the twins are reunited and Iris moves in with Ivy and their dad. Devastated over Mom's death, Iris spends the first few weeks in almost total silence--the only person she will speak to is Ivy. Iris feels her life is over and she doesn't know what to do. Ivy promises her twin that she can share her life now. After all, they're sisters. Twins.
It's a promise that Iris takes seriously. And before long, Ivy's friends, her life at school, and her boyfriend, Tyler, fall under Iris's spell. Slowly, Ivy realizes she's being pushed out of her own life. But she's just being paranoid, right? And Mom's accident was . . . just an accident. Right? It's not like she--or Dad--or Tyler--are in any danger. . . .
Lese-Probe zu „The Twin “
1I dig the tips of my yellow-painted fingernails into the firm leather seat as Dad drives us home on the verge of breaking the speed limit. He s anxious to get back, but I would rather he slowed down. My stomach dips, and I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes closed as he takes a sharp corner.
With my muscles locked into place, I raise my eyes to the rearview mirror. Thankfully, Dad s eyes are fixed on the road, but there s a tightness to them that s unsettling. He s a good driver, and I trust him with my life, but I m not a fan of this speed.
The car, a black Mercedes, is immaculate and still smells brand-new a year on, so I m surprised that he s driving so fast on dusty country roads.
Everything is going to be different now, and he seems to be in a hurry to start our new life.
It s not right. We need to slow down, savor the ease of what our lives used to be, because the new one waiting for us in just five minutes, I don t want. Things weren t perfect before, but I want my old life back.
The one where Mom was still alive.
It s spring, her favorite season. Flowers have begun to brighten our town, turning the landscape from a dull green to a rainbow of color. It s my favorite time of year, too, when the sun shows itself and the temperature warms enough so you don t need a coat.
I m always happier in spring. But right now, it might as well be winter again. I don t feel my mood lifting, and I definitely don t care that I m not wearing a stupid coat.
My twin sister, Iris, is in the front passenger seat. She s staring out the window, occasionally starting a short conversation. It s more than I ve done. There s been nothing but silence from me. It s not because I don t care; it s because I don t know what to say. There are no words for what has happened.
Everything I think of seems dumb and insignificant. Nothing is big enough to fill the enormous void left by our mom.
The warm spring sun shines into the car, but it s not strong enough to hurt my eyes. I don t
... mehr
want to close them again anyway. Every time I do, I see her pale face. So pale she didn t look real. Her once rosy cheeks gone forever. It was like staring at a life-size porcelain doll.
I wish I hadn t gone to the funeral home to see her. My last image of her will be her lifeless body.
When I go back to school, I ll be fine. I ll swim and study until it doesn t hurt anymore.
Or I ll want that to work, but I know it s going to take more than a couple of distractions to make the pain disappear.
We turn down our road and my toes curl in my tennis shoes.
I swallow a lump that leaves my throat bone-dry.
Dad slows, pulling into our drive and parking out front. Our house feels like it s in the middle of nowhere, but there are about ten houses nearby and it s a five-minute drive into town. I love the quiet and the peace of my hometown, but I feel like it s going to drive me crazy. Right now I need loud and fast-paced. I need distractions and lots of them.
Iris gets out of the car first, her butt-length, silky blond hair blowing in the warm breeze. She s home with me and Dad forever now.
Our mom died after falling off a bridge while out running two weeks ago. She was by a farm and the land was uneven and hilly. It had been raining and there was mud on the ground. The rail on the steep side of the short bridge was low, there more for guidance than safety, and she slipped off. The bridge wasn t very high, apparently, but she hit her head and died instantly. That s what the police told us.
Mom ran to keep fit and healthy so she could be around for me and Iris longer, but it ended up killing her.
Her death is still impossible to process. I haven
I wish I hadn t gone to the funeral home to see her. My last image of her will be her lifeless body.
When I go back to school, I ll be fine. I ll swim and study until it doesn t hurt anymore.
Or I ll want that to work, but I know it s going to take more than a couple of distractions to make the pain disappear.
We turn down our road and my toes curl in my tennis shoes.
I swallow a lump that leaves my throat bone-dry.
Dad slows, pulling into our drive and parking out front. Our house feels like it s in the middle of nowhere, but there are about ten houses nearby and it s a five-minute drive into town. I love the quiet and the peace of my hometown, but I feel like it s going to drive me crazy. Right now I need loud and fast-paced. I need distractions and lots of them.
Iris gets out of the car first, her butt-length, silky blond hair blowing in the warm breeze. She s home with me and Dad forever now.
Our mom died after falling off a bridge while out running two weeks ago. She was by a farm and the land was uneven and hilly. It had been raining and there was mud on the ground. The rail on the steep side of the short bridge was low, there more for guidance than safety, and she slipped off. The bridge wasn t very high, apparently, but she hit her head and died instantly. That s what the police told us.
Mom ran to keep fit and healthy so she could be around for me and Iris longer, but it ended up killing her.
Her death is still impossible to process. I haven
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Natasha Preston
Natasha Preston
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Natasha Preston
- Altersempfehlung: Ab 12 Jahre
- 2020, 384 Seiten, Maße: 13,5 x 20,6 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Delacorte Press
- ISBN-10: 0593124960
- ISBN-13: 9780593124963
- Erscheinungsdatum: 18.02.2020
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Praise for THE TWIN: An instant New York Times bestseller
This fast-paced thriller will be a hit. SLJ
Praise for Natasha Preston:
"A deeply disturbing tale that explores what can push someone to kill and what people will do to survive. . . . keeps tensions high to the final page." PW, on The Lost
"Preston weaves a terrifying tale. . . . A fast-paced, plot-driven page-turner." Kirkus, on The Lost
"Keeps readers on edge. . . . A great addition to the thriller shelves. Recommended for fans of Stephen King, Jennifer Barnes, and Ally Carter." SLJ, on You Will Be Mine
"Preston is skilled in building an atmosphere of paranoia and claustrophobia." PW, on You Will Be Mine
"Preston's latest mystery reads like an homage to a nostalgic Fear Street novel. . . . An enjoyable blend of mystery and horror." Booklist, on You Will Be Mine
"A fresh take on a murder mystery thriller. Rich with plot twists and suspense, readers will not want to put it down." VOYA, on You Will Be Mine
"Will keep readers intrigued." SLJ, on Awake
"Ripped-from-the-headlines." SLJ, on The Cellar
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