Kill Creatures - Hardcover

Power, Rory

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0593302311 ISBN 13: 9780593302316

Verlag: Delacorte Press, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

Last year, Nan’s three best friends ventured into the canyons near their small town and never returned. Now one of them is back, and Nan can’t believe it…because she’s the one who killed them. From the New York Times bestselling author of Wilder Girls comes another dark thriller about friendship, jealousy, desire, and revenge, with a twist ending that needs to be talked about.

Last summer, Luce, Edie, Jane, and Nan took a boat out for one final swim in the river. It was a perfect summer night.

But the only one who returned that night was Nan. Edie, Jane, and Luce disappeared, and Nan’s story has always been the same: She has no idea what happened. The girls went ahead, and it was as though they vanished into thin air.

Now, one year later, all of Saltcedar has gathered at the river for a memorial. Nan even recreated the outfit she wore that fateful day last summer. And when Luce climbs out of the water, no one is more surprised than Nan.

Because Nan killed her. Right before she killed Edie and Jane.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Rory Power lives in Rhode Island. She has an MA in prose fiction from the University of East Anglia, and is the New York Times bestselling author of works for both adult and young adult readers, including Wilder Girls and In a Garden Burning Gold.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Now

Start with this, with a bruise-blue sky. Then the clouds gathered low on the horizon, their bellies bloodshot with sunset. And last, the billboard frame and the picture stretched across it: three girls wearing summer smiles. Edie, Jane, and Luce. My best friends, my favorites. Saltcedar’s, too, now that they’re gone.

For the first few days after they put the billboard up, there was almost always someone here in its shadow. Praying, sometimes, or leaving behind wildflower bouquets. Today it’s just me, heat rippling off the road as I balance astride my bike. I came to say goodbye. To take a moment for the four of us before it’s all lit candles and bullshit speeches down at the vigil.

“You’d hate it,” I whisper to them. The crowds, the noise. The marina’s too busy to launch from. And you need reservations at Bullfrog’s now; tourists steal our table every night.

I know some people are happy about it. It’s the most activity the town has seen in years. Finally, Saltcedar looks like the pictures in those brochures--sunburned teenagers in life jackets, little kids diving off the backs of houseboats while their parents watch from the upper decks, drinks in hand. But these people don’t care that the lake is going dry. They don’t care that there’s a half-built neighborhood abandoned at the end of my street. They just care that a year ago exactly, my best friends wandered into the dark and let Saltcedar Canyon swallow them whole.

A shaft of sunlight sneaks past the corner of the billboard. I lift a hand to block it. Blink hard as the gas station beyond swims into focus. Through the window, I can see Glen at the register, his face lit up red by the Budweiser sign on the wall. He’s wearing one of the T-shirts that the vigil volunteers have been handing out all week. Same picture as the billboard printed across his chest, same text underneath: Bring Them Home. He’s probably about to close up and head down to the lake. I’d better hurry, or I’ll be one of the last to arrive.

I kick off on my bike. Listen to the crunch of grit under the tires. The road forks at a signpost, one side splitting left through my neighborhood of prefab houses. I stay straight, toward the rest of town. Coast easy and free down the hill, eyes drifting shut. If I listen hard, I can feel the girls with me, the air curving around their bodies. They’re everywhere. In the lodge lobby, Jane waving as the elevator doors close between her and us. On my front steps, Edie’s head bent over her phone as she waits for me to do up my laces. At the water’s edge, Luce pointing toward the canyon arch.

Somewhere behind me, a car engine rumbles, getting closer. I swing to the side and pedal harder. None of those memories will count for much if I’m late.

The lodge parking lot is off to the right, already almost full with out-of-state plates. A man I don’t recognize is waiting near the entrance next to a table stacked high with candles. I ignore the one he holds out to me. Keep going, slip between two pickups toward the far side of the lot where Mr. and Mrs. Bristow are standing, sweat patches stark against their white vigil T-shirts.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen Jane’s parents in person, but some things haven’t changed. The sunscreen on Mr. Bristow’s forehead, not quite rubbed in. The glint of Mrs. Bristow’s wedding ring as she twists it absently around her knuckle. She’s got her hair pulled back--heavy and dark like her daughter’s. Jane used to lie out in the boat as we drifted, her hair spread long and gleaming over Luce’s lap. Gathering sunlight in its strands until it was too hot to touch.

I leave my bike leaning against somebody’s back bumper. Wipe my clammy palms dry on my shorts before I close the last gap between me and Jane’s parents. “Hi,” I say, skirting another group of volunteers. “Sorry, I know I’m late.”

Mr. Bristow sees me first. “Not at all,” he says, and waves me closer. “You’re right on time.”

Next to him, Mrs. Bristow doesn’t look up. She’s poring over a clipboard, her mouth moving silently as she reads something off it. Her speech for the vigil, maybe. Is she nervous? Sure, there’ll be cameras there, reporters and news trucks, but you’d think she’d be used to that after the press tour she and her husband have done on Jane’s behalf.

Mr. Bristow nudges her. “Carrie? Carrie, it’s Jane’s friend.”

“Hmm?” She meets my eyes, and for a moment I think she doesn’t recognize me, but then she blinks, seems to wake from a long midnight. “Oh, Nan. You’re here.”

She wraps me up in a hug. I lean in, let her tuck my head against her neck the way she might if I were Jane. Is she remembering the same thing I am? Six or seven summers back, me waiting in the shade with my dad to meet Mom after her shift at the lodge front desk. Jane climbing out of the Bristows’ rental SUV, her mother’s words carrying across the pavement: “See, there’s a girl your age.”

Jane waved at me then. It took me days to work up the nerve to wave back.

“It’s good to see you, sweetheart,” she says as she releases me. “Gosh, were you this tall last summer?”

“I think so.” I smile uneasily. She’s doing her best to seem normal, but her eyes are red and her voice is hoarse. It’s painfully obvious she’s been crying. I look away, gesture to the crowd. “This is all . . . There’s so many people here for them. You must be really pleased.”

“Of course,” Mr. Bristow says. “It’s a testament to the girls.”

“Is there anything you need?” Mrs. Bristow asks, all but interrupting him. There’s a hunger in her stare, like she wishes she hadn’t let go of me. “We have water and sunblock over by the lodge entrance, and-- Oh, you need a T-shirt.” She flags down a passing volunteer. “Can we get Nan a shirt? What size are you, honey? A medium? Let’s get you a medium, yeah.”

Moments later a T-shirt is thrust into my hands, so fresh out of the box that the creases where it was folded are still sharp. I crumple it up against my ribs. Make sure I can’t see any of the girls’ faces.

“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll change before the marina.”

“Speaking of,” Mr. Bristow interjects, “we should head down. The Gales are already there.”

I’m not surprised they aren’t here with the Bristows. Edie’s parents used to get along so well with Jane’s. In those first few months after the girls disappeared, they did everything as a quartet--every interview, every press conference. But Saltcedar rich isn’t Salt Lake City rich. Before long, it was only the Bristows flying to New York and LA. Only the Bristows appearing on national TV, only Jane that anyone was talking about. I don’t think the Gales would ever admit to being angry, but they don’t have to; everybody knows they are anyway.

Still, it could be worse. At least they tried. Luce’s dad couldn’t even do that.

“What about Mr. Allard?” I ask. “Is he here?”

Mrs. Bristow’s smile goes stiff, her eyes darting to the crowd milling around us. “Kent was invited,” she says, too politely. “I’m not sure he’ll be able to make it, though.”

I think we’re all hoping he won’t. Whenever Kent Allard shows up, he brings trouble...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Delacorte Press
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2025
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593302311
• ISBN 13: 9780593302316
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 273
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland