Vintage Crime/Black Lizard / Black Out
(Sprache: Englisch)
When my mother named me Ophelia, she thought she was being literary. She didn't realize she was being tragic. On the surface, Annie Powers's life in a wealthy Floridian suburb is happy and idyllic. Her husband, Gray, loves her fiercely; together, they dote...
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When my mother named me Ophelia, she thought she was being literary. She didn't realize she was being tragic. On the surface, Annie Powers's life in a wealthy Floridian suburb is happy and idyllic. Her husband, Gray, loves her fiercely; together, they dote on their beautiful young daughter, Victory. But the bubble surrounding Annie is pricked when she senses that the demons of her past have resurfaced and, to her horror, are now creeping up on her.
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On the surface, Annie Powers's life in a wealthy Florida suburb is happy and idyllic. Her husband, Gray, loves her fiercely; they have a beautiful young daughter, Victory. But the bubble surrounding Annie is pierced when she senses that the demons of her previous life, when she was known as Ophelia March, have resurfaced and, to her horror, are now creeping up on her. Disturbing events-the appearance of a familiar dark figure on the beach, the mysterious murder of her psychologist-trigger strange and confusing memories for Annie, who realizes she has to quickly piece them together before her new life is taken away from her.
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0307338487 excerptUnger: BLACK OUT
When my mother named me Ophelia, she thought she was being literary. She didn't realize she was being tragic. But then, I'm not sure she understood the concept of tragedy, the same way that people who are born into money don't realize they're rich, don't even know there's another way to live. She thought the name was beautiful, thought it sounded like a flower, knew it was from a famous story (play or novel, she wouldn't have been able to tell you). I guess I should consider myself lucky, since her other choices were Lolita and Gypsy Rose. At least Ophelia had some dignity.
I'm thinking this as I push a cart through the produce aisle of my local supermarket, past rows of gleaming green apples and crisp blooms of lettuce, of fat, shiny oranges and taut, waxy red peppers. The overly familiar man in meats waves at me and gives me what I'm sure he thinks is a winning smile but which only serves to make my skin crawl. "Hi, honey," he'll say. Or "Hi, sweetie." And I'll wonder what it is about me that invites him to be so solicitous. I am certainly not an open or welcoming person; I can't afford to be too friendly. Of course, I can't afford to be too unfriendly, either. I look at my reflection in the metal siding of the meat case to confirm that I am aloof and unapproachable, but not strangely so. My reflection is warped and distorted by the various dings and scars in the metal.
"Hi there, darlin'," he says with an elaborate sweep of his hand and a slight bow.
I give him a cool smile, more just an upturning of the corner of my mouth. He steps aside with a flourish to let me pass.
I have become the type of woman who would have intimidated my mother. Most days I pull my freshly washed, still-wet blond hair back severely into a ponytail at the base of my neck. The simplicity of this appeals to me. I wear plain, easy clothes-a pair of cropped chinos and an oversize white cotton blouse beneath a navy barn jacket. Nothing
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special, except that my bag and my shoes cost more than my mother might have made in two months. She would have noticed something like that. It would have made her act badly, turned her catty and mean. I don't feel anything about this. It's a fact, plain and simple, as facts tend to be. Well, some of them, any- way. But I still see her in my reflection, her peaches-and-cream skin, her high cheekbones, her deep brown eyes. I see her in my daugh- ter, too.
"Annie? Hel-lo-oh?"
I'm back in produce, though, honestly, I don't remember what caused me to drift back here. I am holding a shiny, ripe nectarine in my hand. I must have been gazing at it as if it were a crystal ball, trying to divine the future. I look up to see my neighbor Ella Singer watching me with equal parts amusement and concern. I'm not sure how long she has been trying to get my attention or how long I've been staring at the nectarine. We're more than neighbors; we're friends, too. Everyone here calls me Annie, even Gray, who knows better.
"Where were you?" she asks.
"Sorry," I say, with a smile and a quick shake of my head. "Just out of it."
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Good. Great."
She nods, grabs a few nectarines of her own. "Where's Vicky?"
All the women in our neighborhood, her teachers, her friends' mothers, call my daughter Vicky. I don't correct them, but it always makes me cringe internally. It's not her name. I named her Victory because it meant something to me, and I hope in time it will mean something to her. True, I named her in a fit of overconfidence. But Gray understood my choice and agreed. We were both feeling overconfident that day. I'm still clinging to that feeling. Though recently, for reasons I can't explain, it has begun to fade.
"She's with Gray's stepmom. Swimming lessons with Grandma," I say, dropping the fruit into a clear plastic bag. The nectarines give off a fresh, sweet aroma. They are almo
"Annie? Hel-lo-oh?"
I'm back in produce, though, honestly, I don't remember what caused me to drift back here. I am holding a shiny, ripe nectarine in my hand. I must have been gazing at it as if it were a crystal ball, trying to divine the future. I look up to see my neighbor Ella Singer watching me with equal parts amusement and concern. I'm not sure how long she has been trying to get my attention or how long I've been staring at the nectarine. We're more than neighbors; we're friends, too. Everyone here calls me Annie, even Gray, who knows better.
"Where were you?" she asks.
"Sorry," I say, with a smile and a quick shake of my head. "Just out of it."
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Good. Great."
She nods, grabs a few nectarines of her own. "Where's Vicky?"
All the women in our neighborhood, her teachers, her friends' mothers, call my daughter Vicky. I don't correct them, but it always makes me cringe internally. It's not her name. I named her Victory because it meant something to me, and I hope in time it will mean something to her. True, I named her in a fit of overconfidence. But Gray understood my choice and agreed. We were both feeling overconfident that day. I'm still clinging to that feeling. Though recently, for reasons I can't explain, it has begun to fade.
"She's with Gray's stepmom. Swimming lessons with Grandma," I say, dropping the fruit into a clear plastic bag. The nectarines give off a fresh, sweet aroma. They are almo
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Autoren-Porträt von Lisa Unger
Lisa Unger is an award-winning New York Times and international bestselling author. Her novels have sold over 1 million copies in the U.S. and have been translated into 26 different languages.From the Hardcover edition.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Lisa Unger
- 2009, 560 Seiten, Maße: 10,5 x 17,7 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Vintage, New York
- ISBN-10: 0307472299
- ISBN-13: 9780307472298
- Erscheinungsdatum: 24.04.2009
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"Riveting psychological suspense of the first order."-Harlan Coben
"A hurricane of a thriller.... Impossible to extract yourself until the last page."
-Entertainment Weekly
"A white hot page-turner."
-Naples Sun-Times
"Psychotic scary, all the way."
-New York Daily News
"Twisty, riveting, and enormously exciting."
-Joseph Finder, author of Power Play
"Unger's latest keeps the adrenaline pumping with a roller-coaster plot and harrowing psychological suspense.... Well worth the ride."
-People
"Full of twists and turns. A great read for anyone craving some suspense."
-Cosmopolitan
"Masterful.... Black Out spirals through one shock after another."
-St. Petersburg Times
"I read Black Out in one hungry gulp, and spent the rest of the night trying to calm my jangled nerves. This is a stunning, mind-bending shocker with moments of sheer terror."
-Tess Gerritsen, author of The Bone Garden
"[A] largely gripping narrative and evocative, muscular prose....Unger...create[s] the perfect razor's edge of tension."
-Associated Press
"Black Out is rewarding in a darkly voyeuristic way: the gruesomely realistic tale of a troubled teen's descent into a codependent hell on earth."
-AP Review
"Black Out ... is bound to be a sure hit. In it, [Unger] has written literature that is ... a thriller with more twists than a cage full of snakes. Right about the time that you think you know what's going on, the story takes another angle. Hold on tight...it's a scary ride!"
-Bookreporter.com
"Twisty, riveting, and enormously exciting. Lisa Unger is a powerful and elegant writer, and Black Out is her best novel yet."
-Joseph Finder, New York Times bestselling author of Power Play and Killer Instinct
"Unger, author of the best-selling and critically acclaimed Ridley Jones series...[creates the] compelling character of Annie: dark, troubled, and teetering on the brink."
-Booklist
"Let Lisa Unger work her magic and I promise the ending will be a
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major payoff you will love. This book is really something special - once again Lisa Unger has kept me up all night."
-Crimespree Magazine
"Annie Powers leads the perfect life in Florida with her husband, Gray, and their four-year-old daughter in this stellar character-driven stand-alone from bestseller Unger (A Sliver of Truth). Less than a decade earlier, however, Annie was Ophelia March, the teenage captive-or accomplice-of spree killer Marlowe Geary. Gray, a partner in his father's private security consultant firm, tracked Marlowe and rescued Ophelia after sending the killer's car over a cliff. Reinventing herself with Gray's help, Annie can't remember all that happened during her years with Marlowe, and she's prone to panic attacks and blackouts. When a strange man appears on her property, Annie's sure Marlowe is back. As a shady police detective digs into her past, Annie must try to recover the memories she buried if she's ever going to be free from Marlowe. Unger expertly turns what could have been a routine serial-killer story into a haunting odyssey for Annie, dropping red herrings and clues along the way until the reader feels as unsettled as Annie."
-Publishers Weekly, starred review
-Crimespree Magazine
"Annie Powers leads the perfect life in Florida with her husband, Gray, and their four-year-old daughter in this stellar character-driven stand-alone from bestseller Unger (A Sliver of Truth). Less than a decade earlier, however, Annie was Ophelia March, the teenage captive-or accomplice-of spree killer Marlowe Geary. Gray, a partner in his father's private security consultant firm, tracked Marlowe and rescued Ophelia after sending the killer's car over a cliff. Reinventing herself with Gray's help, Annie can't remember all that happened during her years with Marlowe, and she's prone to panic attacks and blackouts. When a strange man appears on her property, Annie's sure Marlowe is back. As a shady police detective digs into her past, Annie must try to recover the memories she buried if she's ever going to be free from Marlowe. Unger expertly turns what could have been a routine serial-killer story into a haunting odyssey for Annie, dropping red herrings and clues along the way until the reader feels as unsettled as Annie."
-Publishers Weekly, starred review
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