I flipped the wall light switches as I walked toward the kitchen at the back of the house, half of them working, half not.
Daniel wasn’t here. Nobody was here.
I turned the deadbolt, but the wood around it was rotted and splintered, the bolt cutting through the frame whether it was locked or not. Everything looked as I’d left it: a box on the table, a used glass in the sink, everything coated in a fine layer of dust.
The ring. I took the steps two at a time and went straight for the nightstand, my fingers trembling as I reached inside the ceramic bowl, frantic heartbeats until my finger brushed metal.
The ring was there. It was fine. I slid it back on my finger and ran my shaking hand through my hair. Everything’s fine. Breathe.
The bed was still bare, but the sheets were folded and stacked on top, the way Daniel used to leave them when he started taking over for the things Mom couldn’t do. I moved the shoe boxes back to the closet and the rug back under the legs of the bed. I centered the jewelry box under the mirror, a dust-free square where it had sat for the last year, at least. Everything resettling. Realigning.
I felt the memories doing the same. Falling back into place. The investigation. All I’d left behind, neatly boxed away for ten years.
I looked around my room and saw the rectangles of discolored paint. I closed my eyes and saw the pictures that had hung in each spot.
My stomach churned, unsettled. Corinne had been in every one.
A coincidence, I thought. Corinne was so wrapped up in my childhood, I could probably find her shadow in anything here if I went looking for it.
I needed to find out what thought had surged and then faltered, driving Dad to a sheet of paper and an envelope with my name. What memory had been flickering from the dying portion of his brain, begging for attention before it faded away for good. Corinne. Alive. But when? I had to find out.
Everything was stuck here. Waiting for someone to step in and reorder the evidence, the stories, the events—until they came together in a way that made sense.
In that way, Dad was right. About time. About the past being alive.
I walked down the wooden steps into the kitchen, the linoleum shrinking away from the corners. And imagined, for a moment, catching sight of a girl with long bronze hair, her laughter echoing through the night as she skipped up the steps of the back porch—
Tick-tock, Nic.
I had to focus, make sense of this house, and get out. Before the past started creeping out from the walls, whispering from the grates. Before it unpacked itself from that box, layer after layer, all the way back to the start.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to everyone who helped guide this project from idea to finished book:
My agent, Sarah Davies, for all the feedback, advice, and support along the way. I’m so fortunate to have you in my corner.
My editor, Karyn Marcus, and the entire team at Simon & Schuster, including Marysue Rucci, Richard Rhorer, Jonathan Karp, Amanda Lang, Nicole McArdle, Marie Florio, and Sydney Morris. It’s such a pleasure working with you all!
Thanks also to Trish Todd, Sarah Knight, and Kaitlin Olson, whose early feedback helped give shape to this idea.
A huge thanks to Megan Shepherd, Ashley Elston, Elle Cosimano, and Romily Bernard, for all the feedback, brainstorming sessions, and encouragement on this project.
And to my family, for all your support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
© CHRISTINE WATLEY PHOTOGRAPHY
Megan Miranda is the author of the national bestseller All the Missing Girls. She has also written several books for young adults, including Fracture, Hysteria, Vengeance, Soulprint, and The Safest Lies. She grew up in New Jersey, graduated from MIT, and lives in North Carolina with her husband and two children. The Perfect Stranger is her second novel of psychological suspense.
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ALSO BY MEGAN MIRANDA
All the Missing Girls
The Safest Lies
Soulprint
Vengeance
Hysteria
Fracture
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Megan Miranda
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First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition April 2017
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Jacket design by Pete Garceau
Jacket photograph: House by Matthias Clamer/The Image
Bank/Getty Images; Trees by Mraust/Istock/Getty Images
Plus; Clouds by Bart Sadowski/Getty Images
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016042769
ISBN 978-1-5011-0799-3
ISBN 978-1-5011-0801-3 (ebook)
The Perfect Stranger Page 31