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Silence (Anglais) Relié – 4 octobre 2011


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Descriptions du produit

Extrait

Silence

CHAPTER

1


COLDWATER, MAINE

PRESENT DAY

EVEN BEFORE I OPENED MY eyes, I knew I was in danger.

I stirred at the soft crunch of footsteps drawing closer. A dim flicker of sleep remained, dulling my focus. I was flat on my back, a chill seeping through my shirt.

My neck was crooked at a painful angle, and I opened my eyes. Thin stones loomed out of the blue-black fog. For a strange suspended moment, an image of crooked teeth came to mind, and then I saw them for what they really were. Gravestones.

I tried to push myself up to sitting, but my hands slipped on the wet grass. Fighting the haze of sleep still curled around my mind, I rolled sideways off a half-sunken grave, feeling my way through the vapor. The knees of my pants soaked up dew as I crawled between the haphazardly placed graves and monuments. Mild recognition hovered, but it was a side thought; I couldn’t bring myself to focus through the excruciating pain radiating inside my skull.

I crawled along a wrought-iron fence, tamping down a layer of decaying leaves that had been years in the making. A ghoulish howl drifted down from above, and while it sent a shudder through me, it wasn’t the sound I was most frightened of. The footsteps trampled over the grass behind me, but whether they were near or far I couldn’t tell. A shout of pursuit cut through the mist, and I hurried my pace. I knew instinctively that I had to hide, but I was disoriented; it was too dark to see clearly, the eerie blue fog casting spells before my eyes.

In the distance, trapped between two walls of spindly and overgrown trees, a white stone mausoleum glowed through the night. Rising to my feet, I ran toward it.

I slipped between two marble monuments, and when I came out on the other side, he was waiting for me. A towering silhouette, his arm raised to strike. I tripped backward. As I fell, I realized my mistake: He was made of stone. An angel raised on a pediment, guarding the dead. I might have smothered a nervous laugh, but my head collided against something hard, jarring the world sideways. Darkness encroached on my vision.

I couldn’t have been out for long. When the stark black of unconsciousness faded, I was still breathing hard from the exertion of running. I knew I had to get up, but I couldn’t remember why. So I lay there, the icy dew mingling with the warm sweat of my skin. At long last I blinked, and it was then that the nearest headstone sharpened into focus. The engraved letters of the epitaph snapped into single-file lines.

HARRISON GREY

A DEVOTED HUSBAND AND FATHER

DIED MARCH 16, 2008

I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. Now I understood the familiar shadow that had lurked over my shoulder since waking up minutes ago. I was in Coldwater’s city cemetery. At my dad’s gravesite.

A nightmare, I thought. I haven’t really woken yet. This is all just a horrible dream.

The angel watched me, his chipped wings unfurled behind him, his right arm pointing across the cemetery. His expression was carefully detached, but the curve of his lips was more wry than benevolent. For one moment, I was almost able to trick myself into believing he was real and I wasn’t alone.

I smiled at him, then felt my lip quiver. I dragged my sleeve along my cheekbone, wiping away tears, though I didn’t remember starting to cry. I desperately wanted to climb into his arms, feeling the beat of his wings on air as he flew us over the gates and away from this place.

The resumed sound of footsteps pulled me out of my stupor. They were faster now, crashing through the grass.

I turned toward the sound, bewildered by the bob of light twinkling in and out of the misty darkness. Its beam rose and fell to the cadence of the footsteps—crunch . . . sweep . . . crunch . . . sweep—

A flashlight.

I squinted when the light came to a stop between my eyes, dazzling me blind. I had the terrible realization that I definitely wasn’t dreaming.

“Lookie here,” a man’s voice snarled, hidden behind the glare of light. “You can’t be here. Cemetery is closed.”

I turned my face away, specks of light still dancing behind my eyelids.

“How many others are there?” he demanded.

“What?” My voice was a dry whisper.

“How many more are here with you?” he continued more aggressively. “Thought you’d come out and play night games, did you? Hide-and-seek, I reckon? Or maybe Ghosts in the Graveyard? Not on my watch, you aren’t!”

What was I doing here? Had I come to visit my dad? I fished through my memory, but it was disturbingly empty. I couldn’t remember coming to the cemetery. I couldn’t remember much of anything. It was as if the whole night had been ripped out from under my feet.

Worse, I couldn’t remember this morning.

I couldn’t remember dressing, eating, school. Was it even a school day?

Momentarily shoving my panic deep down, I concentrated on orienting myself physically and accepted the man’s outstretched hand. As soon as I was sitting upright, the flashlight glared at me again. “How old are you?” he wanted to know.

Finally something I knew for certain. “Sixteen.” Almost seventeen. My birthday was coming up in August.

“What in the Sam Hill are you doing out here by yourself? Don’t you know it’s past curfew?”

I looked around helplessly. “I—”

“You ain’t a runaway, are you? Just tell me you’ve got someplace to go.”

“Yes.” The farmhouse. At the sudden recollection of home, my heart lifted, followed by the sensation of my stomach plummeting to my knees. Out after curfew? How long after? I tried unsuccessfully to shut out the image of my mom’s enraged expression when I walked through the front door.

“Does ‘yes’ got an address?”

“Hawthorne Lane.” I stood, but swayed violently when blood rushed to my head. Why couldn’t I remember how I’d gotten here? Surely I’d driven. But where had I parked the Fiat? And where was my handbag? My keys?

“Been drinking?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

I shook my head.

The beam of the flashlight had slipped marginally off my face, when suddenly it was square between my eyes yet again.

“Hold on a second,” he said, a note of something I didn’t like slipping into his voice. “You’re not that girl, are you? Nora Grey,” he blurted, as if my name was a knee-jerk response.

I retreated a step. “How—do you know my name?”

“The TV. The reward. Hank Millar posted it.”

Whatever he said next floated past. Marcie Millar was the closest thing I had to an archenemy. What did her dad have to do with this?

“They’ve been looking for you since end of June.”

“June?” I repeated, a drop of panic splattering inside me. “What are you talking about? It’s April.” And who was looking for me? Hank Millar? Why?

“April?” He eyed me queerly. “Why, girlie, it’s September.”

September? No. It couldn’t be. I would know if sophomore year had ended. I would know if summer vacation had come and gone. I’d woken up a mere handful of minutes ago, disoriented, yes, but not stupid.

But what reason did he have to lie?

With the flashlight lowered, I looked him over, getting my first full picture. His jeans were stained, his facial hair tufted from days without a razor, his fingernails long and black under the tips. He looked an awful lot like the vagabonds who wandered the railroad tracks and shacked up by the river during the summer months. They were known to carry weapons.

“You’re right, I should be getting home,” I said, backing away, brushing my hand against my pocket. The familiar bump of my cell phone was missing. Same with my car keys.

“Now just where do you think you’re going?” he asked, coming after me.

My stomach cramped at his sudden movement, and I broke into a run. I raced in the direction the stone angel pointed, hoping it led to a south gate. I would have used the north gate, the one I was familiar with, but it would have required me to run toward the man, instead of away. The ground cut away beneath my feet, and I stumbled downhill. Branches scraped my arms; my shoes slapped against the uneven and rocky ground.

“Nora!” the man shouted.

I wanted to shake myself for telling him I lived on Hawthorne Lane. What if he followed me?

His stride was longer, and I heard him tramping behind me, closing in. I flung my arms wildly, beating back the branches that sank like claws into my clothes. His hand clamped my shoulder, and I swung around, batting it away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Now hold on a minute. I told you about the reward, and I aim to get it.”

He lunged for my arm a second time, and on a shot of adrenaline, I drove my foot into his shin.

“Uuhn!” He doubled over, clutching his lower leg.

I was shocked by my violence, but I didn’t have any other choice. Staggering back a few steps, I cast a hasty look around, trying to get my bearings. Sweat dampened my shirt, slinking down my backbone, causing every hair on my body to stand tall. Something was off. Even with my groggy memory, I had a clear map of the cemetery in my head—I’d been here countless times to visit my dad’s grave—but while the cemetery felt familiar, down to every last detail including the overwhelming smell of burning leaves and stale pond water, something about its appearance was off.

And then I put my finger on it.

The maple trees were speckled with red. A sign of impending autumn. But that wasn’t possible. It was April, not September. How could the leaves be changing? Was the man possibly telling the truth?

I glanced back to see the man limping after me, pressing his cell phone to his ear. “Yeah, it’s her. I’m sure of it. Leaving the cemetery, heading south.”

I plunged ahead with renewed fear. Hop the fence. Find a well-lit, well-populated area. Call the police. Call Vee—

Vee. My best and most trusted friend. Her house was closer than mine. I’d go there. Her mom would call the police. I’d describe to them what the man looked like, and they’d track him down. They’d make sure he left me alone. Then they’d talk me back through the night, retracing my steps, and somehow the gaps in my memory would stitch back together and I’d have something to work with. I’d shake off this detached version of myself, this feeling of being suspended in a world that was mine but rejecting me.

I stopped running only to hoist myself over the cemetery fence. There was a field one block up, just on the other side of Wentworth Bridge. I’d cross it and weave my way up the tree streets—Elm and Maple and Oak—cutting through alleys and side yards until I was safe inside Vee’s house.

I was hurrying toward the bridge when the sharp sound of a siren wailed around the corner, and a pair of headlights pinned me in place. A blue Kojak light was attached to the roof of the sedan, which screeched to a halt on the far side of the bridge.

My first instinct was to run forward and point the police officer in the direction of the cemetery, describing the man who’d grabbed me, but as my thoughts came around, I was filled with dread.

Maybe he wasn’t a police officer. Maybe he was trying to look like one. Anyone could get their hands on a Kojak light. Where was his squad car? From where I stood, squinting through his windshield, he didn’t appear to be in uniform.

All these thoughts tumbled through me in a hurry.

I stood at the foot of the sloping bridge, gripping the stone wall for support. I was sure the maybe-officer had seen me, but I moved into the shadows of the trees bowing over the river’s edge anyway. From my peripheral vision, the black water of the Wentworth River glinted. As kids, Vee and I had crouched under this very bridge, catching crawdads from the riverbank by inserting sticks speared with hotdog pieces into the water. The crawdads had fastened their claws to the hotdog, refusing to let go even when we lifted them out of the river and shook them loose in a bucket.

The river was deep at the center. It was also well hidden, snaking through undeveloped property where no one had forked out money to install streetlights. At the end of the field, the water rushed on toward the industrial district, past retired factories, and out to sea.

I briefly wondered if I had it in me to jump off the bridge. I was terrified of heights and the sensation of falling, but I knew how to swim. I only had to make it into the water . . .

A car door shut, yanking me back to the street. The man in the maybe-police car had stepped out. He was all mob: curly dark hair, and dressed formally in a black shirt, black tie, black slacks.

Something about him slapped my memory. But before I could truly grasp it, my memory slammed shut and I was as lost as ever.

An assortment of twigs and branches littered the ground. I bent down, and when I straightened, I was holding a stick half as thick as my arm.

The maybe-officer pretended not to see my weapon, but I knew he had. He pinned a police badge to his shirt, then raised his hands level with his shoulders. I’m not going to hurt you, the gesture said.

I didn’t believe him.

He sauntered a few steps forward, taking care not to make any sudden movements. “Nora. It’s me.” I flinched when he spoke my name. I’d never heard his voice before, and that made my heart pound hard enough that I felt it clear up around my ears. “Are you hurt?”

I continued to watch him with growing anxiety, my mind darting in multiple directions. The badge could easily be fake. I’d already decided the Kojak light was. But if he wasn’t police, who was he?

“I called your mom,” he said, climbing the gradual slope of the bridge. “She’s going to meet us at the hospital.”

I didn’t drop the stick. My shoulders rose and fell with every breath; I could feel air panting between my teeth. Another bead of sweat slicked beneath my clothes.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he said. “It’s all over. I’m not going to let anybody hurt you. You’re safe now.”

I didn’t like his long, easy stride or the familiar way he spoke to me.

“Don’t come any closer,” I told him, the sweat on my palms making it hard to grip the stick properly.

His forehead creased. “Nora?”

The stick wobbled in my hand. “How do you know my name?” I demanded, not about to let him know how scared I was. How much he scared me.

“It’s me,” he repeated, gazing straight into my eyes, as if he expected lights to come blazing on. “Detective Basso.”

“I don’t know you.”

He said nothing for a moment. Then tried a new approach. “Do you remember where you’ve been?”

I watched him warily. I moved deeper in my memory, looking down even the darkest and oldest corridors, but his face wasn’t there. I had no recollection of him. And I wanted to remember him. I wanted something—anything—familiar to cling to, so I could make sense of a world that, from my vantage point, had been twisted to distortion.

“How did you get to the cemetery tonight?” he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly in that direction. His movements were cautious. His eyes were cautious. Even the line of his mouth was politic. “Did someone drop you off? Did you walk?” He waited. “I need you to tell me, Nora. This is important. What happened tonight?”

I’d like to know myself.

A wave of nausea rolled through me. “I want to go home.” I heard a brittle clatter near my feet. Too late, I realized I’d dropped the stick. The breeze felt cold on my empty palms. I wasn’t supposed to be here. The whole night was a huge mistake.

No. Not the whole night. What did I know of it? I couldn’t remember the whole of it. My only starting point was a slice back in time, when I’d woken on a grave, cold and lost.

I drew up a mental picture of the farmhouse, safe and warm and real, and felt a tear trickle down the side of my nose.

“I can take you home.” He nodded sympathetically. “I just need to take you to the hospital first.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, hating myself for being reduced to crying. I couldn’t think of a better or faster way to show him just how frightened I really was.

He sighed—the softest of sounds, as if he wished there were a way around the news he was about to deliver. “You’ve been missing for eleven weeks, Nora. Do you hear what I’m saying? Nobody knows where you’ve been the past three months. You need to be looked at. We need to make sure you’re okay.”

I stared at him without really seeing him. Tiny bells pealed in my ears but sounded very far off. Deep in my stomach I felt a lurch, but I tried to stuff the queasiness away. I’d cried in front of him, but I wasn’t going to be sick.

“We think you were abducted,” he said, his face unreadable. He’d closed the distance between us and now stood too close. Saying things I couldn’t grasp. “Kidnapped.”

I blinked. Just stood there and blinked.

A sensation grabbed my heart, tugging and twisting. My body went slack, tottering in the air. I saw the gold blur of the streetlights above, heard the river lapping under the bridge, smelled the exhaust from his running car. But it was all in the background. A dizzy afterthought.

With only that brief warning, I felt myself swaying, swaying. Falling into nothing.

I was unconscious before I hit the ground.

Revue de presse

Praise for Silence:
"An action packed suspenseful story that had my eyes glued to the page and tears falling…Silence is another fascinating, memorable, heart-breaking, story." Dark Readers
"The perfect escape into fantasy and a love that can break all boundaries." Sugarscape
"Heady read for the teens of the family." Liverpool Echo
"I really enjoyed Silence. It was a great instalment in the series." Cheezyfeet Books
"An enjoyable read…I'm really excited to see where book four will take us." Bookaholics
Praise for Crescendo:
"dark, sexy and compelling" The Bookseller
"action-packed and creepy… quite simply amazing" Once Upon A Bookshelf
"an enthralling sequel… this series is still the best of the angel bunch" Wondrous Reads
"great sexual tension… hot, tense and moreish" The Bookbag
"an absolute must for angel fans and lovers of all books paranormal" The Bookette
Praise for Hush, Hush:
"A rollercoaster of twists and turns... a great, new and different novel" Sunday Express
"A fast-paced, exhilarating read... fans of paranormal romance should be rapt." Publishers Weekly
"absolutely brilliant!" BellaAndEdward.com
"Hush, Hush is just as amazing as everybody has been saying it is. I completely and utterly loved it." Solittletimeforbooks.blogspot.com --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Relié .


Détails sur le produit

  • Relié: 448 pages
  • Editeur : Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers (4 octobre 2011)
  • Collection : The Hush, Hush Saga
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 1442426640
  • ISBN-13: 978-1442426641
  • Dimensions du produit: 14 x 3,8 x 21 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.3 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (11 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: 52.677 en Livres anglais et étrangers (Voir les 100 premiers en Livres anglais et étrangers)
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Commentaires en ligne

4.3 étoiles sur 5

Commentaires client les plus utiles

15 internautes sur 15 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile  Par Simi sur 2 novembre 2011
Format: Relié
Et bien... après un an d'attente pour pouvoir découvrir ce 3e tome, je dois dire que j'en attendais beaucoup, j'appréhendais de voir comment l'auteure allait gérer le cliffhanger de malade qu'elle nous avait laissé à la fin de Crescendo... le problème de si longues attentes c'est que parfois on en attend trop et le livre peut facilement nous décevoir (cf avis sur le tome 11 de la Communauté du Sud), en général, ça passe ou ça casse, en tous cas pour moi et là, je dois dire que ÇA PASSE et même plus que bien, j'ai adoré Silence !!!!!

Mon dieu quel bonheur de retrouver Nora et Patch ! Ah la la, on croyait que le plus dur était passé mais non, Becca Fitzpatrick nous sort une de ces intrigues, je vous dis même pas, je n'ai rien vu venir du début à la fin, j'ai été de surprise en surprise, je ne me suis pas doutée une seconde du rebondissement final, etc... que du bonheur !

L'écriture est toujours aussi fluide et agréable, malheureusement... ce qui fait que j'ai encore dégommé ce 3e tome en à peine plus de 48h (et encore je me suis retenue sur la fin...) et maintenant je n'ai plus que mes yeux pour pleurer... mais heureusement une bonne nouvelle dans tout ça, on aura quand même un 4e tome alors que cette saga était normalement annoncée comme une trilogie ! Quand on voit comment les choses évoluent, il ne peut pas en être autrement, tout n'est pas encore clos et il faut bien un tome en plus pour avoir la conclusion définitive !
Lire la suite ›
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3 internautes sur 3 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile  Par Mlle JeN sur 3 février 2012
Format: Relié
Hush-Hush, Crescendo, ces deux premiers tomes m'avaient rendu littéralement accro à l'écriture de Becca. Je les ai lu en anglais et une fois terminés, il me fallait attendre (beaucoup) trop longtemps pour la suite. J'en avais même oublié la date de sortie de "Silence".
La semaine dernière, Amazon me propose une liste de livres qui pourraient me convenir (au vu de mes derniers achats) et surprise : Silence !
Acheté, reçu, je me suis plongée dedans avec toute l'appréhension d'un tome qu'on attend trop longtemps.
Je l'ai dévoré en quelques jours.

L'auteure sait manier les mots pour qu'ils nous touchent. J'ai aimé, détesté, envié, désapprouvé les choix et les actes des personnages. Chaque page apporte son lot de rebondissements et malheureusement on les tourne plus vite les unes que les autres pour savoir la suite.
Nora & Patch, on en voudrait encore et encore.
Scott, Vee, Marcie, tous ont une place importante dans le déroulement de l'intrigue.

Becca nous emmène, une fois encore, dans les pensées de Nora, dans ses doutes, ses questionnements, ses envies, ses craintes. On aurait même envie d'être cette chère Nora ( Oui, Patch pèse dans la balance évidemment ! )

Ce livre m'a coupé le souffle, j'aurai aimé qu'il ne se termine pas et que je puisse lire la suite de cette histoire. Heureusement, ce n'est pas le dernier, comme annoncé, le tome 4 sortira cet automne. J'ose espérer que Becca nous fera la surprise de le finir plus rapidement...

Pour conclure : FONCEZ.
Si vous avez lu Hush Hush, Crescendo, vous devez lire Silence. Et si c'est la première fois que vous entendez parler de cette saga, Plongez vous au plus vite dans ce monde, les anges vous emmèneront faire un petit tour sur Terre.
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2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile  Par Petit coeur sur 10 mars 2012
Format: Relié
Fan incontestable de cette saga, j'attendais avec grande impatience ce 3e tome!
Bien sûr, je l'ai lu en une journée... impossible de m'en détacher! Malheureusement, je reste sur une pointe de déception.
L'ais-je lu trop vite? Bref, je n'ai pas ressenti la magie des sentiments tels que je les avais ressentis dans ces deux premières livres. Tout y présent (la peur, la haine, l'amour...).

J'ai trouvé l'intrigue de ce 3e tome trop prévisible... il manquait quelque chose d'inexplicable... ce qui fait que je suis restée sur ma faim en matière de suspens.

Je suis désolée d'émettre un avis si critique, et j'espère changer d'avis après une seconde lecture.

J'attends, néanmoins, avec impatience le 4e livre!
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile  Par Sophie sur 20 octobre 2012
Format: Relié
J'adore !!!!
Un livre simple à lire, qui détend et qui nous fait plaisir...
J'ai dévoré les 3 tomes et j'attends avec impatience le dernier tome qui sort en novembre je crois !!!!
Je vous le conseille vivement.
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Format: Relié Achat vérifié
J'ai beaucoup apprécié ce troisième tome. On voit une autre facette de notre héroïne & l'univers des anges reste toujours pleins de suspens & de questionnement. Hâte de lire le dernier Tome de cette saga.
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Par sylviane sur 3 avril 2013
Format: Relié Achat vérifié
apres hush hush et crescendo ce troisiemes livres est super !! je suis fan de toute la saga je la conseille fortement !!
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