Ergebnis für "Alice Alone" in Liebesromane

Half a million dollars will be Celeste Thorne’s reward for spending four years of her life in total isolation. No faces. No voices. No way to leave. Since Celeste has never really worried about being alone, the generous paycheck she’ll receive for her participation in the solitary psychological experiment seems like easy money. When she finds an injured hiker in the woods bordering her living compound, her strictly governed world is thrown into disarray.

On the day that her youngest child leaves home, Alice Hatton discovers two disturbing truths in a matter of hours. The Empty Nest cliché is true. And she does not love her husband Peter at all. Now in her fifties, Alice is appalled to realise that she is no longer considered her own person, but is instead defined by her relationships – mother to her adult children, wife to her husband. Horrified by the thought of spending another thirty years with Peter in their North London suburb, Alice decides to take matters into her own hands.

One rainy night in the woods outside of Portland, Dr. Victoria Peres is called to the site of a haunting crime scene. Six beautiful young girls - all in white dresses and arranged in a perfect circle - have been left for dead. Only one girl, fighting for her life at a nearby hospital, has survived the carnage. Things get stranger still when Victoria and the police discover that the disturbing arrangement of the bodies - as meticulous as it is mysterious - is straight from the pages of a decades-old cold case.

»Also, kleine Alice, warum kommst du in mein Wonderland? Hier gibt es weder einen netten Hutmacher noch ein weißes Kaninchen.« Er: Du kamst zu mir, weil du nichts mehr hattest. Hast dich hier in meinem Wonderland verlaufen und bist somit vom rechten Weg abgekommen. Meinst du wirklich, hier in der Dunkelheit bist du sicher, vor wem auch immer du flüchtest? Denkst du, ich würde dich beschützen? Oh, kleine Alice, wenn du wüsste, dass du dem größten Monster von allen in die Arme gelaufen bist, wärst du niemals zu mir in mein dunkles Wonderland gekommen.

Death had been chasing me my entire life. I survived the horrors of war, but it was the aftermath that truly destroyed me. People called me a recluse, but the only time I didn’t feel like I was suffocating was inside that house. For my daughter, I kept some semblance of normalcy by implementing a rigid routine. Once a week, I forced myself to walk to the diner at the end of the block—a ritual I despised but relied on as my last anchor to the real world.