October 2010
Dear Reader,
Tara Hudson is a brand-new author, but her fascination with ghosts goes back to childhood days spent with her grandmother, who would take her out to a strange cemetery guarded by rusted iron gates and tucked into the mountains of southeastern Oklahoma. Only later did she learn that this place was her family’s graveyard. Ever since, she’s continued to visit cemeteries—with her two closest girl friends. After a particularly eerie visit, she began writing a story to entertain them, imagining a ghost girl, Amelia, and the living boy who can truly see her. It became Hereafter, the haunting story of loss and first love you hold in your hands.
I know you’ve heard other editors say what I must say now: “I couldn’t stop reading it! I was immediately compelled to know more.” Isn’t that what we all crave, a book that immediately transports us to a different place and lets us be with characters we really care about? For me Hereafter is such a book, and I hope it will be for you as well.
If you have thoughts you’d like to share and some moments to spare, I’d be so pleased to hear from you at barbara.lalicki@harpercollins.com.
Very best,
Barbara Lalicki
SVP & Editorial Director
P.S. Becca Fitzpatrick, author of the New York Times bestseller Hush, Hush, called Hereafter “a tender and poignant love story with a ghostly twist,” and Andrea Cremer, author of Nightshade, said, “Twisting together chilling mystery and sweet romance, Hereafter leaves the possibilities of a world unseen lingering in your mind and your heart long after you’ve turned the final page.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Advance Reader’s e-proof
courtesy of HarperCollins Publishers
This is an advance reader’s e-proof made from digital files of the uncorrected proofs. Readers are reminded that changes may be made prior to publication, including to the type, design, layout, or content, that are not reflected in this e-proof, and that this e-pub may not reflect the final edition. Any material to be quoted or excerpted in a review should be checked against the final published edition. Dates, prices, and manufacturing details are subject to change or cancellation without notice.
HEREAFTER
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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HEREAFTER
TARA HUDSON
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Hereafter
Copyright © 2011 by Tara Hudson
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-0-06-202677-4
11 12 13 14 15 XXXXXX 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
To Robert. In an instant. In a heartbeat.
HEREAFTER
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Chapter
One
It was the same as always, but different from the first time.
It felt as if my sternum was a door into which someone had roughly shoved a key and twisted. The door—my lungs—wanted to open, wanted to stop fighting against the twist of the key. That primitive part of my brain, the one designed for survival, wanted me to breathe. But a louder part of my brain was also fighting any urge that might let the water rush in.
The black water seized and scrambled and found purchase anywhere it could. I kept my lips pressed together and my eyes shut tight, though I desperately needed sight to escape this nightmare. Yet the water still entered my mouth and my nose in little seeps. Even my eyes and ears couldn’t hold it back. The water wrapped around my arms and legs like shifting fabric, tugging and pulling my body in all directions. I was buried under layers and layers of slippery, twisting fabric, and I wasn’t going to claw my way free.
I’d struggled too long, fought too hard, and now my body was weakening from the lack of oxygen. The flail of my arms toward what I assumed was the surface became less exaggerated, as if the invisible fabric around them had thickened. I literally shook my head against the urge to breathe. I shouted No! in my head. No!
But instinct is a slippery thing, too—ultimate and untrickable.
My mouth opened and I breathed.
And as I always did, except for the first time I’d experienced this nightmare, I woke up.
My eyes remained closed and I continued to gasp. This time my gasp brought hysterical gulps of air, but not the brackish water that had flooded my lungs and stopped my heart during that first nightmare.
Now the air was useless, purposeless in my dead lungs. I nonetheless felt a dull joy at its presence: although my heart no longer beat, the air meant I was no longer drowning.
Still, I felt a little silly for being afraid. After all, it’s not like you can die twice.
And I was already dead, that much was certain.
It had taken me awhile to accept the fact, perhaps years—time became a very uncertain thing in death. Years of wandering, confused and distracted by every sight and sound. Screaming at passersby, begging them to help me understand why I was so lost or even just to acknowledge my presence. I could see myself—bare feet, white dress, and dark brown hair that had dried into thick waves—but others couldn’t. And I never saw another person like myself, someone dead, so there was really no point of comparison.