Arriving at work to find she’s lost more than five and a half days of her life, Briony has no recollection of where she’s been, or what has happened. Has she been ill or had a breakdown - or could she have been drugged and abducted?
Doubting her own sanity, Briony is fearful of what lies beyond the surface, yet driven to discover the truth. Going through her scarce memories, she realizes that something terrible might have happened to her during the time she has no recollection of.
Assisted by her friends Alesha and Jenny, they team up with a retired detective to uncover the truth. But where was she for 133 hours... and why?
Genre: FICTION / Thrillers / CrimeAmazon bestselling author.
O Hours
I step forward onto the main concourse of Glasgow Central station to find the not uncommon feature of a wet and greasy surface. As I rush forward, my foot skids on the tiles and I totter for a second or two, trying to regain my balance. For a moment, I marvel at the thought of a city with Glasgow’s pedigree for science, art and culture accepting some genius’s idea to floor their principal railway station with tiles. My years of teenage ballet training serve to no avail when a surge of rushing commuters jostle past. Clutching my handbag to my chest, my other hand reaches out, seeking a hand, an arm, a shoulder… anything for support, but it’s not to be. I yelp as my hip thuds against a bench whilst my ankle twists under me, my torso spiralling to the ground. I notice one heel of my stilettos is twisted out of shape.
Crowds of passengers pass me in a blur in the moments I take to nurse my wounds and regain some composure. I realise I’ve scraped my thigh, but more concerning is my throbbing ankle. Once I’ve confirmed there’s nothing broken, I apply a gentle massage to ease the pain then try staggering to my feet.
“You alright, luv?” I hear the man’s voice, an English accent, as my elbow is supported, lifting me upright. He’s gone before I can consider a reply. A literal case of too little, too late, I think.
Biting on my lip to deflect my attention from the pains in my leg, I shuffle forward a few paces. I feel strange, disoriented. It’s not the fall. My head is fuzzy; I can’t seem to think straight. It isn’t only my throbbing ankle; my limbs are sore, disjointed almost, and I have an ache from my nether regions. I must be coming down with something.
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Italian
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Unavailable for translation.
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Emanuel Guedes Santos
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Kristina Ilciukaite
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