In my mind, I see her running along the jetty. She loses her sneakers, but still goes on running. Stumbling, just to get to me as quickly as possible. She joins me in our hiding place, and the two of us make characters out of the people in the harbor.

Now she’s being led away by a police officer, toward his car. I look at the officer. What could his name be? Probably something short. John, or Bob, or something like that. I bet he has a dog. One of those yellow Labradors, which stinks when it’s been for a swim.

“Why are you smiling?” asks Linnea.

I look up. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

Maybe Linnea’s right, although there’s certainly no reason to smile. I’m exhausted, but we still have so many hoops to jump through.

My parents are sure to have a hundred questions. Not to mention her parents. Have Tom and Jeannette spotted the death notice placed by their daughter, who is still very much alive?

I gaze up the sky. The stars aren’t nearly as impressive as they were last year, but still I see the same constellations.

Look, my star sign.

She was comforting me at the moment when it should have been the other way around.

I cup my hands around my mouth and, for the first time in a year, I shout her name.

“Isolde!”

GUESTBOOK

The five-star hotel in the city where I used to live was always a part of Amsterdam that was out of reach.

What would it be like to sleep there?

With that question in mind, I started writing.

That’s the great thing about making up stories: you get to go to places that are normally off-limits.

When I was writing this book, someone I know also gave me a tour of a five-star hotel. Thanks to Lilian, Riverside suddenly took shape!

I’m just not sure I’d ever dare to spend the night at a five-star hotel.

Because I’m far too scared that I’d be sitting in one of those luxurious rooms and suddenly there’d be a knock at the door.

“Who’s there?” I’d ask.

And the answer would be: “Room Service!”

—Maren Stoffels

Don’t miss another un-put-downable thriller from Maren Stoffels.

I can see It from here.

It can’t see me.

It has to pay.

For everything.

All I need is a sign.

Please.

Give me a sign that I can begin.

“He’s gay. For sure.” Sky’s sitting on the backrest of the bench, right behind Alissa and me. It’s just the three of us. The rest of the park is deserted.

“Don’t think so.” Alissa takes out her wallet. “How much do you want to bet?”

I have no idea who my two best friends are talking about. Their conversations often pass me by, like I’m on the other side of a wall.