You Will Remember Me by Hannah McKinnon (best sales books of all time txt) 📕

Hannah Mary McKinnon was born in the UK, grew up in Switzerland and now lives in Canada with her husband and three sons. Connect with her on Facebook and Instagram @hannahmarymckinnon, and Twitter @hannahmmckinnon.

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Praise for You Will Remember Me

“Psychological suspense of the first order…this chiller will keep you mesmerized right through the jaw-dropping ending. Don’t miss it!”

—LISA UNGER, New York Times bestselling author of Confessions on the 7:45

“Skillfully plotted and paced…it explodes with an ending that made me gasp.”

—SAMANTHA DOWNING, USA TODAY bestselling author of My Lovely Wife and He Started It

“An unexpected, thrilling journey into the deepest, darkest corners of the mind.”

—HEATHER GUDENKAUF, New York Times bestselling author of The Weight of Silence and This Is How I Lied

“Diabolical, mesmerizing, riveting and irresistible… Standing ovation.”

—HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN, USA TODAY bestselling author of The First to Lie

“A slow-burn, tantalizing plot… An absolute must-read!”

—SAMANTHA M. BAILEY, #1 bestselling author of Woman on the Edge

“A gripping, chilling thriller that held me captive until the shocking end.”

—KIMBERLY BELLE, internationally bestselling author of Stranger in the Lake

“Clever, chillingly atmospheric…[this story] will stay with you long after you’ve raced to the end.”

—KAREN HAMILTON, internationally bestselling author of The Last Wife

“A riveting page-turner with a jaw-dropping twist that will blow your mind!”

—ROBYN HARDING, internationally bestselling author of The Swap

“[A] twisty, fast-paced exploration of the intersection of the past and memory.”

—CATHERINE McKENZIE, USA TODAY bestselling author of You Can’t Catch Me and Six Weeks to Live

“A breathless roller coaster ride of lies and deceit.”

—LIV CONSTANTINE, internationally bestselling author

Also by Hannah Mary McKinnon

Sister Dear

Her Secret Son

The Neighbors

Hannah Mary McKinnon

You Will Remember Me

To Mum—

who always said being stubborn, ahem, persistent, would pay off

To Carolyn & Emily—who turn dreams into reality

Contents

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Know thyself? If I knew myself I’d run away.

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

1

THE MAN FROM THE BEACH

Cold. Cold was the first word that came to mind. The first thing I noticed when I woke up. Not a slight, uncomfortable chill to give me the shivers, but a cramp-inducing, iced-to-the-bone kind of frozen. I lay flat on my stomach, my left ear and cheek pressed into the rough, grainy wet ground beneath me, my entire body shaking. As my thoughts attempted to assemble themselves into some form of understandable order, a wave of icy water nipped at my bare toes and ankles, my instincts pulling my feet out of reach.

I had a sudden urge to get up, a primal need to take in my surroundings and assess the danger—was I in danger?—but the throbbing pain deep in my head made the slightest effort to shift anything seem impossible. Lifting a finger would be too much effort, and I acquiesced, allowing myself to lie still for another few freezing seconds as the frigid water crept over the balls of my feet again. When I blinked my eyes open, I was met by a thick, fuzzy darkness enveloping me like a cloak. Where the hell was I? And wherever it was, what was I doing here?

When I lifted my head a fraction of an inch, I could barely make out anything in front of me. There was hardly a noise, either, nothing but a gentle, steady rumble in the background, and the cry of a bird somewhere in the distance. I made my brain work its way backward—bird, rumble, sand, water—and the quartet formed the vaguely cohesive image of a beach.

Searching for confirmation, I inhaled the salty, humid air deep into my lungs as another slosh of water took aim at my calves. This time the discomfort was enough to push me to my feet, and I wrapped my arms around my naked torso, my sopping board shorts clinging to my goose-bump-covered thighs. An explosion of pain in my head threatened to send me back to my knees, and I swayed gently, wishing I had something to steady myself with, willing my body to stay upright. As I pressed a hand to the side of my skull, I let out a quiet yelp, and felt along a two-inch gash in my scalp. My eyes had adjusted somewhat to the lack of light, and my fingertips were covered in something dark that smelled of rust. Blood. How had I...?

Another low rumble made me turn around, shuffling slowly in a semicircle. The behemoth effort was rewarded by the sight of a thousand glistening waves dancing under the moonlight like diamonds, the water stretching out and disappearing into the darkness beyond. As my ears tuned in to the rhythmic whoosh of the waves, my mind worked hard to process each scrap of information it took in.

I’m definitely on a beach. It’s nighttime. I’m alone. What am I doing here?

Before I could answer the single question, a thousand others crowded my brain, an incessant string of chatter I couldn’t stop or get away from.

Where is everyone? Never mind them, where am I? Have I been here long? How did I get here? Where was I before? Where are my clothes? What day is it?

My legs buckled. Not because of the unfamiliar surroundings, the cold burrowing its way deeper into my core, or the pain in my head, which had increased tenfold. No. My knees hit the sand with a dull crunch when I realized I couldn’t answer any of the questions because I couldn’t recall anything. Nothing. Not the tiniest of details.

Including my name.

2

LILY

A frown settled over my face as I put my phone on the table, pushed the bowl of unfinished berry oatmeal away and stretched out my legs. It was Saturday morning, and I’d been up for ages, too eager—too hopeful—to spend a day at the