Now, Shepard is set to make her adult thriller debut with a story blending Hitchcock, S.J.
Watson, and Ruth Ware.
But Eliza swears she was pushed, and her rescuer is the only witness.
Credit: Jim Spellman/WireImage; Simon & Schuster
Her novel is completely fictional, isnt it?
The book will be released on April 17.
Read on, and pre-order the bookhere.
Excerpt from The Elizas, by Sara Shepard
IM SCREAMING AS I wake up.
My throat is raw.
My head is pounding.
I struggle to look around, but all I see are blurred shapes.
Theres an acrid taste of booze in my mouth.
Way to go, Eliza.
You dodge a bullet, and you do this?
I picture the upgraded suite Im missing out on because Im too wasted.
I stripped off my clothes and lay atop the bedsheets in only my underwear.
I sat in the enormous empty tub and later warmed my ass on the heated toilet seat.
It tasted so good.
Like an old friend.
As I drank, I stood on the balcony and stared into the courtyard seven flights below.
Its a perfect square, that courtyard, made up of flagstone paths and flower beds.
The space is divided into secluded quadrants that invite privacy .
Bludgeoned in the head, apparently, probably by some local goons she got mixed up with.
When the coroner got the dead womans true identity sorted out, the Hollywood headlines barely mentioned it.
They were still talking about what a relief it was that Diana Dane was okay.
No one cared whod offed Gigi Reese.
The mystery is still unsolved.
While I waited, I looked at the hand towels in the bathroom.
They were soft, yet substantial.
I tried to imagine Gigi Reeses killer using such a towel to muffle her screams.
Or maybe he knocked her out quickly, and she hadnt had time to make a sound.
It would make a good bludgeoning tool.
In fact, I dont even see the bedside stand.
Light streams through a window, too but isnt it nighttime?
A face emerges above me.
I think shes awake.
Its my mothers crinkled forehead, her wire-frame glasses, the sunburned nose from Saturdays spent kite surfing.
She is so incongruous in this setting I assume, at first, that Im still dreaming.
What are you doing here?
It is an effort to speak.
It feels as though there is someone sitting on my face.
My mother licks her lips.
And then she sighs.
Its a big sigh, sad and long, gloomy and defeated.
It sets my heart thumping.
My mother only calls me honey when Ive done something to really shake her up.
Weve been through things, me and my mom.
Ive scared her one too many times.
My stepfather, Bill, shimmers into view.
There are mussed tufts of grayish hair above his ears.
Dont worry, chicken.
Youre going to be okay.
I remember the scream Id made upon waking.
Gazes slide to the left.
I spy my stepsister, Gabby, slouched in a doorway.
This isnt my hotel suite atall.
I notice a machine standing to my left.
Green LED numbers march across a screen.
The beeping sound is rhythmic, organic, matching the cadence of a body my body.
Theres an IV pole with bags and tubes next to me, too.
Why am I in a hospital?
Again, no one speaks.
A slick, cold feeling creeps down my back.
A voice prods from somewhere deep.Youve got to get ahold of yourself.
I hear clinking glasses and a strain of Low Rider on the stereo but what stereo?
My vision swirls.Stop staring, someone says.
And:Ive been looking for you.
I give a shot to grab the memory, but its a petal blowing off a patio.
When was this from?
Is it even real?
I try another question.
What day is it?
Sunday, my mother answers.
Youve been asleep for a while.
Why am I in a hospital?
Bill clears his throat awkwardly.
You were found at the bottom of another pool last night.
In a way, Im not surprised.
This is, what, the fourth time Ive almost drowned?
No wonder my family seems fatigued.
The one at the Tranquility resort?
Bill says it like a statement, not a question.
I glance at my mother.
I hate that Im disappointing her scaringher but .
My mothers face shifts into a mix of anger and annoyance, her favorite way to deflect fear.
The last thing you should be worrying about right now is your phone.
The doctors want you to rest.
you’re gonna wanna get your strength back up.
I crane my neck and look at Gabby.
Her expression is grave behind her round glasses.
A sliver of memory from last night suddenly wriggles through.
Its nighttime, a few hours after my minibar and room-service binge.
I am standing on the pool deck at the Tranquility, but I dont know why.
Waves bob tempestuously on the water.
Towels are thrown haphazardly across chairs.
The diving board wobbles, as if someone has just jumped off .
and dissolved into nothing.
The sky is very dark in the memory, opaque black velvet.
I can practically feel my heels ticking against the hard tiled pool deck.
Theres a confusion of movement, and I trip.
Theres a yelp myyelp and a strangers laugh.
The water is shockingly cold when I hit it belly-first.
My useless limbs flap, I give a shot to paddle, but I quickly give out.
Air leaves my lungs.
My shoes fall off my feet as I sink to the bottom.
I inhale and detect the faintest hint of pool chlorine in my nostrils.
I hear that Low Rider riff again.
A cold sweat breaks out on the surface of my skin.
Did they find him?
My mothers lips part.
The person who pulled you out of the water?
Once again I feel those strong hands pushing me from behind.
Once again I hear that laugh.
A high-pitched, mocking,satisfiedlaugh.
The person who pushed mein, I whisper.
