I Died In That Apartment Before

An interactive novel. Five endings. One of them is true. At 3:07 in the morning, a cold hand closes around Maren Ostrander's wrist. It is her daughter, June, thirteen years old, wide awake and very still. She is not having a nightmare. She is looking at the strip of dark under the bedroom door the way you look at a face you hoped never to see again. "Don't touch it," June says. Every light in the building is out. The phones have no signal. And June knows, with a certainty no child should have, what is supposed to happen next, because she has already lived through this night once. Maren does not believe her. Then she does. Now there are two of them and one long night in a seventeen-story building full of sleeping neighbors. A list of names is going around. A key that does not fit anything yet. A dark car waiting at the entrance with its headlights off. A sergeant who says too little. A mother who spent her whole life looking away from one old secret, and a daughter who is done looking away. This book is yours to steer. At four points the story stops and asks what you would do. Each choice sends you down a different road: a warning shouted, a door left unlocked, a decision about who deserves to know the truth. Some roads end in a quiet, sad place. One road does not. I Died In That Apartment Before is a suspense story about mothers and daughters, about the things families agree not to say, and about how much silence an ordinary building can hold. It asks one question: if you were given the same night twice, would you do anything differently? Sixty-nine chapters. Four choices. Five endings.