Summary for "The lovely bones"

Para 1:
The lovely bones is a book about Susie Salmon's death. She was raped and murdered by her neighbor Mr. Harvey in the book. But in the movie she was just murdered. Now she is in the middle of going to heaven. But she cannot. She has to let her family know what happened to her. She believe's that there is no such thing as death. I have not yet finished this book. But it is very tragic. How will she communicate with her family? To find out more read the book!

Para 2: The p.o.v. or the point of view in my book is first person. I know this because it uses I, me, my, etc. The book uses stuff like "Thanks," I said, even though he gave me what my friend Clarissa and I had dubbed the skeevies." I like reading books with first person p.o.v. 

In this part of the story/the book he rapes/kills little Susie Salmon (It's disturbing please be aware it's very graphic) :
In a little while he said, "Aren't you warm, Susie? Why don't you take off your parka." 
I did. 
After this he said, "You're very pretty, Susie." 
"Thanks," I said, even though he gave me what my friend Clarissa and I had dubbed the skeevies. 
"Do you have a boyfriend?" 
"No, Mr. Harvey," I said. I swallowed the rest of my Coke, which was a lot, and said, "I got to go, Mr. Harvey. This is a cool place, but I have to go." 
He stood up and did his hunchback number by the six dug-in steps that led to the world. "I don't know why you think you're leaving." 
I talked so that I would not have to take in this knowledge: Mr. Harvey was no character. He made me feel skeevy and icky now that he was blocking the door. 
"Mr. Harvey, I really have to get home." 
"Take off your clothes." 
"What?" 
"Take your clothes off," Mr. Harvey said. "I want to check that you're still a virgin." 
"I am, Mr. Harvey," I said. 
"I want to make sure. Your parents will thank me." 
"My parents?" 
"They only want good girls," he said. 
"Mr. Harvey," I said, "please let me leave." 
"You aren't leaving, Susie. You're mine now." 
Fitness was not a big thing back then; aerobics was barely a word. Girls were supposed to be soft, and only the girls we suspected were butch could climb the ropes at school. 
I fought hard. I fought as hard as I could not to let Mr. Harvey hurt me, but my hard-as-I-could was not hard enough, not even close, and I was soon lying down on the ground, in the ground, with him on top of me panting and sweating, having lost his glasses in the struggle. 
I was so alive then. I thought it was the worst thing in the world to be lying flat on my back with a sweating man on top of me. To be trapped inside the earth and have no one know where I was. 
I thought of my mother. 
My mother would be checking the dial of the clock on her oven. It was a new oven and she loved that it had a clock on it. "I can time things to the minute," she told her own mother, a mother who couldn't care less about ovens. 
She would be worried, but more angry than worried, at my lateness. As my father pulled into the garage, she would rush about, fixing him a cocktail, a dry sherry, and put on an exasperated face: "You know junior high," she would say. "Maybe it's Spring Fling." "Abigail," my father would say, "how can it be Spring Fling when it's snowing?" Having failed with this, my mother might rush Buckley into the room and say, "Play with your father," while she ducked into the kitchen and took a nip of sherry for herself. 
Mr. Harvey started to press his lips against mine. They were blubbery and wet and I wanted to scream but I was too afraid and too exhausted from the fight. I had been kissed once by someone I liked. His name was Ray and he was Indian. He had an accent and was dark. I wasn't supposed to like him. Clarissa called his large eyes, with their half-closed lids, "freak-a-delic," but he was nice and smart and helped me cheat on my algebra exam while pretending he hadn't. He kissed me by my locker the day before we turned in our photos for the yearbook. When the yearbook came out at the end of the summer, I saw that under his picture he had answered the standard "My heart belongs to" with "Susie Salmon." I guess he had had plans. I remember that his lips were chapped. 
"Don't, Mr. Harvey," I managed, and I kept saying that one word a lot. Don't. And I said please a lot too. Franny told me that almost everyone begged "please" before dying. 
"I want you, Susie," he said. 
"Please," I said. "Don't," I said. Sometimes I combined them. "Please don't" or "Don't please." It was like insisting that a key works when it doesn't or yelling "I've got it, I've got it, I've got it" as a softball goes sailing over you into the stands. 
"Please don't." 
But he grew tired of hearing me plead. He reached into the pocket of my parka and balled up the hat my mother had made me, smashing it into my mouth. The only sound I made after that was the weak tinkling of bells. 
As he kissed his wet lips down my face and neck and then began to shove his hands up under my shirt, I wept. I began to leave my body; I began to inhabit the air and the silence. I wept and struggled so I would not feel. He ripped open my pants, not having found the invisible zipper my mother had artfully sewn into their side. 
"Big white panties," he said. 
I felt huge and bloated. I felt like a sea in which he stood and pissed and shat. I felt the corners of my body were turning in on themselves and out, like in cat's cradle, which I played with Lindsey just to make her happy. He started working himself over me. 
"Susie! Susie!" I heard my mother calling. "Dinner is ready." 
He was inside me. He was grunting. 
I knew he was going to kill me. I did not realize then that I was an animal already dying. 
"Why don't you get up?" Mr. Harvey said as he rolled to the side and then crouched over me. 
His voice was gentle, encouraging, a lover's voice on a late morning. A suggestion, not a command. 
I could not move. I could not get up. 
When I would not -was it only that, only that I would not follow his suggestion? -he leaned to the side and felt, over his head, across the ledge where his razor and shaving cream sat. He brought back a knife. Unsheathed, it smiled at me, curving up in a grin. 
He took the hat from my mouth. 
"Tell me you love me," he said.