Maybe she drowned herself in The Silent Pool. That’s what they thought when they found her green car near the area, lights on and hood up. The Morris Crowley was still full of the writer’s things, including a fur coat, a packed suitcase, and an expired driver’s license.
He emerged from the Las Vegas, Nevada desert in 1991, parched and confused, nameless and lost. He’d never be who he was again. Born again at 23, two decades of the drama of living was now erased from his mind.