This Much Is True Read Free

time.”
    He looks down at me in surprise. Then, he just looks sad. I start to ask him why but then there’s a thundering explosion from right behind us. He shields my face and runs faster. After a few moments more, he automatically turns, still holding me in his arms. The two of us helplessly watch this raging inferno engulf what’s left of my car as well as the black SUV forever welded to it. The flames rise high into the air. There are the faintest screams for a few precious seconds, and the gathering crowd cries out in this unified song of terror. I focus on those screams, despite the hypnotic chorus all around. “My sister. She’s an angel,” I say in this toneless voice I don’t really recognize as the screams die away. I point to my car—the raging inferno that was my car. My wrist dangles at an odd angle and there’s so much blood. It’s everywhere. “My sister.”
    “Oh God. No,” the stranger says.
    “There is no God, Elvis,” I whisper.
    And then there’s nothing. Mercifully, the blackness takes me.
    Months later, I still hear Holly’s screams in my head in just about every moment I’m awake. No need to write horror; I live it.
    * * * *

CHAPTER TWO
    Linc ~ There was this girl
    “ T here was this girl . She would have been brought in a few hours ago? She was in a car accident with her sister. Her sister…she didn’t…make it.”
    I swallow hard as I’m all too familiar with how to damp down this kind of painful loss for myself, even though empathy attempts to wrestle with me now. I’m still shaken by what transpired on the 101 just three hours ago. It was horrific for everyone there but especially for the girl I swooped up in my arms and ran away with from the inferno. The image of her beautiful devastated face and haunting emerald green eyes stay with me.
    The woman behind the information desk has this long mane of silver hair that’s gathered up in this huge gold clip and neatly pulled back from her surprisingly unlined face. I notice the fashionable style because my mom used to wear her hair that way, whenever my mom had a big interview with one of the entertainment shows or a big spread with Harper’s or Vogue. Cara Sanderson Presley said it made her feel young and fresh and put together. This woman looks like the same kind of regal queen as my mother as she sits there behind this huge computer monitor that makes it difficult to fully see her. This lady stares at me with her mouth half-open, as if she’s trying to place me but isn’t quite sure yet.
    For my part, I pull my baseball cap forward because the last thing I need is someone to recognize me, a lthough that might help with the situation. Seconds later, I decide to take off my cap and hold it in my hands and give her my best I-need-your-help look, complete with a charming smile. “There’s this girl. She has raven-black hair; well, it’s more the color of dark ground espresso, I guess. It’s long? She was in a car accident about three hours ago. And I was just wondering…”
    “We can’t give out information about our patients, young man. And aren’t you that baseball player? The one the major leagues are clamoring to sign? Baseball pitcher. What’s your name? A President’s name. Something Presley. I remember it because I remember it was Elvis’s last name. The singer? Surely you know his songs. Young people these days not remembering Elvis Presley is just a crime. We watch American Idol sometimes, and I keep hoping one year they’ll feature his songs because if you really want to know who could sing and dance—well, it had to be Elvis Presley. Well, it’s a good way to remember your last name in any case. I’m sure you get that all the time.”
    “All the time.”
    “My husband would be thrilled at meeting you. I am, too, of course, but…well, I’m not much for baseball anymore.” She sighs. “We used to go all the time, but now it’s just so darned expensive. Our son will splurge for tickets every once