Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol (38 page)

Gray leaned in. “We’ll be out of here soon, Everett. Are you going to want to say anything outside?”

“Yeah, I’ve got something to read, but you need to get it for me. It’s with the stuff from my pockets. White sheet of paper, folded up.”

Outside, the skies had grown mean and dark, and a strong wind was kicking up. I could hear outcries about my fast release among the throngs of people covering the steps of the police headquarters. Even more media crews and people had gathered here than at the airport. Questions were being fired from all directions about “special treatment,” “another O. J.,” and “letting the rock-star killer go free.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Gray said, his white hair whipping in the wind, and his voice echoing as he stood behind a makeshift podium where there must have been fifty microphones hooked, taped, and hanging overhead. “Everett has a few words he would like to share today.”

The crowd went nuts.

“Before he speaks, I just want to say that we are confident he will be cleared in a court of law of all charges filed against him.” Gray’s voice seemed to bounce off the stormy sky.

A mixture of cheers and boos arose from the crowd.

Gray gestured for me to step forward.

I hesitated just a moment, forcing my shoulders back and taking in a deep breath. Slowly I walked to the podium, adjusted the microphone, and unfolded the piece of paper that had grown warm in my hands. I was nervous, not used to being in front of people without the influence of drugs and alcohol.

“Good day, ladies and gentlemen. What I want to say today does not have to do with the death of Endora Crystal.”

I paused, chilled by the resonance of my own voice. “As my friend, Gray Harris, stated—we are confident the truth, surrounding the details of her unfortunate death, will come out in the days ahead, and our condolences go out to her family.

“What I would like to talk to you about for a moment has to do with a young lady named Olivia Gilbert, who lays in a hospital bed in her home in Xenia, Ohio. She is a young lady I hurt very badly… What I’d like to talk to you about has to do with my nephew, David Lester, who was killed suddenly along with two other young people and an elderly couple in a tragic car accident in New York recently… What I want to say has to do with the overwhelming amount of fame and fortune I have amassed due to the success of a rock group known as DeathStroke.”

I paused again as the wind whipped across the microphone. “What I want to say is, it has all been too much for me. Too much selfishness. Too many drugs. Too much sinfulness. Too much hurt. Too much guilt. Too much…bad influence.”

Just then a huge gust of wind ripped across the landscape. I stepped back and squinted as papers flew, baseball caps danced across the crowd, and three or four mike stands crashed to the ground. I had to hold the sheet of paper I was reading from in both hands.

I found myself almost yelling to be heard over the wind. “Not long ago, I made a decision to surrender my life to Jesus Christ.”

A flash of white-hot lighting cracked across the Florida sky. For a split second, I thought I could taste aluminum foil in my mouth, the lightning seemed to have hit so close. No rain yet, but the tall antennas atop the TV trucks rocked and bent due to the enormous wind. I couldn’t hear anything, except the roar of the air current hitting the mike.

“I want you to know, I have found peace, joy, and the promise of eternal life in Jesus Christ. To you, the public, and to the many DeathStroke fans who will hear this message, I apologize to you from the bottom of my heart for misleading you with evil intent during my DeathStroke days. Although my sins have been forgiven by Christ, I also want to ask for your forgiveness as well.”

Suddenly, we were engulfed by the menacing clouds I had noticed back at the airport; it was black as night. Cold drizzle began to pelt my face and arms as I saw a beautiful, thin white horizon all around me.

“The new life I have in Christ is a living, breathing miracle. Only God can change a man so that he is literally born again as a new creation, as I have been. Today, I urge you to see what Christ has done in my life and to seek Him with all of your heart so He can have His way in your life as well.”

As I paused one last time, gazing out over the crowd and the umbrellas, I noticed the cheering and bedlam had ceased. They were replaced by expressions of fear, perhaps about the brewing storm, and looks of confusion, probably about my statement. Turning around momentarily, I noticed Gray and Boone were wearing similar expressions.

“Again…please accept my apologies for the poor example I have set for you. I hope with all my heart that God will allow me to me to make up for all of the destructive years—in the days to come. Thank you for being here with me today.”

I’d never forget the shock on Gray’s face when I turned to be escorted off the podium to the black Lincoln. He kept staring at me but said nothing. Brian made eye contact and shot me a quick smile, then went on, business as usual, as police motorcycles revved their engines in preparation to escort the Lincoln toward Bal Harbour Village.

“Mr. Crazee.” Prosecutor Frank Dooley slowly approached former DeathStroke bassist for cross-examination. “Before this trial began, were you aware of anything known as ‘criminal hypnotherapy’?”

“No sir,” Ricky said, still rigid.

Dooley held no legal pad or notes. When he spoke to Ricky, he stood directly in front of him, reaching one hand out to rest on the wooden rail that separated the two men.

“Look,” Dooley said. “I’m going to make this brief. Did Endora Crystal help you?”

“She changed my life.”

“And she did that by…?”

“I guess you could say she helped my mind overcome my body’s need for drugs and alcohol.”

“And in the years you knew Endora, did you ever know of an instance in which she hypnotized anyone for negative purposes—to hurt people or commit crimes?”

Ricky looked straight at Dooley. “No.”

“No,” Dooley confirmed. “In fact, other than the desperate allegations made by Brian Boone, we have neither heard nor been presented with one shred of evidence suggesting that Endora ever—in any way—hypnotized anyone with criminal intent.”

Boone stood and started to speak but was cut off by Dooley.

“In fact, Madam Crystal only
helped
people.” Dooley squeezed in the last line before Boone objected.

“Your Honor, it seems that Mr. Dooley is drawing conclusions and lecturing the jury instead of questioning the witness. Has he concluded his cross-examination?”

“As a matter of fact, I have not.” Dooley turned from Boone back to Ricky. “Mr. Crazee, what was your take on the relationship between Everett Lester and Endora Crystal?”

“She hung out with Everett and the band for a long time—years. They were very close.”

“Were they…romantically involved, in your opinion?”

Ricky took in another enormous breath, letting it out audibly. “I don’t think so.” He shook his head.

“You don’t think so,” Dooley repeated. “But the fact is, you’re not absolutely positive
they were
not
involved romantically, is that correct?”

“Well, I guess that’s true.”

“Did you see them argue?”

“Once in a while.”

“Did Everett raise his voice to Endora?”

“Yeah, I mean, they—”

“Is that a yes?”

Ricky hesitated. “Yeah.”

“Did Everett Lester ever strike Endora?”

“Well, they would kind of slap each other around, but it was pretty much in fun, most of the time.”

“Most of the time,” Dooley said. “But what about the other times? Did you see him hit her?”

Ricky shot a glance at me, then looked back at Dooley. “Once in a while I saw him shove her or push her down onto a couch…something like that, when he was really high.”

“Uh-huh,” Dooley said, back at his table, leafing through a notepad with one hand. “And what about guns? Did you ever see Everett carrying a gun?”

Ricky put his head down. “We used to do some target practice at a shooting range he built in one of his houses.”

“Any other instances when you saw Mr. Lester with a gun?”

“He sometimes carried one with him between hotels and concert sites…for protection.”

“So, we have arguments with Endora, we have drugs, we have guns.” Dooley stood. “Is there any doubt in your mind, Mr. Crazee, that Everett Lester pulled the trigger that day last November?”

Boone stormed to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor! Speculation. Mr. Dooley is…”

“I know exactly what he’s doing.” Judge Sprockett glared at Dooley. “Objection sustained. Mr. Dooley, no more of that.”

When I walked through the door to the sprawling rental home at Bal Harbour Village, Karen ran to greet me and was quickly followed by her parents and, to my surprise, my sister, Mary, and Jerry Princeton, who had flown in from Ohio earlier in the day.

We hugged and laughed. They couldn’t say enough about my “speech” on CNN, which had become the talk of the networks. Then quiet reigned, as we each settled in, embracing the seriousness of the moment and our thankfulness for my current freedom.

While I was gone, Karen and her folks had become well acquainted with Mary and Jerry. At Mary’s insistence, they all found rooms and put their luggage away. Jerry had a bedroom of his own, while Karen and Mary shared a large bedroom, as did Jacob and Sarah. They saved another single bedroom for me.

I sat in wonder as Jerry and Jacob carried on a deep conversation, something about the media coverage surrounding my arrest. Karen and Mary felt like old friends after having spoken on the phone so regularly during my drug rehabilitation. They sat on a couch drinking Diet Cokes and gabbing with Sarah.

For a moment or two, I stood at the kitchen sink, staring out at the rain as it watered the tropical foliage and sprayed the Atlantic surf in the distance. I had searched all my life for happiness and contentment—and now, finally, I was surrounded by it.

But I also faced murder one charges.

A desperate feeling took hold.

Then, a soft hand on my shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts,” Karen whispered.

I turned and put my arms around her waist, but did not speak.

“Dollar for your thoughts?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side.

“Just can’t believe what’s happened to me.”

“Bittersweet, isn’t it?”

“Yes…bittersweet.” I kissed her softly.

We looked at each other for a long moment.

“What if I go to jail?”

“Then God goes with you…and so do I, in spirit.”

“I don’t want that to be the plan.”

“I don’t either,” she said, her hands squeezing the backs of my arms. “But we’re gonna make it, no matter what happens.”

“I want you by my side, Karen Bayliss. I need you.”

Our eyes searched each other.

“I’ll be there, Everett Lester.”

I held her close. “After the trial, if I get out…I’m going to ask you to marry me.” I set her away from me to look at her. Tears fell with her smile.

“Why wait?” she managed.

My heart leaped as I pushed her back a few more inches, and gazed into her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I want to be your wife.”

Then we embraced and my tears came.

“I can’t marry you if I’m going to spend the rest of my life in prison. It wouldn’t be fair…”

For the longest time, we just held each other.

“Oh, Everett,” she said finally, hugging me tight, her head buried in my chest. “We’ve got to pray.”

I closed my eyes. “I know…I know.…”

“God, please, give us victory,” Karen whispered, “We pray you’ll set Everett free. Oh Lord, we long to share a life together. Please, have mercy. Find favor, dear Jesus…find favor. And let Everett use his testimony to win many others to You.”

30

I WOKE UP EARLY
the next morning at the house in Bal Harbour. Quietly, I made my way downstairs to the foyer. Peeking out the slats in the plantation shutters at the front door, I saw dozens of cars and TV trucks lining the parklike street. Several dozen press people mulled about, smoking, eating doughnuts, and sipping coffee.

“May I help you, Mr. Lester?” came a whisper from around the corner.

The voice of the little woman startled me.

“Hello!” I said. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Sonja,” she said through bright red lipstick and a beaming smile. “Mr. Harris asked that I be here to serve you and your company today.”

“Well, wasn’t that nice of him. I bet you make a good cup of coffee.”

“Yes, sir. Coming up.” She hustled off to kitchen in her white apron.

“A tiny bit of cream and sugar,” I whispered, as her round little frame bounced out of sight.

The day’s newspaper lay in the foyer on a table beneath a stained-glass lamp. I picked it up and began perusing section A when Sonja came back with my coffee.

“I’m going to go to my room for a bit, but I’ll be back for more of this, I’m sure.”