Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol (23 page)

“Who called Karen Bayliss and threatened her to leave me alone?”

Ignoring me, she raised her other hand to her temple and lowered her head in meditation.

Then it struck me.

She was dry as a bone.

“Who sent the black roses?” I shouted.

No response.

Infuriated, I reached up to grab her arm, but my hand swept through air. Nothing was there!

I let out a gasp.

But…she
was
there.

“If you hurt Karen…I’ll
destroy
you!”

The rain came harder.

Ever so slightly, with her fingers still pressed into her forehead, her hands and arms began to shake. “You’ve had enough of this world, haven’t you, Everett?”

Slowly, I reached up to touch her again.

Nothing.

“You’re all alone, Everett,” she moaned. “I’m not even here. You’ve lost touch with reality. It’s time to call it quits.”

My hands dropped to the ledge at my waist, and I looked out over the massive buildings and thousands upon thousands of sparkling lights all around me.

“Sit on the ledge,” she said. “Look below.”

The cold rain soaked the seat of my pants as I did what she instructed.

“Now…if you are a Christian, throw yourself over the edge, because the Bible says, ‘He shall give His angels charge over you.’”

A shiver ran through me from head to toe, and my hands found the pockets of my drenched wool coat.

“If, on the other hand, you are
not
a Christian, throw yourself down, for you will find the contentment you’ve been seeking…on the Other Side!”

I leaned the upper half of my body out over the ledge, looking straight down at the slivers of street below.

Maybe there
will
be contentment in the fall. Maybe this is where I will find my peace.

“Either way,” she sneered, “you are not meant for this world, Everett. You’re no good to Satan anymore. And you’ll never be any good to God. You know that…”

I felt the card in my pocket.

“Go ahead!” She nodded, glaring at me now with the outstretched arm of someone presenting a performer. “Do something right for a change. Push off. Make your father proud, for once…”

When I pulled the card out of my pocket, a thousand screams pierced my ears, the likes of which I had never heard before.

I dropped my head to read, silently:

When tempted by Satan, repeat the words of your Savior, Jesus Christ.

Then I began to read aloud the words the legless angel had given me, getting louder with each word, for all the demons to hear:

“Go, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only.’ Then the devil left Him; and behold, angels came and began to minister to Him.”

Slowly turning back over the ledge, I let my body drop onto the rooftop.

Lying motionless for a moment on the cold, wet concrete, I lifted my head.

She was gone.

And I felt the presence of God’s angels all around me.

18

IT WAS PAST LIGHTS-OUT
and I had a difficult time sleeping. My friend the guard, Donald Chambers, walked past my locked cell and whispered, “I thought you’d be asleep by now. Pretty tough day.” He referred to the damaging testimony of the medical examiner, Dr. Leonard Morris.

“Were you there?”

“Yeah, near the back. Standing room only.”

“I suppose it couldn’t have been much worse,” I said.

“It will be better tomorrow.”

After taking several steps, he stopped again. “Remember that inmate I told you about a couple weeks ago? The one who died after Zaney predicted he would?”

“Yeah.”

“It
wasn’t
suicide,” he whispered. “They found a bruise at the base of his neck, definitely caused by pressure from the killer’s hand.”

“Zaney.”

“Had to be.”

“Boone is trying to have him subpoenaed as a witness at my trial, since he knew Endora,” I said. “We’ve got to get the judge’s approval first.”

“I’m afraid he’ll flat-out lie, even if you do get him to the stand.”

“I know.”

“The word is, he’s out for you—big-time.”

I remained still and silent on my bunk.

“You just gotta watch your back,” he added, perhaps realizing he may have burdened me with fear.

I exhaled deeply, closed my eyes, and pictured Zaney coming for me in my cell. Then I thought of Karen, all alone.

It was too much to shoulder. “Thanks for the heads-up, Donald.” I rolled onto my stomach. “I think I just need to let everything go—and get some rest.”

The usual sense of guilt and remorse engulfed me when I woke up the morning after chasing Endora’s ghost around Manhattan. But what wasn’t normal was the sweat-covered pillow beneath my head. Even after coffee, I was shaking on and off—at times, uncontrollably. My head was filled with the most excruciating pain. It had been three days since I had taken a drink or used any drugs.

I called Gray Harris to let him know I was taking off for a few days; then I chartered one of the DeathStroke jets for Dayton, Ohio.

Jerry and Mary did a good job of hiding their alarm over my appearance when they picked me up at the airport. I was shivering and sweating profusely when they greeted me hand in hand near baggage claim.

As we drove to Jerry’s place in Grayson, they treated me with kid gloves. I fell asleep during the ride. Just before I did, however, I noticed how their conversation and body language shouted that they were madly in love—and probably would be for a long time.

The weeks that followed were remarkable.

Jerry took time off from work, then Mary; then they each did it again. As I battled my addictions, they saw me through fits of rage and times when I literally wanted to die. There were tears and hallucinations, sickness and endless sleep, threats and loving talks. And a whole lot of prayers going up from two of the most unselfish people I had ever met.

During that very foggy, nightmarish season, thoughts of Karen, Endora, Olivia, and rock ’n’ roll were left far behind. I was just trying to stay alive, fighting to take another breath, attempting to stir up the desire to live another minute and keep my body free of the substances that had poisoned it for more than two decades.

I guess it must have been into the fourth week of my “homemade” rehab program when Mary and Jerry felt I was mentally stable enough to have a serious talk about some things that had transpired while I was out of commission.

First Mary said, with a beautiful smile, that Karen Bayliss had called almost every day to follow the progress of my recovery. Mary said the two ladies had become fast friends, and she advised me not to get too big a head about Karen’s interest, because they had talked about much more than just me. Mary also assured me that Karen had been praying steadfastly, which I had already taken comfort in assuming.

Although still extremely weak, I wondered rather anxiously whether Karen had received any more threats, or if Mary even knew about that, but decided to let it ride for the moment.

Next came a double dose of bad news. The Dayton police department had formally filed aggravated assault charges against me, and further charges were pending. They would bring manslaughter charges should Olivia Gilbert die. Meanwhile, Olivia’s father had made a formal statement that he would file suit against me for battery, compensatory damages, and punitive damages as soon as the case by the police department was completed.

Even darker, Olivia’s condition had gotten worse. Signs of brain edema had developed, meaning there was an abnormal buildup of serous fluid between the tissue cells in her head. This could be bad, Mary warned, and doctors were watching for symptoms of rigidity to form in her limbs, trunk, jaw, and neck. These would serve as signs of a potential long-term coma and, possibly, death.

My heart plunged.

There in Jerry’s family room, we prayed—the three of us. We prayed for Olivia to recover, for her mother and father’s well-being, and for the charges against me to fall by the wayside. We prayed for blessings toward Karen Bayliss. And Mary and Jerry prayed for me to have the power to stay off drugs and to find life in Christ.

I didn’t know exactly what they meant by “life in Christ,” but I knew that if it meant becoming more like them—I wanted it.

After chatting with Donald Chambers tonight, I tossed restlessly in my lumpy prison bunk for hours. The mustiness of the cell, the screams in the night, and thoughts of Zane Bender and a potential guilty verdict pummeled me.

Keep in mind, I was not up on second- or third-degree murder charges. This was murder one, which would result in one of two outcomes if I was found guilty: life in prison or death. Anyone who’s never been smacked square in the face with the bitter reality of those two scenarios probably wouldn’t understand the heaviness and utter despair I felt in my soul.

When I finally did doze off after reading by flashlight, I dreamt I was out of prison and living in a house in the country. Children were there with me. Everything was right with the world.

And then Endora began stalking us.

I heard noises in the barn one night, went out, and found Endora in the loft. She was evil to the core; I can’t begin to explain how wicked. I shot her with a rifle, but the bullets went right through her body, which was arched grotesquely backward as she moaned with laughter.

Then I woke up.

The morning brought refreshment. And believe it or not, I was somewhat excited about the day’s trial, as Brian Boone continued the battle to prove my innocence in the death of Madam Endora Crystal.

Twila Yonder looked like a ghost in noisy courtroom B-3 this morning, as Boone called her back to the stand as a rebuttal witness, with Judge Sprockett’s prior approval. Her skin was powder white, with black and silver eye makeup and two silver balls pierced through her right eyebrow. A slight tint of pink streaked her brown hair, and remnants of dark lipstick smudged one of her front teeth.

Boone started by refreshing the jury’s memory about Twila’s friendship with Endora, but he wasted no time pursuing what he’d brought her here for.

“Miss Yonder,” he said, with a bounce in his step, “does the name Zane Bender ring a bell?”

She cleared her throat. “Yeah…he was a friend of Endora’s.”

“Do you know where Zane Bender lived?”

“Oakland, I think.”

“And what was the relationship between Zane Bender and Endora Crystal?”

“What do you mean, ‘What was the relationship?’” she wisecracked.

“Were they friends, lovers, business partners?”

“Zane was into psychics, but he was kind of a wannabe.” She looked down, fidgeting. “He heard of Endora and came to meet her one time. I guess you could call him a fan of hers, more than anything.”

“I see. And did Endora teach Zane Bender about psychics?”

She delayed. “Yes…he wasn’t really cut out for it, but she did the best she could with him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some people are gifted in the psychic realm and others aren’t. Zaney wasn’t very gifted, but Endora was able to help him along.”

“Where are we going, Your Honor?” blurted a frustrated Frank Dooley from his seat at the table next to mine. “Relevance, relevance, relevance.”

“Mr. Boone,” Judge Sprockett said, “Mr. Dooley raises a reasonable question. We have a long day ahead of us. Let’s cut to the chase.”

“Your Honor, this friend of Endora’s, who I’m questioning Miss Yonder about, is currently incarcerated in the very same prison where my client is imprisoned for the duration of this trial.”

Dooley and his cronies were sent shuffling back through their many ledgers. Twila, however, chomped her gum, examined her nails, and looked unfazed by Boone’s words.

“His name is Zane Bender, better known as Zaney,” Boone announced. “He is serving seventeen years in the Miami-Dade detention center for felony charges of armed robbery and attempted murder. And it is our belief that Zane Bender may play a key role in proving the innocence of Everett Lester.”

Brian glanced at his notes on the table and cruised off toward the witness stand. “Miss Yonder, you say Zane Bender wasn’t ‘gifted’ in the psychic realm. What exactly was it that he tried to learn from Endora?”

Ever so slightly, a blush tried to make its way to the surface of Twila’s chalky face. Her eyes shot to Dooley, to Judge Sprockett, then back down to her lap.

“I just want to remind you, Miss Yonder, that you’re under oath here today.”

“He wanted to learn about hypnotism,” she said quickly and quietly, not looking up, as if her comment might just scoot right past us.

But Boone’s body jolted slightly as a result of her response. Neither of us was expecting it. We didn’t know what we were fishing for. But suddenly, things started clicking.

“You’re saying, Miss Yonder, that Zane Bender sought out Endora Crystal to learn how to perform hypnotism?”