Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol (30 page)

I hoped Endora was fully caught up in the spirit realm.

“How...will...the...angel...of...death...be...slain? By whom?” I asked, as if mouthing the words to a deaf person.

That’s when it happened.

Like a huge switch shutting off its power, Endora went silent. I peeked and saw the color returning to her face. Her eyes were still shut, but her body stopped trembling.

“Liza knows you’ve been through a great deal, Everett,” came Endora’s evil monotone. “She knows you’re tired…you need rest. Therefore, you must sleep now, as we’ve practiced in the past. You must rest…”

Tranquilizers.

That’s all I could think of.

It feels like tranquilizers…

“I knew it would come to this, sweet Everett.” The voice grew distant now. “When my friend Twila and I first contacted Liza, we knew it was bad, that you were going to become a Christian. Now it’s happened, hasn’t it? Just before I arrived. I can see something different in you.”

I struggled to fight the sleep, but my body was heavy, going limp. I was paralyzed, and I thought of Olivia Gilbert, wanting to speak, to shout, but unable to function.

Trapped.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered so much if you were the only one,” came Endora’s robotic voice. “But Liza informed us you would lead others to the Lamb. Thousands of others. No, no, no, Everett.” She laughed. “We mustn’t have that. You see, I am loyal to my god, as well,” she droned, as if in a trance. “And I am prepared to die—for him.”

The rest was bits and pieces, as I became utterly powerless.

“You will … dresser … loaded … shoot me … return … telephone Gray … no recollection …”

23

WHEN I AWOKE ON
the floor of my Miami high-rise, the first fumbled, frantic call I made was to Gray Harris in New York. It took me what seemed like forever to find a phone number and drum up enough composure to push the right buttons. I couldn’t control my hands from shaking.

Gray forced me to slow down and explain everything. After listening to him for five minutes while staring at Endora’s lifeless body, I hung up the phone, followed his instructions, and dialed 911. The truth would be the best way, he had insisted.

Miami-Dade County police converged on the condo like a pack of wolves as I sat dazed and silent on the balcony overlooking the bluish-green Atlantic. Soon, crime scene investigators followed.

Lead detective Harry Coogle was surprisingly kind and patient. He sat with me on the balcony, prying mostly one- and two-word answers from me about what exactly happened surrounding the death of Endora Crystal. Then he transported me in his unmarked car to the police department for further questioning.

Hours later, the interrogation continued in a small, stuffy room with fluorescent lights, a Formica desk, and dirty plastic chairs. One of the DeathStroke attorneys, Brian Boone, had flown in from New York and was by my side. But I still sat in a state of shock.

Three hard-nosed investigators grilled me for information, obviously assuming that, because I was the infamous Everett Lester, I was high on drugs, filled with rage, and guilty of Endora’s murder. Coogle, a handsome, dark-haired man of about fifty, came back into the tiny room with a fresh cup of coffee and cooled off his colleagues.

“The bottom line, the thing these men want to hear from you, Mr. Lester, is—did you kill Edith Rosenbaum?” Coogle asked. “You’ve told me, but I would like you to tell them—in your words.”

Looking at the floor, I shook my head. “No, I did not.” Brian patted me and told me it was okay to go on. “The last thing I remember was that we sat down to do a séance, to try and communicate with my old girlfriend, Liza Moon, the actress. The next thing I knew, I was calling my manager to tell him about the…Endora.”

I also explained my motives for pretending to participate in the séance, to find out who was trying to hurt Karen Bayliss. But they weren’t interested in Karen or the fire at her home halfway across the country.

When it came time for urine and blood samples to be taken, I told the investigators that Endora had obviously put something in my drink before the séance, because I was dizzy and eventually must have passed out.

When the results from the tests came back, they confirmed the presence of a foreign substance, which chemists couldn’t specifically identify. They could, however, conclude that properties from the substance were consistent with those found in certain psychotropic drugs, which are often used to aid hypnosis.

Soon after Brian refused to allow me to submit to a polygraph test, my phone began ringing with calls from loved ones who had started to hear or see the news. Mary called from her car, Jerry Princeton from his office, and Karen phoned in tears from her new home.

“I can’t talk now,” I said, as investigators signaled for me to end the call and get back to business. “I’m sorry. I did not do this, Karen.”

“I know…I know. I was afraid of this, so afraid. But it’s going to be okay, Everett. Do you hear me? Don’t give up on me, and don’t give up on God. He’s with you. I promise He is. I’ll be watching—and praying.”

“I know He’s with me…I’ve got more to tell you, good news. But I’ve got to go now.”

My trial had recessed for the day. About thirty minutes ago, I decided to play a few of my new songs during leisure time. So I took my acoustic guitar to a corner of the main recreation area and quietly began strumming and singing.

To my amazement, more than three hundred inmates gathered on the floor in front of me, on chairs and couches, and standing along the perimeter and upstairs hallways of this packed atrium. Most of the guards were looking on as well.

“I met a nineteen-year-old kid in a hospital in New York a while back,” I found myself sharing with the crowd. “He had tattoos, drug problems, a bad attitude, no conscience—a lot like me.” I smiled. “And maybe a lot like you…”

The place was silent, except for my voice echoing across the atrium.

“When I left him, I signed my autograph with a Scripture from the Bible. And do you know, that kid—with all his anger and vileness—said to me, ‘Hey, cool. What is this, about Jesus?’ And I said, ‘Yes, it is.’ And it struck me since that night that my goal in this life should be to share what Jesus Christ has done for me—and what He can do for you.

“By the way—” I began to strum softly—“that Scripture is from the book of Matthew, chapter 11, verses 28 to 30. It goes like this:

‘Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.’”

Several screams and catcalls echoed about the atrium, as I launched hard into the new song I’d been working on, called “Blind/Faith.”

I led you down a dead-end street,

I didn’t care if you would die,

I took your money and I stole your heart,

I pushed you out when you didn’t know how to fly.

It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,

Will you let Jesus in?

It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,

Will you forgive me for my sin?

It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,

This is your chance to be born again.

Don’t say you don’t believe in Him,

Don’t say He’s just a lie,

Listen to His voice it’s callin’ you,

“I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”

It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,

Will you let Jesus in?

It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,

Will you forgive me for my sin?

It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,

This is your chance to be born again.

A warm, breezy night had fallen by the time Miami-Dade police agreed to release me. Gray Harris had flown in from New York, rented a car, and driven to the police department. Although Mary and Jerry wanted to come down from Ohio to be with me, I urged them not to. I was ready to be alone.

Together, Gray, Boone, and I dodged the plethora of reporters and photographers that had camped out in front of the precinct. Staying close to each other, pressing through the crowd, we wormed our way into Gray’s rental and took off into the night.

I sat in the backseat, staring at the passing lights, as Boone filled Gray in on the details of the case. Although physically and mentally spent, I felt different than usual. The facts swirling around Endora’s death were incriminating, yet I felt an unexplainable peace.

“What’ll happen next?” I asked from the dark.

“You’ll be brought in for further questioning.” Boone hesitated. “There may be an arrest.”

“You mean Everett?” Gray asked.

“Yes. The police are likely to come after him with everything they’ve got. Between his persona and the evidence at the crime scene, things aren’t in our favor at this point.”

“What then?” I asked.

“Hopefully, the judge appointed to the case sets bail so you can be out until the trial. But that’s not definite.”

The sound of the Lincoln’s tires against the clean streets filled the car.

“Your condo is off-limits, Ev,” Gray said, looking for me in the rearview mirror. “I’ve rented a house in Bal Harbour Village. It’s plenty big. Bigger than you need, but it’s all I could get. We have it indefinitely. I figured the three of us could stay there tonight until we see how this thing plays out.”

“I need to go somewhere tomorrow,” I said. “Is that okay, Brian?”

“Ah, Miami-Dade didn’t place specific restrictions on you yet, but they—”

“Good,” I said.

“They
did
say you should be readily available, in case they want to bring you in for more questioning, which I’m certain they’re going to do.”

“I need to make a one-day trip, that’s all. Then I’ll be here for the duration.”

“Where are you going?” Gray asked.

“Kansas.” I turned to look into the night. “Topeka, Kansas.”

Brian walked quickly from the jury box to the witness stand and back to our table, as if he had just consumed a large portion of superhuman protein breakfast food. Spinach, perhaps.

Boone was on a roll. Earlier today, he brought Jerry Princeton to the stand as a character witness and, as expected, Jerry’s testimony couldn’t have been more glowing. Boone compared my old, selfish, destructive lifestyle to the man Jerry had come to know. Jerry explained how I had reached out to Olivia Gilbert’s family and shown remorse for my action toward the young girl. He also spoke at length about how I had kicked my drug habit and become a Christian.

Most recently, Boone finished questioning the chemist who found traces of psychotropic drugs in my bloodstream following Endora’s murder. The young man confirmed that the chemicals could indeed have had an altering effect on my “mood, perception, mind, and/or behavior.”

That was a good thing. And now Boone was out to further prove Endora’s desire to control me.

“I would like to take us back to the testimony of Charlie LaRoche, Everett Lester’s friend and the former drug dealer for DeathStroke,” Boone announced. “You may recall, Mr. LaRoche told this court that Everett confided in him that he felt like his mind was being manipulated in some way by Madam Endora Crystal.”

Frank Dooley rolled his eyes and began conferring with the attorneys to his right and left.

“It just so happens that we have with us today a gentleman who can further enlighten us about things such as mind manipulation. He is known the world over as a master hypnotist. His name is Dr. Cary Golde.”

After outlining Dr. Golde’s long list of academic credentials—including degrees from Stanford and UC Berkeley—Boone read various testimonies from clients who had previously called on the good doctor for experiments with hypnotherapy, astral voyages, dream therapy, and self-hypnosis.

Boone clasped his hands together. “Like it or not, there is a whole spectrum of New Age metaphysical activity going on all around us. After you hear the testimony of Dr. Cary Golde, I want you to ask yourself—is it possible that Everett Lester is an innocent man who was unknowingly caught up in this…bewitching spirit realm.”

Dooley was on his feet before Boone finished the sentence. “Your Honor,” Dooley practically yelled, raking his hair with his hand. “Is this Mr. Boone’s closing argument? Because if I’m not mistaken, there’s a witness on the stand, waiting to be questioned.”

“Enough interjection, Mr. Boone. Let’s go ahead and proceed with your witness.”

“Fine, Your Honor,” Boone said, easily shaking off the interruption. “Dr. Golde, let’s get down to it.”

Dr. Golde sat relaxed and smiling at the stand, probably thrilled to be the recipient of so much free PR. He was about fifty-five years old, with curly black hair, bleached white teeth, and an expensive olive-colored suit.

“Let’s keep this as simple as possible, shall we?” said Boone. “Give us a brief background, if you will, on hypnosis and its popularity today.”

“Hypnosis has been used for centuries to treat pain and illness and to control bad habits, enhance performance, and combat phobias.” Golde rubbed the tip of his long nose with a bright white handkerchief. “It’s far more popular today than most people realize.”