Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol (34 page)

Karen found my hand, and the warmth that coursed through my body at that moment was indescribable.

“In Revelation 12 it says that you overcome the accuser—Satan—because of the blood of the Lamb and the word of your testimony,” Jacob said. “My pastor felt so strongly about that text, that he made us write down our testimony on one page and turn it in to him the following week. And when he had us read those aloud… I mean, tears flowed, the truth came out, and men accepted Christ—many men.”

“I never heard that story,” Karen said.

“Before, I would just kind of ramble when I tried to tell people what God had done in my life, but this forced me to nail down my testimony, to know it, and to be ready to share.”

“That’s hip,” I said enthusiastically. “What is your testimony anyway, Jacob? Karen had told me you were a pastor at one time.”

It was past lights-out, but the sobering conversation with Brian several hours ago kept me awake. Lying in my bunk with pad, pen, and flashlight, I racked my brain to recall the people who had and had not been called as witnesses thus far in my trial.

I still couldn’t fathom that Boone might want us to cop a guilty plea. That was a real blow, mainly because I trusted him so much. It scared me to think that an attorney of his caliber was considering such a drastic measure. What Boone said to me through that recommendation was, “Everett, in all likelihood, we’re going to
lose this case.
I don’t want you to die for this crime. I want you to be able to get out…someday.”

Maybe I’d just been naive, thinking all along that the jury would believe my story and side with me. After all, I was used to getting my way.

When I began to think about spending the rest of my life in prison, I got a terribly sick feeling of helplessness and claustrophobia. There was just no way. I couldn’t even continue that train of thought. Then again, could it be that God had chosen
this
as my destiny? They say He had a sense of humor, but frankly, I didn’t know if I was mature enough to handle that.

By 12:22 a.m., I’d listed every single person I could think of who might or might not have a positive influence as a witness in my case. A few minutes later, I’d scratched off the name of every person who had already testified, as well as each of those who I didn’t believe would have any relevance at this stage of the trial.

I was left with a sheet of paper filled with chicken scratch and five surviving names, each circled in blue ink, in different places and angles on the page. They were: Ricky Crazee (DeathStroke bassist), Dr. Jack Shea (my personal physician), Jeff Hall (DeathStroke fan club president), Pamela McCracken (DeathStroke publicist), and...Everett Lester (yours truly).

“When Karen was young, she grew up in a very legalistic, very
religious
home,” Jacob explained to me as Sarah and Karen cleaned up the kitchen. “It was our home—mine and Sarah’s—but we were different people back then. I was the proud pastor of a church of seven hundred members here in Topeka.”

Karen smiled beautifully at me as she entered the room to pour her dad and me more cocoa. She patted me on the shoulder before leaving.

“Basically, I was one of the Pharisees you read about in the New Testament,” Jacob told me. “I had all the college degrees, I had a deep knowledge of the Scriptures, I had a flourishing church with all the popular programs—but I had no love, absolutely none. And no real relationship with God.”

I shook my head in amazement.

“I could point a ridiculing finger at people and tell them to read their Bibles more, to serve more, and to work harder in the church,” he said. “I could lay down the law to troubled couples about why their marriages were failing, from a Biblical perspective… You see, Everett, in my sick eyes I was above everyone spiritually. I was at a higher level.” He raised a hand above his head, then lowered it as he said, “Then came the elders, the deacons, and the rest of the sheep—who hadn’t
arrived
yet spiritually.”

“Whoa.”

“Without realizing it, I pictured myself as spiritually elite,” he explained. “Even when it came to the elders and deacons, I always had the last word. I couldn’t receive anything from them. Why? Because I was deceived into thinking I was better, more spiritual, closer to God.”

I had never heard anything like this and was thoroughly immersed in Jacob’s story.

“Then, one day, it happened.” He stared off. “Karen was fifteen. She and her mother came into my study at our old house after dinner. In utter fear, they explained to me that Karen was pregnant. It shattered my world.
My world,
you see! It was all about
me,
and what people thought of
me.”

“I can’t believe that,” I murmured, thinking of my own self-centeredness. “What happened?”

Jacob sat on the very edge of the loveseat now with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. Karen and Sarah were out of sight.

“I drove Karen to get an abortion.”

Chills engulfed my whole body.

Tears came to Jacob’s eyes.

“The night after the…operation, in my study, I had an encounter with God. It was the first time. I had never actually known God before that moment. But that night, He met me. For hours I cried, there on the floor, my door locked. And Christ came and showed me, through that awful experience, what kind of person I was.”

My poor Karen.

“But by His mercy, that’s when everything began to change,” he said quietly. “I asked Karen’s forgiveness, and Sarah’s, and God’s. They were each merciful. I repented and prayed for God to change me, and He began to, that very night. And when I changed, there was a glorious change in Karen and in Sarah. I stepped down from the pastorate. In fact, we gradually left the church and found another one, where we worship today.”

“Have you ever gotten back into leadership…in the church?”

“No,” he said, smiling. “I never will, either. I have no titles, and I don’t want any. I simply serve my Savior, quietly. I just try to love, like He did. Thank God it turned out the way it did, for Karen’s sake, and Sarah’s.”

“And mine…”

It was well after midnight by the time the flames went out in Jacob and Sarah’s fireplace. As the embers glowed orange and the remnants of a few charred logs flamed out, Karen’s parents insisted we stay as their guests for the night. I figured I could fly out first thing in the morning.

Karen, of course, slept in her old bedroom, which she showed me after we crept up the hardwood stairs, leaving her mom and dad to their quarters below. Karen’s room was soft pink, with frilly white curtains, pillows, and a twin bed. There was a pretty, white corner cabinet filled with her favorite childhood books, some old framed photographs of Karen and her parents and relatives, and several shelves filled with memorabilia and knickknacks.

Sitting on her bed together by the soft, golden glow of a bedside lamp, we went through page after page of her childhood scrapbooks, photo albums, and yearbooks. They made us both want to howl, but we tried our best to suppress the laughter so Jacob and Sarah could sleep.

Karen had been voted “Most Friendly” in her high school graduating class. As I reviewed the yearbook and all of the faces and signatures, I wondered which boy she had been with…and what the circumstances had been.

When she was about ready to show me to the guest room, she whispered, “Oh, wait a minute! Wait a minute. You’ve
got
to see this!” She opened the cabinets in the bottom half of the bookcase and pulled out a large brown book; it was three inches thick with papers and pictures overflowing from its yellowed pages.

“This is the scrapbook,” she said as she miled and plopped down next to me, “where I kept all of my DeathStroke stuff.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, anxious to see inside.

She opened the cover to reveal a large, color magazine photograph of me flying through the air onstage; the caption said it was taken in Chicago. I did not remember that moment, nor most of the others Karen had captured in her heavy memory book.

“It all seems like a lifetime ago.” I turned from one page to the next, reading bits and pieces of the stories, feeling dirty about some of the antics highlighted in the clippings.

“Why did you do this?” I asked, still not grasping the freedom of her unconditional love.

She smiled shyly. “I don’t know. I guess I knew, someday, you would be different; I knew.
And I kept this so I could remember what God did in your life.”

“Thank you.” I stroked her cheek and rounded her silky hair behind her ear.
“Thank you
.”

I gathered her head against my chest. “You are the most precious person I have ever met, Karen Bayliss,” I whispered, with tears just behind my eyes. “Your God put an evil, renegade rock star in your heart…and you believed in Him enough to dream a very big dream. And now it’s come true. How do you like that?”

She reached up and fiddled with a button on my shirt. “I like it very much,” she said quietly. “And I’m going to keep dreaming big dreams for you, Everett Lester. Big dreams in which God’s the star…”

27

NEVER BEFORE HAD
I
felt like I did that brisk November morning in Topeka, Kansas. The smell of pancakes and sausage filled Jacob and Sarah’s warm home. Karen and I met outside her room and sauntered downstairs together, joining her mom and dad at the candlelit kitchen table for coffee.

We were like a family that morning—eating, talking, laughing, and sharing more stories. Being among those three people, I felt clean and new. No hangover, no need for drugs or booze. I had truly begun anew.

Amid the joy and camaraderie, however, two problems still loomed: Endora’s murder investigation and the people still stalking Karen.

I broke away to call Brian Boone in the living room after breakfast and told him I wasn’t back in Miami.

“Everett, you said one day! These investigators think you’re in town,” he hissed. “They’re going to want you down at the precinct at the drop of a hat, probably today. Are you on your way?”

“Believe it or not, what I’m doing here is important,” I said, trying to calm him. “I can be back there in two or three hours, whenever you say.”

He said nothing.

“Besides, the way you make it sound, they may make me stay in Miami, because of all the questioning and stuff. Is that right?”

“They may, yes!” he stammered. “And it’s not going to look good if they find out you’ve skipped town.”

“This is something I have to do,” I said. “I’m staying today. If they want me for questioning, call my cell phone. I’ll be on a jet in no time.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

“I have to, Brian. This is probably the most important thing I’ve ever done. Trust me. I’ll come back pronto the second you need me.”

“You keep that phone with you and turned on at all times!”

“Yes, sir!”

After Karen called her boss and got permission to take the day off, she and her folks and I went for a long walk in their neighborhood. The air was cold, but the sun warmed my face and hands.

Around a sharp curve on Jacob and Sarah’s peaceful street, there was a community park with a shimmering, dark blue lake. A flock of geese had gathered along its grassy edge. As we strolled on a black cinder path around the lake, Karen’s hand slipped around my arm and rested at the crease of my elbow.

Is this really happening?

That morning nothing more was said among us about the truck that had catapulted out of the dark toward Karen and me the previous night. But I was remembering and even found myself turning around several times to look behind us. Was Karen worried? She seemed a bit tentative.

Soon, Jacob announced that he had to get back to make some business calls. He ran a small insurance agency from his home office. Karen told me he was a well-respected community leader. Her mother didn’t work outside the home but enjoyed gardening, housekeeping, reading, and various women’s ministries at their church.

Once we drove Jacob and Sarah back to their house in Karen’s Honda, we swung by her new place, just to make sure everything was okay after the previous night’s activities. As we went inside we found things were fine, and I tried to convince myself that Karen was safe now, that we had seen the last of fires and menacing black pickup trucks.

Karen tossed together some delicious chicken salad sandwiches with chips and carrots, which she served on wooden plates. We sat at her small kitchen table, overlooking the backyard, and watched the many different birds feast at her feeders. The house was so quiet. I wasn’t used to such tranquility.

“You make a mean sandwich.”

“When will you go back?” she asked, seeming preoccupied.

“Tonight, or I may take your folks up on their offer to stay one more night and leave early tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you stay? It’ll be fun. I’ll be there with you.”

I peered into her gray-green eyes, thinking how gorgeous she was.

“Well, that sounds like a pretty good invitation. We’ll see…”

Karen insisted we buzz downtown next, so she could show me the city she had grown to love so much. She parked the white Honda near some kind of government building where we threw pennies in the Fountain of Justice. I didn’t know what Karen wished when she splashed hers in, but my wish was that we could be together like this the rest of our lives.