“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.”
&nbs
p; 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?”
“I guess that was his main reason for initially contacting her.” Her tone turned bitter. “But they became friends after that. They were just friends, okay? There’s nothing to hide.”
Boone walked confidently beside the jury box, shook his head, and smiled. “I’ve got to ask. I mean, the whole court, the whole world, wants to know…did Endora Crystal perform hypnotism? And, if so, for whom?”
Twila moved uneasily on the hard wooden seat. The gum-chomping slowed to a soft chew. Frank Dooley, who had been buried in notebooks, suddenly became all ears. His sidekicks, who had been buzzing around him like moths on a floodlight, grew still.
“I don’t think it’s any real secret Endora worked with a lot of wealthy people, a lot of stars,” Twila confessed. “But one thing people didn’t realize is that hypnotism was kind of her forte. With it, she helped people overcome weight control problems, drug addiction, insomnia, phobias…all kinds of serious stuff. She was a humanitarian, for goodness’ sake! That’s what’s such a bum wrap about this whole trial. You’re painting her to be some kind of…witch.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” Boone put up a hand like a stop sign. “You’re telling us what? That she would hypnotize these people, and they would go away with their problems solved?”
Twila shifted uneasily. “If you don’t believe me, ask some of the Fortune 500 companies that called on her. Go ahead, ask them. They used her to hypnotize entire employee groups to reduce fear and anxiety, increase productivity. She’s hypnotized pro athletes, CEOs, movie stars—even the disobedient children of rich parents.”
Spots of murmuring rose up behind me.
“Did she hypnotize Everett Lester?”
Stone-cold silence.
“I don’t know the answer to that.”
“You are under oath.”
“Yeah, and I still don’t know the answer!”
“Were you ever present when she hypnotized anyone?”
Her eyes darted toward the jury and back to Boone.
“Do I need to repeat the question?” Boone asked.
“She hypnotized me once. When she was trying to teach Zaney.” Twila twirled her hair around her index finger. “I was still having nightmares about my parents’ car wreck. Endora hypnotized me and put me in a state of…oh, what did she call it? Selective amnesia. So I could forget about the accident, or at least not dwell on it so much.”
“And did you forget?”
“Yes, I did.” She dropped her head. “The nightmares have never returned.”
“So Endora’s hypnotism worked. You are proof of that?”
“Yes…Endora was good at what she did.”
“Indeed,” Boone said, patting me on the shoulder as he came to take his seat.
It actually felt good to turn myself over to the authorities in Dayton, Ohio, on the aggravated-assault charge for Olivia Gilbert’s injury. I was quickly booked and released on four hundred thousand dollars bond.
From there, I took a limo to nearby Grayson to see Jerry Princeton and my sister, Mary. It was then that I realized why Jerry loved his town, as he and I strolled down Grayson’s clean, wide sidewalks, past the bakery and the bookshop, the post office, and the corner café. Attractive awnings covered most of the storefronts. There were American flags flying, parents pushing baby strollers, and elderly folks relaxing on park benches. A nice, slow pace.
Jerry told me he had thought about leaving after Susan passed away because of all the memories they shared here, but he treasured the college where he worked, which was right in town. Plus, he had made many new friends at his church—a beautiful rustic brownstone building he pointed to with pride across the street.
Earlier, Jerry had turned me on to one of his favorite neighborhood delis, where at his suggestion we enjoyed pita sandwiches stuffed with chicken, onions, feta, and Greek dressing. Delicious. I also found myself relishing the simplicity of browsing several art galleries, one owned by a friend of Jerry’s and the source of several of the paintings that hung in his den.
My phone rang in the back left pocket of my Levi’s as we walked past the town park toward Jerry’s Mercury Sable, parked along Wooster Avenue. When I heard it was Gray, I excused myself, went up the steps to the park, and sat on a long bench near a swing set. Jerry waved and ducked inside a clothes shop, probably to talk to the owner. He seemed to know everyone in town.
Gray was polite, asking where I had been and how I was doing. I didn’t tell him about my newfound sobriety because, frankly, I wasn’t sure it would last. But I did offer that I was visiting my sister’s place in Ohio.
“Listen,” he said, “I hate to rush you back, but Tina’s been working night and day lining up promoters and venues for the Freedom tour. It’s gonna be incredible. She’s got us booked for at least forty cities, probably more like sixty, including a swing through Europe.”
My stomach turned.
“Fairly soon, I’ve got to get you guys back to the bubble to practice the new set.”
The “bubble” was an enormous jet hangar at JFK International Airport in New York that Gray rented for us when it was time to practice for upcoming tours.
“Hmm.” News that once would have made me pump my fist in exultation, now made me literally sick to my stomach.
He staggered through the silence. “So…how is everything? How’s Endora?”
“Haven’t seen her,” I said, my mind rocketing back to the rooftop mirage in Manhattan.
“Oh, really? That’s unusual. What’s the deal? You two haven’t gone your separate ways, have you?”
Suddenly, I felt anxious, almost light-headed. My heart raced, much like it had atop the fifty-seven-story skyscraper the other night. But this time, my feet were firm on Ohio soil, which scared me even more.
“We may be.” I focused on the thick gray trunk of a nearby tree to stabilize myself.
“Listen, I’m glad you turned yourself in to the Dayton PD,” he said, waiting for a response but getting none. “Eventually, you’re gonna have to head back for a hearing on that thing…unless the attorneys can pull a rabbit out of the hat. But don’t worry, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll take care of it.”
“Okay,” I said, pacing amid the playground wood chips, my heart drumrolling. “Is that all?”
“Yes, I guess that’s it.” Gray sounded confused by my abruptness.
I shut the phone.
Look at you, Everett Lester, came the voice. You’re never going to change. Your sobriety is temporary. You see? Now, it’s back to the tour and records, back to the pot and booze and pills, back to the strange women, and yes, back to Endora—the only one you will ever be able to trust…
The tires that squealed around the corner two blocks away snapped me out of the funk. Then an engine opened up about five times as loud as it should on such a quiet street. I looked up to see Mary’s Subaru swerve sharply before it veered toward me and lurched to a halt in a parking space twenty feet away, her driver’s door bouncing open almost before the vehicle stopped.
“There’s been an accident! There’s been an accident!” She ran toward me. “Oh, E
verett…we’ve got to get to New York!”
The bells on the shop door rang, and Jerry raced over from across the street. I ran down the small hill from the park, and we both met Mary at the sidewalk.
“It’s David!” she said, out of breath, turning toward Jerry. “Eddie’s youngest boy!”
“Calm down, Mary, calm down!” Jerry grabbed her at the elbows. “Slow down, sweetheart. It’s okay. It’s okay. Tell us what’s happened.” He was out of breath, too. So was I.
“Jerry!” She clamped onto his face. “It’s my nephew, David. Oh, dear…he may not make it!”
“Ev.” She turned to me. “He’s been in a terrible accident. We’ve got to get up there…for Eddie.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, getting my bearings. “We’ll go to him. Let’s get your car back to Jerry’s. Then…Jerry, can you drive us to the airport?”
He was already in motion.
19
A LIMO WHISKED MARY and me from the cold runway where we landed at LaGuardia through the Bronx and Yonkers and up to White Plains Hospital Center in White Plains, New York.
What we found there was not good. Not good at all.
Our brother Eddie was nowhere to be found when we arrived at the hospital. However, his red-eyed wife, Sheila; silent nineteen-year-old son, Wesley; and stunned sixteen-year-old daughter, Madison, were camped outside the intensive care unit, along with about a dozen family members and friends.
The torn body of seventeen-year-old David lay in an adjacent room, where he was monitored constantly by a staff of all-business nurses and physicians.
One of Sheila’s brothers, Bill, explained to Mary and me that David had been in a horrific car wreck following school that afternoon. He was driving his black Camaro with three passengers in the suburbs of White Plains, when he lost control of the car and hit an oncoming vehicle head-on.
David’s mangled body was found twenty feet from the scene, actually behind the car he had hit. Nearly every bone in his body was broken, a foot had been severed, and he had lost a dangerous amount of blood. Two of David’s passengers, a seventeen-year-old boy and a sixteen-year old girl, were pronounced dead at the scene. The other passenger, a nineteen-year-old male, was in good condition two floors up.
Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol Page 17