Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol

by Creston Mapes

  I am excited about the future!

  Yours truly,

  Karen

  She had always brought me a smile, like the one I wore now.

  She had been so faithful…to her God…to me.

  I was falling asleep now.

  More tomorrow.

  CLANG…CLANG…CLANG…CLANG…

  RRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRR…

  Floodlights and sirens.

  Footsteps…running…one guard after another. Rifles engaged.

  CLANG…CLANG…CLANG…CLANG…

  RRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRR…

  Dogs…panting, wagging, running.

  “Fourth floor, fourth floor!” came the guards’ screams.

  I staggered out of my bunk, squinting beneath what appeared to be stadium lights. Standing dazed, looking out my cell…searching for Donald Chambers.

  Inmates began banging and clanging in their cells, cheering…screaming.

  Someone is out!

  Now I saw Chambers running toward the main guard station; he slid to a halt, just down the corridor from me. He wore a green helmet and was armed with a black rifle. The radio clipped to his shoulder emitted static, then voices…loud.

  “One inmate…we have one inmate down.”

  Static…

  “He’s in custody.”

  Static…

  Volume and alarm of the voice increased… “We got bedsheets!”

  Static…

  Chambers’s eyes locked in on mine. It was a grave, fleeting look.

  Static…

  Another voice on another radio. “We’re outside at the perimeter.”

  Static… “We got a…mattress. I repeat, a mattress at the top of the fence.”

  The place went bonkers. I’d never heard it so maddeningly loud.

  I turned to throw on another shirt, and something on the floor caught my eye. A yellow piece of paper, folded down to wallet size.

  I picked it up and unfolded it. Dark red liquid ran off the edge of the paper onto my left hand. Revolted, I shook it off. Then I read the childlike handwriting:

  Watch out, Lester.

  Me and my demons are loose.

  I’ve made a blood oath to get you.

  Tell my pretty Karen I’ll see her soon.

  Z

  22

  MARY’S PHONE CALL CAME as I was preparing for Endora’s arrival at my condo in North Miami. When she told me young Olivia Gilbert was moving back to Xenia, Ohio, to be with her parents, I was ecstatic.

  But Mary hadn’t finished yet.

  Olivia was still in a coma, a state in which her doctors feared she would remain—indefinitely.

  I imagined the rage and anguish of Claudia and Raymond Gilbert as the hospital bed was delivered to their meager home and set up in the family room. A nurse would be on duty twelve hours a day, Mary said, to bathe Olivia, brush her teeth and hair, to reposition her stiffening body in order to prevent bedsores, feed her by tube, administer physical therapy, and…change her diaper.

  “Stop, Mary! Stop. Don’t tell me any more…I can’t take it. My gosh…what have I done?”

  She was crying, too. Loudly. Both of us were.

  I hung up and fell to my knees between the living room and the balcony.

  The floodgates opened.

  I remembered the picture at Jerry Princeton’s house—the one of Olivia and her older sister, Veronica, cutting up in the summer sun, along with their mother and father. I examined it often the weeks I was there.

  Yes, I remembered the picture. Raymond was admiring Olivia. The father. Gazing at his little girl with a light in his eyes. A look of thankfulness. A reason for being.

  Wake up from this nightmare that is your life, man!

  YOU did this!

  And David…he believed in you. And now his blood was on your hands.

  This is REALITY.

  A girl lies in a bed, almost a vegetable, probably for life!

  What kind of person are you? ANIMAL!

  As I crawled out to the edge of the balcony, the sun that engulfed me did not warm the chill in my soul. It was the coldness of evil. Of death. Of everything that was wrong in the world. This was me.

  The thirty-second floor seemed dizzyingly high.

  “My God. My God. What have I done to this girl’s life? Oh, Lord, please…You can still save her. I’ll give my life for hers, Lord. Will You accept that? Will You make a deal with me? One time? One…time.”

  I had never cried like that before. Out of control.

  “Please, Father. Please…I’ll give You my life, if You’ll heal Olivia. I want You, Lord. I need You! I’m so full of sin. Please…come in. Come into my life. Right now! I give it up to You. Please…forgive me. Make me Yours. Oh, please, make that little girl well again…”

  I did not want to commit suicide that day, but I did want to die.

  I did not want to leap from the balcony of The Towers complex, but I was finally ready to lay my life down.

  “You’re going to need to help me, God,” I cried, still lying on the floor near the balcony. “I don’t know anything about being a Christian, but I’m ready…I’m ready to try.”

  With my nose running and tears all over my shirtsleeves, I began to laugh and weep at the same time.

  This is so radical.

  Karen will be beside herself. And Mary, and Jerry…

  I smiled, then laughed again and dried my eyes and nose with the front of my untucked shirt.

  The fans, the band, Gray—no one will believe it.

  I couldn’t ever recall feeling as I did at that moment: completely drained but thoroughly refreshed. Alert. Clean. Resurrected.

  Then the doorbell rang, three quick shots.

  Before I could even react, footsteps rushed about the condo.

  “Everett?” came Endora’s panicked voice. “Everett…what’s going on?” Her feet paced to and fro as I remained silent on the floor. “Oh, dear, Everett! Oh, dear Satan, tell me I’m not too late. Can’t be too late…”

  A local AM radio station was the first to have the story, which I picked up on my small black and silver transistor radio as I lay on my bunk before breakfast.

  “Authorities launched a massive manhunt in the predawn hours today for a dangerous felon who escaped from the Miami-Dade detention center by shimmying down a thirty-foot rope made out of bedsheets.

  “At least seventy-five officers using dogs and boats pursued the thirty-eight-year-old escapee, Zane Bender, who had recently begun serving a seventeen-year sentence at the facility for armed robbery and attempted murder. Bender was set to serve as a key witness for the defense in the highly publicized Everett Lester murder trial in Miami today.

  “According to authorities, Bender and another inmate broke a thirty-six-by-twenty-four-inch window on the fourth floor and stuffed a mattress out the opening. The other inmate was critically injured, apprehended, and hospitalized, but Bender squeezed through the window, slid down the homemade rope, dropped some fifteen feet to the ground, and used the mattress to scale a tall, razor-wire fence.

  “Authorities were concentrating their search in the Kendall area, but a state trooper and spokesman in the case says Bender may be farther than that by now. ‘Who knows? This guy may be headed for the Everglades, which is really one of his only choices. We’ve got dogs on airboats right now, combing the Glades. But if he went that route, he may have a difficult time with the gators and all.’”

  “I guess you don’t believe in letting someone answer the door,” I said, my voice startling Endora from the floor of the balcony that overlooked Bal Harbour.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she said, out of breath. “What are you doing down there?” Then she blinked in surprise, probably noticing my puffy eyes and runny nose.

  Setting her purse on the table, she knelt. “Hey, what’s the matter with you? Are you okay?”

  But they were just words, empty words. I knew that now.

  She could no
longer disguise the revulsion she felt toward me; it was all over her face. And likewise, my hostility toward her had to be a dead giveaway.

  “What did you mean just now when you said you hoped you weren’t too late?” I surprised her by taking the offensive. “Too late for what?”

  She stood and put her hands on the railing, looking out at the Atlantic, shimmering white from the high south Florida sun. “Oh…nothing. I’ve just been in such a hurry, juggling a zillion clients, talking to Gray about the new tour. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss you.”

  “Seemed pretty urgent, the way you barged in here.” I knew clearly that she was against me now, that she was indeed my enemy, that somehow she knew what had just transpired in that room, and that she had intended to stop it.

  “I just care about you,” she said, without turning around. “Is that such a crime?”

  She made me want to gag. I could only think of Karen, the black roses…the fire. “Let’s get on with this thing.”

  “Fine.” She spun around, throwing her shoulders back and heading into the condo with her lips pursed. “Let’s darken this place up and talk to the dead.”

  Everyone on our defense team was on edge this morning. Earlier, Judge Sprockett had instructed his bailiff to dismiss the jury temporarily. We didn’t know why but assumed it had to do with Zane Bender’s escape from the detention center the previous night.

  Even the usually calm Brian Boone was antsy and pacing, as we waited for Judge Sprockett to enter the courtroom from the judge’s chambers. Meanwhile, Frank Dooley, standing with his arms folded and wearing an overconfident grin, scanned the crowd for fans and admirers.

  The media crew was literally overflowing from its designated area, and there was a distinct frenzy among today’s crowd. Dooley tugged at his starched white cuffs and smiled enormously as Judge Sprockett strode into the courtroom.

  After breezing through some formalities, Sprockett motioned to Brian to determine how the defense wished to proceed, following the eventful night at the detention center.

  “Your Honor,” Boone said, looking a bit pale. “Everyone is well aware that one of the key witnesses in our defense, possibly the key witness, Mr. Zane Bender, will not appear before us today. Although we are confident and hopeful Mr. Bender will be apprehended quickly so he can testify before this court, we must regrettably request that the court recess for a day or two so we may redirect our research efforts and line up several more witnesses.”

  Boone, wearing a khaki blazer and dark blue slacks, sat down hard beside me and waited for the repercussions.

  “Your Honor, if I may.” Dooley stood and approached the bench. “We, the prosecution, believe we have been extremely patient, if not long-suffering, as we have painstakingly waded through Mr. Boone’s uninspiring defense proceedings. I can see clearly,” he smiled into the TV camera, “that Mr. Boone and Mr. Lester are in a bit of a pickle today, seeing that their big star witness decided to choose today of all days to escape from a maximum security prison…”

  Dooley was right in thinking the line would bring a laugh, as courtroom B-3 erupted like a Letterman audience.

  Even Judge Sprockett gave in to a half smile. “Okay, Mr. Dooley, enough bantering. What’s your point?”

  “My point is, Your Honor,” Dooley turned to look directly at Boone and me, “let’s not drag this thing out. The facts have painted a blatantly clear picture. We’re asking that you not allow this case to be watered down by sheer…aimlessness.”

  Glancing toward the media pit, he pulled his chair out and sat, careful not to crease the expensive duds.

  “Your point is well taken,” Sprockett said. “I’m going to grant a one-day recess, Mr. Boone. We will meet back here precisely at 9 a.m. tomorrow. Everyone, please be on time. And please, Mr. Boone, let’s get things rolling at a good clip tomorrow. Bailiff, tell the jury they have the day off.”

  The crowd came to its feet, and the reporters blew past their boundaries within three feet of Boone and me, as we huddled close to talk before I was escorted away.

  “Let’s not worry too much about this yet, Everett.” He raised his voice. “They’ll catch him. In the meantime, I’ve been doing some research. Found a good witness—an expert hypnotist. He may be able to help.”

  I looked into Brian’s eyes and nodded but detected an uncertainty I hadn’t seen in Boone before. “Pray we can get this guy to the stand by tomorrow,” he said. “We’re running out of time—and leads.”

  Things began as I had planned. Endora pulled the black curtains closed and lit more than a dozen candles. She positioned herself on the floor, with me opposite her.

  “Here, drink this.” She handed me a glass of dark red wine and sipped one herself. “It will help you relax.”

  Karen’s words came zinging back to me: “Don’t give her in inch… Don’t put yourself…under her evil authority. She’ll suck you in!”

  At the same time, I believed Karen’s life was on the line. I had to dupe Endora.

  “Cheers.” I hoisted the glass to my lips to pacify her and pretended to take a big swig.

  “More,” she bossed, drinking herself.

  Again, I lifted the glass, yet drank as little as possible.

  Silence fell over the room as we closed our eyes and waited.

  After a few minutes had passed, Endora slowly broke into a low, evil chant. It became louder. Soon she began to break into deep moans paired with sudden, stuttered shrieks. “Liza Moon…Liza Moooooooon. Come and meet us.”

  As I cheated, peeking through squinting eyes, the floor spun slightly, and I noticed Endora had begun to tremble. Her face was milky white, in stark contrast to her dark purple lipstick and the brown mole painted on her right cheek.

  “What?” Endora shouted, as if she had seen a ghost. “Yes. yes…I hear you, Liza!”

  “What did she say?” I asked anxiously.

  “Silence!”

  I quickly shut my eyes and pretended to listen harder.

  Then Endora began laughing wickedly, practically shrieking. I couldn’t help but glimpse at her again. I had never seen anything like it. It was as if her body had been taken over by someone else. Every inch of her was shaking. I didn’t know what had hold of her, but whatever was rocking her body seemed real.

  “‘The…angel…’” Endora nodded toward the sky, as if holding a conversation with someone above her. “‘The…angel of death, she must…’”

  I had heard this term, “angel of death,” before. I didn’t know where, but I knew Endora was talking about Karen.

  Alarm set in. My head swayed.

  Get hold of yourself.

  Endora’s face was wrinkled in contortion, her head tipped sideways, as if listening to someone floating above her. “‘She—must—die. The angel of death must die!’”

  “Why?” I barked, fighting off dizziness. “Why must she die?”

  Endora paused, as if staggered by an unwanted intruder. “Why must the angel die, Miss Liza?” she finally asked, throwing her arms up in the air, demanding quiet as she waited for Liza’s response.

  Speaking in another voice, almost as deep as a man’s, Endora said, “She will lead Everett to the Lamb. Then, everything will…change.”

  It was now or never.

  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.