Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol

by Creston Mapes

  “And who or what was that dragon, Mr. Crazee?”

  Ricky’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, his chest out, his shoulders pointing backward oddly. “Drugs and alcohol. I’m not ashamed to say it. The so-called dragon in my life was drugs and alcohol. I was addicted. It’s no secret.”

  “And so,” Boone strolled in front of our table, jacket off, “what kind of drugs did you do and how bad was your addiction?”

  “From the minute I got up till I crashed, I was on something,” Ricky said, perturbed. “Heroine, coke, uppers, downers—you name it.”

  “Tell the court today, Mr. Crazee, how you ever came clean from such addiction. Did you check yourself into a rehab center? Some sort of clinic?”

  Ricky shot Boone a look of disgust.

  I glanced over and noticed his wife on her way out of the courtroom.

  Something was definitely cooking.

  “I think you know the answer,” Ricky said to Boone.

  “That’s not the point, Mr. Crazee. The point is, I need you to tell the jury how you came clean from your debilitating drug addiction.”

  “Okay! Endora hypnotized me. That’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, in fact, that is what I wanted to hear,” Boone said, with his arms crossed, standing right in front of Ricky. “Why don’t you tell us more about your healing.”

  “This is a farce, man…”

  “Mr. Crazee,” Sprockett said. “I’ll remind you that a man’s future is at stake here. I’ll also remind you that you are in a court of law and may be held in contempt if you’re not fully compliant here today.”

  “Just explain, Mr. Crazee.” Boone walked toward a bewildered Frank Dooley.

  “She knew what the dragon was,” Ricky gave in. “Once I figured it out, I went to her. She told me she could help…by hypnotizing me.”

  Ricky tried to continue, but the turbulence in the courtroom was too much.

  Crack!

  “People…” Sprockett yelled.

  Crack!

  There was a pause as the crowd quieted. The noise was reduced to the sound of an audience before a play—quiet chitter-chatter everywhere.

  Boone didn’t want to lose his momentum. “Keep going, please, Mr. Crazee.”

  Ricky seemed to relax with the bedlam. “We were in LA. Endora invited me to her place in Malibu.”

  “For the specific purpose of hypnotizing you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And how did that unfold? What happened? How did it work?”

  “She gave me a couple of pills; I don’t know what they were. Then I just laid on a couch, and she told me I would be getting tired,” Ricky said. “Basically, that’s it. I woke up about an hour later and really didn’t feel any different. Really didn’t think it had worked.”

  “But, had it…worked?”

  “I haven’t had any illegal drugs since.” Ricky leaned toward the microphone. “I’m not ashamed of what I did. I’m clean and sober today because of it.”

  “I’m glad for you, Mr. Crazee.” Boone walked away from red-faced Ricky, making sure it was good and quiet before he spoke again. “Tell the court, if you will, exactly what you remember about the time you spent under hypnosis with Madam Endora.”

  “I told you, nothing.” Ricky shrugged. “I didn’t think anything had happened. It felt like I had taken a short nap, got up, and went on my way. Later I realized my drug cravings were gone.”

  “But to clarify, you cannot tell the court one thing about what happened while you were under the power of Endora’s hypnosis?”

  “No.”

  “So you wouldn’t have known if she asked you to walk somewhere?”

  He hesitated. “No.”

  “You wouldn’t have known if she instructed you to call someone on the phone or go someplace in your car?”

  Looking around uncomfortably, he said, “No.”

  “And you wouldn’t have known if she told you to smash a rock waterfall or…shoot someone in the stomach?”

  Dooley’s table actually moved slightly when he barged into it, shooting around the corner, objecting all the way to Judge Sprockett’s bench.

  But it was too late. Boone had already opened the can of worms, sat down, and braced himself for Judge Sprockett’s scolding, which came in the form of a verbal lashing and a strict warning about being in contempt of court.

  As far as I could tell, Boone’s strategy scored points for our side.

  Karen usually got what she prayed for. That explains why, the morning after the incident at Lake Shawnee, she and her mom and dad found themselves lounging with me in the back of a gleaming white DeathStroke jet, sitting on the runway at Forbes Field ready to take off for Miami.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Jacob said, staring out one of the small, round, tinted windows while seated on a beige leather couch.

  “I can’t believe it’s going to be warm enough to swim!” Karen said, as she examined the contents of a nearby refrigerator.

  “I’ve never been to Miami,” Sarah said. “How did you end up with a place down there, Everett?”

  “It started out as just another investment.” I accepted a cup of coffee from the brunette hostess. “My financial advisors told me I needed to buy more real estate. So, we did. Finally, I got down there one time on a video shoot and loved it. Then I started going there regularly.”

  When the hostess had served each of us, we sat in silence for a few minutes as the three-person crew prepared for takeoff.

  “I wonder if there are any good churches in Miami,” I said, looking at Jacob.

  “Sure there are. You just need to start visiting some and see what fits you best. Maybe we can do that while we’re there.”

  “That would be fun,” Karen said.

  “I’ve been thinking about the story you told, Jacob, about knowing your testimony,” I said. “I want to write mine down.”

  “Yours is going to be a doozy,” he said, smiling.

  Karen reached out for my free hand. As she did, Sarah smiled ever so slightly from her seat in one of the soft captain’s chairs. Then she swiveled and took Jacob’s big hand in hers.

  My phone rang, and I grabbed it quick, almost as if I had been expecting it.

  “Where are you?” asked a rigid Brian Boone.

  “On the tarmac at Forbes Field in Topeka, preparing for takeoff, you’ll be glad to know. Should be back to you in two, three hours. What’s up?”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Oh, did I say we?” I said jokingly to Karen and her folks, who looked embarrassed. “No really. My friend Karen is coming back with me, and her mom and dad.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s wrong, Boone?” My stomach rose and fell. I realized in that the moment I had been denying might have arrived. “Do they want me in for questioning?”

  Nothing.

  “Boone? Are you there?”

  “You haven’t had the news on this morning, have you?”

  “No.” I motioned for Karen to turn the TV on.

  “It’s not good, Everett.”

  “Tell me…what?”

  At that moment, CNN lit up on the small screen. My picture was frozen in the upper left corner while a live feed showed a reporter outside Miami-Dade police headquarters.

  “A warrant has been issued for your arrest, for Endora’s murder,” Boone said. “The whole world is watching. Are there camera crews on the ground at Forbes Field?”

  I looked out my window and saw a lone white, blue, and yellow satellite truck racing down an access road. Then another one, farther back.

  “They’re on their way.”

  “Miami-Dade police want you to turn yourself in and surrender your passport,” Boone explained.

  “Fine, what do I need to do?”

  “Just come back to Miami International as planned. It’s going to be a zoo. They’ll take you in and book you. I’ll be there. We’re already trying to arrange bail. Not
sure what’s going to happen with that.”

  “What do you mean? Could I go to jail?”

  “The county prosecutor, a guy named Frank Dooley, says they may be seeking murder one charges… Yes, you could go to jail.”

  “Murder one?” I repeated, feeling faint.

  Jacob had his arm around Sarah, who was in tears in front of the TV. Karen had come to my side and put an arm around my shoulder.

  “Do you want me to make a statement for you to the press?” Boone asked.

  “Just tell them…” I stopped. “For now, tell them I heard about the warrant and am coming back right away to comply in any way I can. I’ll write up a statement on the flight and have it ready by the time we get there.”

  “Everett, are your friends prepared for this kind of media coverage? It could change their lives. It’s not too late for them to turn around.”

  “We’ll talk it over,” I said, feeling a touch of sweat on my forehead.

  “Sorry about this.”

  “Me too, Brian.”

  “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  “Hey, Boone, while I got you…is there any more word on Olivia Gilbert?”

  He was quiet for a moment. “She’s the same. It’s good of you to ask, though.”

  29

  IT WAS SOMEWHAT EMBARRASSING to say, but I believed Jacob, Sarah, and Karen felt it was their responsibility to look after me. After all, I was a new Christian. This was what they had spent the last ten or fifteen years praying for. Perhaps they wanted to make sure I would be okay in the tumultuous days ahead.

  In any case, they expressed no hesitation when I asked if they were certain they wanted to continue on the journey to Miami with me. I wouldn’t have blamed them if they had accepted my offer to be driven back to Jacob and Sarah’s house.

  Anyway, when the wheels of the Gulfstream G450 touched down on the warm Miami runway, we were all together. I was glad to have them along for the ride and away from whoever had been chasing us. As we bounced toward the jet’s private hangar, we could see what looked like a massive sculpture of media clutter awaiting us.

  Speaking with airport officials via radio en route to Miami, our pilots had already planned to pull the nose of the Gulfstream into the hangar, so we could exit the plane in private. Reporters and camera crews did not have access to the inside of the hangar.

  When the steps to the jet lowered, Gray Harris and Brian Boone were there to greet us, as well as a handful of other DeathStroke staff and personnel. I introduced the Bayliss family to Gray and Boone.

  “Is it going to be any problem getting my friends someplace where they’re comfortable?” I patted Gray on the back.

  “I’ve got it all arranged.” He smiled at the Baylisses. “We’ll have you to the house in Bal Harbour Village in no time.”

  A weight had been lifted.

  As I watched two of our suited security people lead Jacob, Sarah, and Karen across the sprawling floor of the large hangar, I smiled, waved, and blew a kiss to Karen when she looked back at me for the last time.

  “Are you ready to do this?” Gray asked.

  I turned back around to see Gray, Brian, and the others peering out through the opening in the large hangar doors at the mob scene of reporters, microphones, camera crews, and satellite trucks.

  “Let’s rock ’n’ roll.” I walked toward the bright white light.

  The lead investigator in Endora’s murder, Harry Coogle, reintroduced himself to me with a polite nod and handshake as I came into the sunlight and in view of dozens of cameras and hundreds of people—including law enforcement officials, fans, and onlookers.

  As people converged around me, I heard various screams ring out. “We love you, Everett!” A small group of people were chanting, “Kil-ler, Kil-ler, Kil-ler!” Reporters shouted, “Did you murder your psychic? Did you shoot Endora Crystal?”

  Coogle leaned close and spoke loudly so I could hear. “Thank you for coming. We’ll need to search you and use the handcuffs, then drive to Miami-Dade police headquarters for booking.” With my hands clasped behind my head, one officer patted me down from head to toe in search of weapons or drugs, I supposed. The cameras went wild.

  Then, with my hands behind my back, a tall black officer handcuffed me and escorted me to a waiting squad car, then helped me duck inside. Boone and Gray followed directly behind in a chauffeured black Lincoln.

  As we pulled away, a handmade sign stood out in the sea of people and equipment. It was way in back, on a big white placard, written in large black and red letters: “DIE SATAN!” Behind the sign, I noticed some ominous clouds looming high on the horizon, rolling our way.

  All eyes were on me inside the police precinct, where my pockets were emptied, my passport was taken, and I was quickly fingerprinted and photographed.

  “Everett,” Boone whispered, as a short uniformed woman wiped the black ink from my fingers, “the judge has set bail at five million dollars. Gray had a check drawn for five hundred thousand, which is what we need to provide today to get you out.”

  “Okay.” I nodded.

  Gray leaned in. “We’ll be out of here soon, Everett. Are you going to want to say anything outside?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got something to read, but you need to get it for me. It’s with the stuff from my pockets. White sheet of paper, folded up.”

  Outside, the skies had grown mean and dark, and a strong wind was kicking up. I could hear outcries about my fast release among the throngs of people covering the steps of the police headquarters. Even more media crews and people had gathered here than at the airport. Questions were being fired from all directions about “special treatment,” “another O. J.,” and “letting the rock-star killer go free.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Gray said, his white hair whipping in the wind, and his voice echoing as he stood behind a makeshift podium where there must have been fifty microphones hooked, taped, and hanging overhead. “Everett has a few words he would like to share today.”

  The crowd went nuts.

  “Before he speaks, I just want to say that we are confident he will be cleared in a court of law of all charges filed against him.” Gray’s voice seemed to bounce off the stormy sky.

  A mixture of cheers and boos arose from the crowd.

  Gray gestured for me to step forward.

  I hesitated just a moment, forcing my shoulders back and taking in a deep breath. Slowly I walked to the podium, adjusted the microphone, and unfolded the piece of paper that had grown warm in my hands. I was nervous, not used to being in front of people without the influence of drugs and alcohol.

  “Good day, ladies and gentlemen. What I want to say today does not have to do with the death of Endora Crystal.”

  I paused, chilled by the resonance of my own voice. “As my friend, Gray Harris, stated—we are confident the truth, surrounding the details of her unfortunate death, will come out in the days ahead, and our condolences go out to her family.

  “What I would like to talk to you about for a moment has to do with a young lady named Olivia Gilbert, who lays in a hospital bed in her home in Xenia, Ohio. She is a young lady I hurt very badly… What I’d like to talk to you about has to do with my nephew, David Lester, who was killed suddenly along with two other young people and an elderly couple in a tragic car accident in New York recently… What I want to say has to do with the overwhelming amount of fame and fortune I have amassed due to the success of a rock group known as DeathStroke.”

  I paused again as the wind whipped across the microphone. “What I want to say is, it has all been too much for me. Too much selfishness. Too many drugs. Too much sinfulness. Too much hurt. Too much guilt. Too much…bad influence.”

  Just then a huge gust of wind ripped across the landscape. I stepped back and squinted as papers flew, baseball caps danced across the crowd, and three or four mike stands crashed to the ground. I had to hold the sheet of paper I was reading from in both hands.

  I found myself almost yelling
to be heard over the wind. “Not long ago, I made a decision to surrender my life to Jesus Christ.”

  A flash of white-hot lighting cracked across the Florida sky. For a split second, I thought I could taste aluminum foil in my mouth, the lightning seemed to have hit so close. No rain yet, but the tall antennas atop the TV trucks rocked and bent due to the enormous wind. I couldn’t hear anything, except the roar of the air current hitting the mike.

  “I want you to know, I have found peace, joy, and the promise of eternal life in Jesus Christ. To you, the public, and to the many DeathStroke fans who will hear this message, I apologize to you from the bottom of my heart for misleading you with evil intent during my DeathStroke days. Although my sins have been forgiven by Christ, I also want to ask for your forgiveness as well.”

  Suddenly, we were engulfed by the menacing clouds I had noticed back at the airport; it was black as night. Cold drizzle began to pelt my face and arms as I saw a beautiful, thin white horizon all around me.

  “The new life I have in Christ is a living, breathing miracle. Only God can change a man so that he is literally born again as a new creation, as I have been. Today, I urge you to see what Christ has done in my life and to seek Him with all of your heart so He can have His way in your life as well.”

  As I paused one last time, gazing out over the crowd and the umbrellas, I noticed the cheering and bedlam had ceased. They were replaced by expressions of fear, perhaps about the brewing storm, and looks of confusion, probably about my statement. Turning around momentarily, I noticed Gray and Boone were wearing similar expressions.

  “Again…please accept my apologies for the poor example I have set for you. I hope with all my heart that God will allow me to me to make up for all of the destructive years—in the days to come. Thank you for being here with me today.”

  I’d never forget the shock on Gray’s face when I turned to be escorted off the podium to the black Lincoln. He kept staring at me but said nothing. Brian made eye contact and shot me a quick smile, then went on, business as usual, as police motorcycles revved their engines in preparation to escort the Lincoln toward Bal Harbour Village.