Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol Read online

  “Sat down? In the sand?”

  “Yes. She sat Indian-style and put both hands to her temples, like this.” Tina bent her head down, closed her eyes, and gently pressed her fingertips to her temples, as if trying to concentrate.

  “What did Mr. Lester do?”

  “He kept…ranting. Just kind of pacing…yelling.”

  “Miss Drew, it is every important you tell the court, did Mr. Lester point the gun at Endora Crystal?”

  She glanced at me, the judge, then Dooley. “He did point it at her several times during all this. But then he dropped the gun. He looked stunned. I…it…it looked as if he had been shocked…by electricity or something.”

  “Miss Drew, calm down. Tell us, did…”

  “She made the gun go into the water,” Tina announced in monotone, staring at the rail in front of her. “It lifted up and flew out into the surf, as if someone had thrown it.”

  A sudden murmur blew through the entire courtroom as I sat staring at the notepad in front of me, remembering distinctly how the gun had scorched my right hand. Remembering how it levitated when I reached for it. Remembering how it rocketed into the Gulf of Mexico.

  “Order,” Sprockett commanded. “Be quiet in this courtroom.”

  “Miss Drew,” Dooley took over, “when you were working as the tour coordinator for DeathStroke, did you take social drugs of any kind?”

  “Absolutely never!” Tina stated, Kleenex in hand, regaining her composure.

  “Because, I don’t know what to make of the scenario you just described.”

  “Endora was a psychic, you know,” Tina blurted out.

  “In your opinion, was Everett Lester capable of killing Madam Endora Crystal?”

  Tina had been looking at me but turned toward Dooley now. “No. Only if he was under the heavy influence of drugs or alcohol, which he wasn’t at the time of…”

  “Which he was most of the time. Thank you, Miss Drew.” Dooley headed back to his seat. “No further questions for now.”

  11

  IN HIS OWN TENDER way, Jerry Princeton managed to get his sister Claudia to open up to Mary and me during the next several hours that we stayed in Olivia’s hospital room.

  Formerly a U.S. Marine, Jerry had been married for eighteen years to his high school sweetheart, Susan, until she died from complications caused by breast cancer three years earlier. They had no children, and Jerry lived by himself in nearby Grayson, Ohio, where he was the director of admissions at a small, private liberal arts college.

  “Do you remember, Jerry, how Olivia used to love to swing with you when you came over to our place, like on holidays?” Claudia’s eyes twinkled up at her brother.

  “Ohhh,” Jerry moaned, pretending to faint from exhaustion. “She would wear me out on that thing. ‘Uncle Jerrrry, Uncle Jerrrrrry, give me another mile-high drop, pleeeeease,’” he imitated Olivia.

  Claudia slowly opened up and told us all about Olivia’s life. She was a solid B student in the ninth grade who loved cheerleading, swimming, music, movies, and friends. She was the light of everyone’s life, a young lady who took an interest in others, even adults.

  Olivia was the life of the party, and very loyal to her family. Claudia made it clear, too, that Olivia’s father, Raymond, wasn’t coping well with his daughter’s injuries. He and Olivia were very close, and he was “out of sorts.”

  That made me feel squeamish.

  The DeathStroke show in Dayton was the first big concert Olivia had ever attended. She did so with her older sister, Veronica, and a group of their friends.

  Jerry took an interest in us, especially in Mary, probably because it would have been awkward for him to ask much about me. What could he have said? “So, are you still struggling with drug addiction? How long has it been since you injured someone as badly as you have my niece?”

  Mary and Jerry, it turned out, had a great deal in common. They were both avid readers, loved to play racquetball, and were very involved with their churches. After Jerry lost his wife, he told us he had almost taken his own life. Instead, he turned to a friend from work at Gladstone College who cried and laughed with him—and helped him make it through the grieving process.

  Ah, what it would be like to have such a friend.

  The letters from Karen Bayliss shuffled through my mind. I will call her. I will.

  Meanwhile, Mary had given Jerry her phone number and asked that he keep her informed about Olivia’s condition. Jerry assured her he would and even suggested perhaps they meet for dinner sometime in the near future, since they lived only about an hour apart.

  “Claudia,” Mary said quietly as we were about to leave, “would it be okay if we pray for Olivia quickly before we leave?”

  “Of course,” she said, with a dazed look on her face. “That would be fine.”

  Before the uneasiness had time to engulf me, Mary had taken my hand and led me toward Olivia’s bed. Jerry extended his left hand toward me, and I took it. Claudia reached up and grasped her brother’s free hand.

  Mary bowed her head, closed her eyes, and rested a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. I shut my eyes as well.

  “Father in heaven…this is a precious life, here in this bed. A dear lamb of Yours.” I could hear Claudia fighting back the emotion. “Please, Lord, please…will You come and restore her? Please, heal this wound, we pray. Let there be no internal complications. Move in power to wake her from this sleep and let there be no lasting problems from this injury.”

  A moment of silence passed.

  “Father,” Jerry added, “You have Your reasons for everything. I know that.” He paused, composing himself. “Thank You for bringing Everett and Mary here today. We see You at work here, God, in some mighty way that we don’t understand. But Your Word tells us to trust in You and lean not on our own understanding. So, instead of worrying about what we see, we trust in You for her healing and for everything else You’re going to do as a result of this accident. May Your Spirit heal Olivia and richly bless Mary and Everett. Strengthen Claudia, give her faith in You… God, bless Raymond. Calm him. Help him find Your peace in this storm.”

  “Oh, dear God!” Claudia burst in. “Please heal my baby.”

  She cried, and Mary’s hand squeezed mine tightly as the tear that escaped my right eye caught me off guard.

  “Please, God, heal my little angel. I’ll do anything…”

  The door to room 314 swung open, and just as I turned toward it, my nose and upper lip were smashed by the swooping, iron fist of Raymond Gilbert.

  The floodgates in my nose burst open. Blood let loose everywhere as I saw neon stars whirl by, and then I collapsed to the floor.

  Raymond Gilbert was all over me.

  “How dare you come here!” He pummeled me with his boots.

  “Stop, Raymond!” Jerry staggered to get between me and his brother-in-law.

  “Get him ouuuuut!” Raymond shoved Jerry out of the way then jacked me in the face with another right.

  The room spun.

  “Stop it!” Mary screamed. “Stop!”

  Still down on the floor, I felt Raymond kick me again, then grab me underneath my armpits and drag me to the door.

  “You dirty…filthy…” he inhaled deeply after every word, “piece of garbage. I knew I never should have let her go!”

  With what had to be all of his might, he slammed me against the inside of the large wood door. My head and the top of my neck cracked hard, and I dropped to the floor, blood all over the front of me.

  Mary squealed and dashed to my side. Jerry locked Raymond in a bear hug from behind, but he didn’t fight.

  “Don’t ever come near us again,” he gasped, spitting every word, his sand-colored hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead.

  “Sorry,” I managed, out of breath, my whole body aching. “So sorry…”

  “You’re gonna pay.” He pointed a long, crooked finger at me as Jerry continued to harness him from behind.

  “No…Raymond, please!�
�� Claudia cried. “Stop. This is too much…”

  “I’m gonna ruin you.” He ignored the pleas of his wife. “I’m gonna sue you for everything you got. Now, git outta here, before I—” another flying boot came toward me but missed—“put you in intensive care.”

  “Isn’t it true that you carried a 3.95 grade point average in high school?” Brian Boone cross-examined Tina Drew, who was still licking her wounds from Dooley’s attack.

  “Yes.”

  “And is it true that in just three and a half years, you earned a bachelor’s degree in business from Columbia University?”

  “That’s right,” Tina said.

  “And what did you do next?”

  “I held a job with a Fortune 500 company while working my way through graduate school at Clemson. There, I earned an MBA in international business.”

  “Have you ever seen a psychiatrist, an analyst, or a hypnotist?” asked Boone.

  “No, sir.”

  “Have you ever been arrested, accused of a crime, or even been pulled over for an auto violation?”

  “No. None of those.”

  “And tell the court, if you will, the condition of your eyesight.”

  “I see twenty-twenty.”

  “And Miss Drew—” Boone spun around to face me—“did you ever, in all your days with DeathStroke, or at any time, see Everett Lester kissing or hugging or showing any kind of romantic affection whatsoever for Madam Endora Crystal?”

  “Never even close,” Tina said, getting the wind back in her sails.

  Boone smiled at Judge Sprockett. “Your Honor, I need it to go on record that Tina Drew is an exemplary witness. This is a smart, honest, upright citizen. She has no reason to make up a story about a gun flying into the ocean. No, she is telling us the truth about what she saw on that beach in Fort Myers. And that is why I need to impress it upon your heart that there are some very…very strange circumstances shrouding the life and death of Edith Rosenbaum—Madam Endora Crystal.

  “Miss Drew,” he turned to Tina, “have you ever heard of telekinesis?”

  “Yes I have,” Tina said, bending her shoulders back. “After the episode I described in Fort Myers between Everett and Endora, I researched telekinesis.”

  “And what did your research reveal?”

  Frank Dooley tossed his pen onto the table in front of him but remained seated. “Your Honor, I object. Madam Endora Crystal is dead. She is not on trial. But the man seated at the table next to me, the man with the gun, Everett Lester, is on trial here—for murder in the first degree. May we try his case? What’s the relevance of Mr. Boone’s line of questioning?”

  “Point well taken.” Judge Sprockett removed his glasses from the end of his long nose and leaned forward in his tall, black chair. “However, I think you would agree, this is a most unusual case. We are dealing with a victim who dealt heavily in mysticism, the psychic realm, and the occult. Therefore, as Mr. Boone has said, this case is likely going to take us some places we don’t normally go…some places we may not feel comfortable going. I believe it will have to be that way. Objection overruled.”

  I exhaled deeply and relaxed slightly as Boone stood up from the edge of the table in front of me where he had been seated for a moment. He strode to the witness box. This was clearly his most poignant defense to date. He delivered each question to Tina like a mouthwatering home run ball, which she hit over the fence. And as she did, Boone looked directly into the eyes of juror after juror, one by one, right down the line.

  “Miss Drew, you were about to tell us what your research revealed about telekinesis.”

  “Yes, sir. Telekinesis is the ability to move an object with the power of the mind only, with no physical touch.”

  “Are you suggesting that’s what happened in the incident on the beach between Everett Lester and Endora Crystal? That Endora moved the gun by using telekinetic powers?”

  “That’s the only explanation I can come up with. I’ve read that people who have this ability—telekinesis—can learn to control it and even use it, especially in emotional situations where there is substantial fear or anger.”

  “I cannot believe what is happening here.” Dooley groaned, crossing his arms in disgust.

  “That’s enough, Mr. Dooley,” Judge Sprockett said.

  “And that’s all I have for now.” Boone headed back to the table with a slight grin on his boyish face.

  I didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t care. It was nothing new for me to wake up feeling drugged or to be in a strange place. What was new and what I did care about, however, was the sheer pain that pulsated from my face and body.

  As I cracked open my eyes and lifted my head from the big pillow to look around the dark, unfamiliar room, pain scorched my neck. Then I noticed a bulk of white bandages on my nose. It had to be broken, the soreness told me. I reached up to feel a boxy splint on my nose and gauze and tape on my jaw.

  Dropping my head back onto the pillow, I stared up at the white ceiling and recalled seeing Olivia Gilbert asleep, covered in tubes and tape and bandages. Fourteen years old…swimming…cheerleading…coma.

  I remembered praying over her bed with Mary, Jerry, and Claudia.

  I remembered the boy doctor, Danny Treadwell.

  Cincinnati! I’m supposed to be in Cincinnati.

  What time was it?

  Wincing, I propped myself up on the edge of the bed.

  Two thirty-five and light outside.

  People and companies and cash registers…counting on me.

  Dibbs and Scoogs and Crazee…Gray Harris.

  I’ve got to go! But there’s no way.

  My father’s displeasure.

  Liza…gone.

  Endora.

  My head reeled from it all.

  Death would be better than this.

  A sick feeling rolled through my stomach and up to my throat as I remembered the enraged face of Raymond Gilbert.

  A father’s passionate love…

  Disregarding the pain that coursed through me, I dashed into the small bathroom where I fell to my knees, vomiting violently into the toilet.

  Unrolling a wad of toilet paper from the holder next to me, I swiped my mouth and dropped back against the wall of the cramped bathroom. I was burning up. The pain in my neck and face was almost unbearable. Feeling the sickness coming again, I hoisted myself up and vomited.

  Grasping the front edge of the sink with trembling hands, I looked into the mirror. This was not my shirt. Someone had changed me. The splint appeared huge over my swollen cheeks. Even worse were the dark purple half circles that had settled beneath my eyes.

  A pit deep in my stomach screamed out. My head pulsed.

  Drugs.

  I crawled to my black shoulder bag, which sat on a chair in the corner. My hands shook almost violently as I rummaged through.

  Nothing.

  I groaned and felt the weight of the world.

  So alone.

  Sleep…just let me sleep.

  I started to fade out but then remembered the promise I had made to myself. “I will call Karen Bayliss. I will.”

  My phone was off. Holding down the red button with one hand to power it back up, with the other I found the letter on which I had scribbled Karen’s number; it stuck out of the small brown Bible in my bag.

  I didn’t hesitate to dial the number this time but punched it in quickly, as if Karen was the drug I had been longing for a moment ago.

  Two rings…

  “Hi, this is Karen. I can’t make it to the phone right now, but leave a message if you like. Hope to talk to you soon… Bye!”

  Beeeeeep.

  “Hi…” I sniffed. “This is Everett…Everett Lester. I…I get your letters. They mean something to me. Uh, I don’t know… I’ve been meaning to contact you. I need help, I really do. I’m just messed up. Um…uh…thank you…for caring. Good-bye.”

  I turned the phone off and slept.

  12

  WHEN I WOKE UP agai
n, my face and sides were sore to the touch, and my neck felt as if I had been in a car wreck.

  After lying in bed for a few minutes thinking about Olivia, our packed concert schedule, the recording project in California, and all my other commitments, my heart raced. Sheer anxiety forced me up.

  I walked gingerly to the window, moved the curtains open about six inches with the back of my hand, and peered out. My room overlooked a picturesque backyard, nicely mowed and filled with trees and greenery. The long shadows told me it was late afternoon.

  My black bag was still in the chair in the corner.

  In the bathroom, I patted my mangled face with a wet washcloth, rinsed my hands, and brushed my hair. Then I eased open the door to my room, which led out to a cozy family room lit by skylights and a tin lamp. It featured wood floors, a dark brown couch, fireplace, built-in bookcases, and rustic exposed beams overhead.

  “Hello,” I called out, walking into the room.

  The largest of the framed pictures sitting upright on the built-in desk showed a young Jerry Princeton with his arm around a beautiful blond woman, probably the wife who died. Their hair was blowing in the wind. They were both tan, wore sunglasses, and held drinks. It looked as if they were on a boat.

  “Hello,” I said louder.

  Another photograph, a black and white, showed Jerry and four other uniformed Marines, smoking cigarettes and showing off their tattoos and rifles. There was also what appeared to be a family portrait with Jerry and Claudia, their parents, and two other men who I guessed were brothers. Then I picked up a small framed photograph of Claudia and Raymond Gilbert with their smiling daughters, Olivia and Veronica.

  Memories of the dysfunctional Lester family began to emerge, but I quickly suppressed them. Olivia glowed in the photograph. She was so completely different than she looked lying in the hospital bed.

  “Anybody home?” I yelled, walking into the kitchen.

  The island in the middle of the room was clean, except for an orange bottle of pills, which sat on a sheet of white paper. I picked the note up and read: