Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) Page 22

  Everett’s hand went limp with the note in it. He shook his head. The voice in the note was bitter and frustrated, much like his own used to be. This was the kind of person Everett wanted to reach.

  Hoping for something more positive, he pulled out several sheets of paper stapled together. It contained blog messages found on a popular rock music website. He perused the string: “What an idiotic reason to leave the band. He was impacting millions of lives before; now what’s he going to do…teach Sunday school? I’m thoroughly disappointed. I can’t believe he would leave for such a stupid reason.”

  Everett sighed deeply and continued down the page:

  “I wish him all the best and look forward to his music, as long as it’s not that Christian bubblegum stuff.” That one got a chuckle.

  “Hey, all I know is, I still got Marilyn Manson!”

  “He’s doing what’s right for him. Can’t you see that’s all that matters? Anyone who can’t respect or understand that has got major problems.” You tell ’em.

  “Why does god have to mess up all the good things in life? R.I.P.”

  “Calm down. Bands and singers come and go. What did you think, they were going to last forever?”

  “He found the number one God.” :)

  “What’s wrong with him? He didn’t have to leave the band. It’s not like DeathStroke was satanic or anything. Hopefully the band will continue cranking out great music without him.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, he was DeathStroke.”

  “In case you didn’t know, the band has a new lead singer, Maxx Syphon. He jams.”

  “FYI…Maxx Syphon can’t carry Everett Lester’s guitar pick.” He smiled at that note.

  “Everett Lester is the most insecure wimp on the face of the planet. How can he trade what he had with DeathStroke for…what? Some myth you can’t even get your hands around? He’ll be sorry. Another year and you’ll see him begging to do jingles for cereal commercials.”

  Closing his eyes, Everett sank back into the chair. So many people, believing so many lies. They need Truth. They need one of their own to show them how God’s love can change their miserable lives.

  He knew he needed the strength and promise only the Bible could give, but his head felt like a minefield of worries and doubts. He still had songs to iron out for the tour… He had a family to protect from who knew what kind of evil… Karen was walking through a nightmare… And he felt about as mentally stable as a schizophrenic.

  I’m afraid.

  Not only about all the hell that was breaking loose.

  I’m afraid of myself—of what I might do…

  He could find an open bar somewhere or buy a bottle.

  Everyone’s still asleep.

  Drive around with it. No one would know.

  Clenching his jaw, he sat on the edge of the chair and ran his hands through his hair. As he did, a razor-sharp pain split his chest. He groaned, “This is nothin’ but the enemy.”

  The Bible sat open.

  Leaning over it, he found the word fear in the topical index and its definition: “Anxiety caused by approaching danger.” He looked up one of the suggested verses. “When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh…they stumbled and fell. Though a host encamp against me, my heart will not fear; though war arise against me…I shall be confident… For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle; in the secret place of His tent He will hide me; He will lift me up on a rock.”

  Everett eased to his knees and leaned on the ottoman and Bible. “Forgive me for being scared, for wanting to escape through drink…for worrying about these wicked people and what they may do… Fill me with Your Spirit again, Lord.”

  A passage surfaced in his head, like a submerged buoy popping up in the ocean. He found it and whispered: “‘The Jews were just now seeking to stone You, and are You going there again?’ Jesus answered, ‘Are there not twelve hours in the day? If anyone walks in the day, he does not stumble, because he sees the light of this world. But if anyone walks in the night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him.’”

  Everett buried his head in the Bible. “Why should I be scared? I’m representing You! You’ve put this desire in my heart, to reach the unsaved. If You’re with me, I can go wherever I need to, wherever You send me, in the open, no fear! My life’s in Your hands. Whether I live or die is up to You. Your will be done.”

  The phone startled him, yet the second he heard the ring he was determined to pick up before it woke anyone. He braced his chest with a flat palm as he stood and went for the phone.

  “Is this Everett?” came the timid voice.

  “It is. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Mrs. Badino…Margaret.” She was out of breath.

  Uh-oh. “Margaret, what is it? Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” A horn sounded in the background. “I’m sorry. I’m at a pay phone. I felt I needed to warn you.”

  The words hit his gut, as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. “About what?”

  “I mentioned to my husband that you were at the house last night looking for Tony, and he—”

  Everett’s body went limp, though he kept standing.

  “Mr. Lester, he was furious. I don’t understand why. I’ve never see him respond like that. I don’t know what your history with my husband is—”

  “So, he was upset with me for coming into your home?”

  “Yes, he was. And he didn’t know why you were looking for Tony. This bothered him immensely. I told him I thought the two of you were friends…”

  His eyes closed, and he dropped his head. “Why are you using a pay phone?”

  Silence.

  “Hello?” Everett pressed the phone tight to his ear.

  Her voice broke the silence, stronger and louder than before. “There’s one more thing you should know.” The line was quiet again for a moment. “My husband got a call in the middle of the night. He got dressed and left the house. You told me if I suspected anything—”

  “To call me. What is it Margaret? What happened?”

  “Several hours after Dominic left,” she sniffed, “at four or so this morning, a group of men came to the house. They went through Tony’s apartment and took a bunch of things with them.”

  “What did they take?”

  “I’m not sure. Everything was in plastic bags and boxes.”

  “Who were they? Did you recognize them?”

  Again, a prolonged hush. Everett forced himself to be patient.

  “I’ve seen at least two of them before,” she whispered. “They’re associates of my husband.”

  “What kind of associates?”

  “Look, Mr. Lester, I’ve said enough. I don’t even know why I’m calling—”

  “Because God wants me to know what you’re telling me.”

  “I don’t know what it means…”

  “I don’t either, but I know it’s important. Where’s Tony now, Margaret?”

  “As far as I know he’s still asleep.”

  “He didn’t leave with the men?”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Do me a favor. Keep your eyes peeled for anything else. Keep my number.”

  “Okay…I’m nervous.”

  “Are you in danger?”

  “Our phones are tapped. My husband does it. That’s why I couldn’t call from home.”

  “I see.”

  “Dominic loves me very much. But it’s Tony… I’m afraid to ask what you know about my son.”

  Everett breathed deeply and treaded carefully. “I don’t know anything for sure, Margaret. All I know is, you’ve been very kind to me. Thank you for calling.”

  “I’ve failed as a parent; I know that.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Tony’s in trouble, isn’t he, Mr. Lester? Has he hurt others? Something in my heart is just grabbing me and shaking my insides, saying, ‘Be careful. Beware. There’s poison in your midst.’”

  And Everett knew she was right.


  Poison.

  27

  BY EARLY AFTERNOON KAREN noticed a slice of sunlight brighten the kitchen at Twin Streams. The grounds outside were saturated from the previous night’s rain, and the melting snow trickled and swirled along streams and paths of their own making. The day had passed torturously slowly, for it was a time of waiting.

  Karen had been to church earlier, where a dozen teenagers from the youth group helped her set up for that night’s Christmas Eve services. Now she and her mom attempted to relax with tea in the family room, playing double solitaire and awaiting any news from the police about what they prayed would be Tony Badino’s arrest.

  Although the basement music studio was about as soundproof as one could expect, Karen could feel the slight vibration beneath her feet of Everett’s vocals and guitar, as he practiced for the upcoming tour. She’d come to love his new music, which she secretly believed had the potential to impact millions of people worldwide.

  “I hope Madison comes tonight.” Karen played an ace of clubs.

  Sarah smiled and examined her cards. “She reminds me of you. Always wanting everyone to be happy. The peacemaker.”

  “I want her to find Christ.”

  “I know.” Mom nodded and locked eyes with Karen. “Be patient. Pray. Love her unconditionally, just like you did Everett.”

  The music stopped below, and Karen heard footsteps in the stairwell.

  “Hey, ladies.” Everett drifted into the room, kissing Karen on top of the head. “I can’t wait any longer. I’m gonna call the cops and find out what’s going on. Is Madison coming tonight?”

  “Haven’t heard from her,” Karen said. “We should call and check on Wesley, too.”

  “I’ll do that later,” Everett said on his way to the kitchen.

  Karen got up, walked to the bay window, and nestled next to Everett. They faced each other, and he took her hand, brought her close, and slow-danced her around the kitchen. She laughed, knowing her mom was watching from the adjoining room, yet didn’t take her eyes off his.

  When they stopped, he gave her a long kiss and gazed into her eyes. “You mean the world to me, babe.”

  His words filled her up. “I love you,” she whispered.

  “We’re gonna make it, aren’t we?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. We’re gonna make it.”

  He hugged her, then squeezed her waist and headed toward the hallway.

  “You’re in a good mood,” she said.

  He stopped at the doorway and looked back at her. “That’s ’cause they’re gonna nail Tony Badino today.” Then he left, and Karen rejoined her mom.

  “If you play the eight of spades,” Mom said, “I’ll be able to turn over my last card.”

  “Hey,” Everett called out from the other room, “Madison’s here.”

  Karen and her mom met her at the Beetle and walked her to the front door, pointing out the new glass in the living room window.

  Madison was quiet, chewing gum and listening to the mother-and-daughter tandem rave about what they were going to order for dinner that evening at Beau’s Tavern.

  Madison set her coat over the back of a chair. Karen had failed to notice before how lean her niece was in her formal brown slacks and a furry, off-white sweater. She used quite a bit of makeup and glossy brown lipstick, but it was tasteful; she was radiant. Karen hoped she planned on going to church with them after their big dinner out.

  Mom went to the kitchen to pour Madison a cup of green tea while Karen put an arm around her niece and guided her into the family room. “So, what happened when you got home last night, anything? Were your folks there?”

  “Dad was asleep; Mom wasn’t home yet.” She didn’t make eye contact. “I couldn’t sleep. I was up reading when she got home at like one-thirty.”

  One-thirty? Grow up, Sheila.

  “She saw my light on and came in,” Madison said. “She’d been drinking, of course. Made some snide remark about the Bible you gave me—that’s what I was reading. I just couldn’t face her. She never remembers anything the next day.”

  Madison shook her head, as if shedding the memory. “What’s new in the Badino saga?”

  “Madison,” Karen frowned, “haven’t you got enough on your mind without worrying about that?”

  “I want to know, Aunt Karen.” Madison leaned close. “I have a right to know. He’s hanging with my brother. What goes on with him affects me, my mom, and my dad.”

  Madison was mature beyond her years, and Karen relished their growing friendship. A true bond was forming. She told her about the call Everett had received from Margaret Badino that morning.

  The back porch door rattled, and Dad came in with a burst of fresh air. “Hello, ladies.” He bent over on the rug and began taking his boots off.

  “Where have you been?” Mom asked.

  “Walking. Look at it out there. Gotta take advantage of the sun when it shines in these parts in late December, don’t we?”

  Everett entered the kitchen, holding a piece of paper in his hand, but Karen couldn’t read the blank look on his face. She gave him a “what’s up?” expression, and he looked questioningly toward Madison. Karen nodded, assuring him it was okay to talk.

  “Folks, I’ve got an update on what’s going on with the police,” Everett said.

  Karen took several steps toward Everett. Lord Jesus, let it be good news.

  “The upshot is the police and a scuba team have been hunting for the body and the duffel bag since mid- to late-morning. So far they haven’t found anything, but this detective assures me if anything’s down there, they’ll find it. So, that’s good news.”

  “Hurray.” Mom held up her cup of tea. “Let’s keep praying.”

  “They even have people from the city water department working with them,” Everett said.

  “It sounds as if they’re going at it with all they’ve got.” Dad nodded. “This could be really big.”

  “Yeah, and that’s not all.” Everett breathed deeply and paused. “Detectives are interrogating Tony Badino as we speak.” His head dropped to his chest.

  Perhaps for the first time, Karen more fully grasped the pressure he’d been under. She leaned into him, and her parents closed in as well. Karen reached out and took Madison’s hand, drawing her into the circle.

  Her father extended his big hand toward Madison’s and held Mom’s, too. Everyone was linked as Dad closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Oh, God.” He sighed. “This is exciting. We see You working. Please, intervene in what the police are doing right now. Lead them to the body and the evidence. Let justice be done with Tony Badino and his father. Let the truth come out…”

  Karen rested her head against Everett’s arm. The house was silent, except for Rosey’s toenails clicking on the tile floor, then the sound of her lapping up water from her bowl.

  “Lord.” Mom cleared her throat. “We lift up Madison’s mom and dad to You.”

  Madison squeezed Karen’s hand, and the grip stayed firm.

  “We ask that You’ll restore their marriage. But even more important are their individual hearts and souls. Same with Wesley. We want to see him free from drugs and living well, but You have even bigger hopes in mind; dreams of heaven for him…”

  Madison’s hand went limp in Karen’s. “What about me?” Her high-pitched squeal forced Karen’s eyes open. “You guys are praying like I’m one of you.” Everyone was looking at her now as she sniffled, breathed in chops, and spoke in spurts. “I’m not…I don’t think I’m a Christian even. I’ve only been to church at weddings…”

  Dad lifted Madison’s delicate hand in his, and a huge smile broke out beneath his thick mustache. “Do you believe in God, Madison?”

  “I know there is a God,” she stammered and turned to Karen. “I’ve been reading the Bible, devouring it.” She showed a tentative smile. “I do believe in Jesus. I do.”

  Everyone melted down right there. And there was laughter.

  Karen’s fathe
r was a rock—a glowing, beaming rock. “Can we say a prayer with you, to invite God into your heart?”

  “Yes.” Her lower lip quivered, and she wiped her nose with a tissue Mom handed her. “Please.”

  Just before Karen closed her eyes, she took in each wet face, smiling gloriously, rejoicing with the angels.

  Later that afternoon, they meandered back toward the house after placing the tombstone on Millie’s grave. Karen felt spent, yet oddly refreshed.

  It didn’t feel like Christmas Eve; there had been so much disruption. But Madison certainly was enjoying the stroll, listening intently and laughing often. That filled Karen with joy and a sense of satisfaction, accomplishment even.

  What bothered her was Everett’s demeanor: carefree one minute, withdrawn the next. He had suggested they get back to the house quickly, and Karen knew it was because he was concerned about some sort of retaliation from the Badinos. His anxiety wasn’t making her feel the least bit secure.

  She stuck her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket as they walked, fingering a piece of paper. Something was wrapped inside it. Something hard. Coins maybe?

  “Ever since Everett told me about Beau’s famous blackened grouper, my mouth’s been watering for it,” her mother said. “I mean it; I can’t wait.”

  Karen pulled the folded clump out of her pocket. The white notebook paper struck her as foreign. When she unfolded the paper, everything came to a halt. The ground spun far away, as if she’d put on someone’s strong prescription glasses.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Her dad held her up with a strong arm. “What is that?”

  She dropped the note into his hands and fell to the ground. The wet, cold earth seeped into her corduroys.

  “Karen!” Her mother yelled. “What is it, honey? What’s wrong?”

  Everett was hovering over her within seconds, urging her to breathe deeply.

  Her father was on the ground next with the crumpled paper in his fist. “You’re gonna be okay. Everything’s going to be fine. Just tell me, where did you get this?”

  “What is it?” She heard Everett grab the paper. “Millie’s ID tag…”

  She just had to rest. Didn’t have the energy to explain that this was the coat she’d worn to the airport to pick up her mom and dad, or that she hadn’t worn it since.