Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol Page 26

  “Will you be able to stay longer, Everett?” asked Sarah. “We’d love to have you, at least one more night.”

  When I glanced over at Karen, she wore a huge smile, and her eyebrows were arched high. Her expression made me break out laughing, and then she began laughing too.

  “That is so nice of you, Mrs. Bayliss. Yes, I would love to stay tonight. I’ll be heading back early tomorrow morning.”

  “Please, call me Sarah.”

  “And Jacob,” said Karen’s father.

  “Thank you,” I said. “You’ve made me feel like part of the family, a special family. It feels good.”

  The coffee we enjoyed was strong and hot, and the apple pie was warmed and served with a wedge of cheddar cheese and vanilla ice cream. Over dessert I learned that Jacob was originally from Guelph, Ontario, and was a hockey fanatic. The next thing I knew, the four of us made the trek back downtown to Landon Arena for a minor league hockey game between Jacob’s hometown Topeka Tarantulas and the visiting New Mexico Scorpions.

  The past two days I had spent with Karen and her parents were, hands down, the best days of my life. This was family; this was home—warm and safe. Something I had never known before. The thought of going back to Miami made my stomach ache. It was another world back there, another life. But if I stayed with Jacob and Sarah, I felt nothing could go wrong. My father must have gone to his grave having never experienced that feeling. What a shame.

  We were on our feet, screaming like crazy as the Tarantulas came from behind to beat the Scorpions 3–2 in a game that went down to the wire. When we filed out of the arena with the other fans and made our way to Jacob’s dark brown SUV, Sarah suggested we drive through something called the Winter Wonderland Celebration of Lights, which had just opened for the holiday season.

  Jacob kind of frowned on the idea, and I was neutral, but the girls were giddy with excitement. So we decided we’d better take them. Sarah liked to support the holiday light display, because the money raised went to help local mentally handicapped children.

  When we approached the guardhouse at Lake Shawnee, I offered to pay for our car to enter and did so through the passenger window directly behind Jacob.

  “I love coming here,” Sarah said from the front seat, as she scooted closer to Jacob. “This is a fabulous lake. You can’t see it well at night, but it’s like seven and a half miles around. There’s a campground. It’s beautiful.”

  “Daddy, turn your lights off.” Karen handed Sarah a blanket from the back and got us one as well. She tossed the wool throw over me, then got beneath it herself and snuggled close.

  Jacob squinted into his rearview mirror. “The guy behind me doesn’t have his off.”

  “He didn’t read the sign ‘All Headlights Off,’” Karen said. “Everyone in front of you has them off.”

  Jacob switched his lights off as we drove slowly behind a line of other cars.

  The light display was magnificent. Dozens of large and small Christmas trees were decorated to the hilt. We passed myriad lights created in the shapes of large animals, stars, planets, trains, and a beautiful nativity scene.

  “Check that out,” I said. “The nativity scene. It has a whole new meaning this year.”

  Without a word, Karen clung tightly to my arm and rested her head against my shoulder.

  “This guy behind me has his lights on again, his brights.” Jacob sighed. “Get with the program, mister.”

  When I turned around to look, headlights from the high-riding vehicle blinded me. “I can’t see a thing,” Jacob said, as the girls squirmed slightly in their seats.

  “Pull over, Dad. Let him go by.”

  That’s when the car’s bright headlights started blinking.

  “What the—he’s flashing his lights at me now.”

  “Honey, pull over,” Sarah urged him. “Just let him go past.”

  Without saying anything, Jacob eased the SUV off the right shoulder of the long, curvy road into the grass. We were right next to Shawnee Lake, which had a huge, lighted dinosaur protruding from its dark waters.

  “He’s following,” Jacob said cautiously. “Right behind me.”

  As we came to a stop at the side of the road, I looked back to see the bright headlights—four feet from our rear bumper.

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “That may be the truck from last night.”

  “A black pickup?” Jacob barked out, adjusting his rearview mirror.

  “I can’t tell, but it’s big, whatever it is.” My heart banged inside my coat.

  “I’m going back there.”

  “You are doing no such thing, Jacob,” Sarah insisted.

  “I’ll go with you.” I opened my door and jumped out. “That’s him, Jacob!”

  Karen screamed as Jacob shot out of the SUV.

  The engine from the black pickup revved.

  With anger and precaution boiling together, I approached the driver’s-side door of the high black truck. Tall Jacob was at my side.

  “Are you sure it’s him?” Jacob yelled over the revving engine.

  I nodded. “It’s him.”

  Jacob pounded hard, right in the center of the driver’s window.

  The hot engine howled even louder.

  I ran behind to double-check—no plates.

  Suddenly, gears cranked, white reverse lights flashed, and mud spit as the giant truck heaved toward me.

  “Look out!” Jacob yelled as I dove into a patch of tall, wet grass.

  I heard the girls’ muffled screams.

  Jacob saw that I was okay, ran to his SUV, and jerked the door open.

  “Call 911 and lock the doors!” he yelled, slamming the door shut.

  I was back on my feet at the passenger side of the truck, pulling at the locked door handle and pounding on the black glass as hard as I could with my fists and elbows, trying to break it. Jacob kicked at the driver’s door with his strong legs.

  The truck roared, vibrating loudly, shaking and buckling.

  “What do we do?” I screamed across the cab.

  “Stall till the cops get here!” Jacob bashed the driver’s door with a powerful kick.

  Gears shifted and the truck jolted forward.

  “Stop!” Jacob yelled. “Stooooooop!”

  BASH.

  The ugly black tank crunched the SUV from behind as the girls’ piercing screams rang out from inside.

  Jacob raced to the driver’s door, and one of the girls hit the unlock button. He ripped the door open and jumped in as the SUV was bulldozed forward by the menacing truck.

  Meanwhile, I jumped up onto the side of the lurching monster and rolled myself over onto the truck bed. The back windows were black too, but I didn’t think they would be as thick. I started kicking with my booted feet, still hearing the girls’ frightened screams over the bellowing truck engine.

  Determining I couldn’t break the glass, I shot to my knees to look forward. Jacob must have had the emergency brake on, but the SUV was slowly being steamrolled toward the lake.

  Where are the cops?

  Then I saw the wheel. A big, fat, silver car wheel, vibrating on the floor at the rear of the truck bed. I crawled back to it as the truck screamed and rocked. It was heavy, but my adrenaline was pumping.

  Balance would be the key.

  Please God…DO THIS!

  Jacob’s SUV was almost to the water.

  Working on my knees, I dragged the wheel to the middle of the bed. Then I locked one hand on each side of that thing, took a couple of deep breaths, and hoisted that sucker as hard as I could, like a cannonball, right through the back window of the cab.

  Even with the mighty explosion of glass, the heavy masked man inside didn’t seem to flinch. Feeling the crunch of glass against my clothes, I stuffed my upper body through the window, got my hand on the gearshift, and ripped it upward with all my might into Park.

  My body jolted forward, then back, as the truck locked up.

  Blow by blow by blow, the huge driver sma
shed and thumped my body with elbows and fists.

  I had to get out.

  Pushing backward through the glass shrapnel, I fell to the back of the bed, and the truck roared to life again.

  Forcing myself to ignore the searing pain from the broken glass, I made it to my knees briefly, long enough to see that Jacob’s SUV was gone.

  They made it!

  Then the pickup suddenly bolted forward and careened left, throwing me against its tailgate. He knew he had me.

  I grappled my way to my knees, froze for a second, and rocked off balance. I had to get out.

  Now or never!

  Throwing myself over the edge of the truck, I hit the ground hard and rolled a good fifteen feet, through the cold grass and right down to the shore of Lake Shawnee.

  The black pickup accelerated fast, fishtailing up the embankment and rocketing past the line of cars that sat at a standstill.

  He was gone.

  28

  “YOU’VE GOT TO DO something,” Jacob told the short Topeka police officer, one of six now gathered at the dark shore of Lake Shawnee. “This same guy tried to run over my daughter and her friend last night in Vinings, right in front of her home on Primrose Lane. They filed a report with your department.”

  “Mr. Bayliss, I can assure you,” the acne-faced officer said with clipboard, pen, and flashlight in hand, “we will do all we can to find the individual responsible for this. However, without a license plate or name, it’s going to be difficult. Topeka’s a fairly good-sized city. But we do have an APB out right now for a black Chevy pickup truck, badly dented, with dark windows.”

  Static and monotone voices blared from the four black-and-white Topeka police cars parked at various angles along the lake’s soggy shoreline, some with their doors open, all with their blue lights still whirling. One officer with a bright orange glow-in-the-dark vest and flashlight kept traffic moving through the Winter Wonderland Celebration of Lights.

  I was seated on the back end of an ambulance with Karen bundled up by my side while two young paramedics cleaned and bandaged the cuts on my arms, hands, and stomach. Initially, they insisted I accompany them to the hospital, but I had no intention of leaving. After thanking the paramedics, Karen and I said good-bye and strode over to Jacob, Sarah, and the police.

  “I want you to understand, this person is tormenting my daughter,” Jacob blared. “Her house in Prospect Commons burned to the ground just a few weeks ago. The fire department ruled it as arson. The same person is responsible. What do I need to do to help nail this guy?”

  “Sir, you’ve done just about all you can do. You’ve filed a report for each incident; you’ve given the best description possible of the perpetrator—large, white male; you’ve—”

  “You need an investigator on this.”

  “Mr. Bayliss, investigators are usually called in on murder cases and drug trafficking. Believe me, you’ve done the right thing. We’ve got your reports, and we’ll be watching for the truck.”

  “If something happens to my daughter…” Jacob stopped himself from saying more.

  The officer turned his back to confer with his colleagues, whose flashlights were scanning the muddy skid marks at the shore of Lake Shawnee as well as the dents and black paint remnants on the back of Jacob’s SUV.

  “I want to find this guy,” Jacob hissed, as Sarah, Karen, and I drew close to him.

  “Let’s go home, honey,” Sarah said. “I just want to go home.”

  I paced in Jacob and Sarah’s quiet kitchen as they sat at the picnic bench–style table with Karen. Sarah had just closed the blinds in the bay window. The fluorescent light above the island was the only one on in the dark house. Somehow, the room didn’t look or feel as cozy as it had the previous night.

  Jacob rose and walked to the coffeemaker. “Anybody want decaf?”

  “I can’t let you guys stay here like this.” I turned my back to the kitchen cupboards and rested my palms on the beige counter. “I’m responsible! I got you into this. I need to get you out.”

  “We’ve been over this, Everett,” Jacob said, removing a white paper filter from the cupboard. “We are where we are, okay? It’s where God has us. We’re not going to dissect the past.”

  I walked to the table and pulled out a chair. “I want the three of you to consider coming with me to Miami.”

  “Ha!” Jacob laughed as he dipped the small blue scoop into the green coffee bag. “Where did that come from?”

  “I’ve got a huge house in Bal Harbour Village.” I rested my elbows on the table and animated the sales pitch with my hands. “You guys can take a vacation. Lose this wing nut for a while. Give the police a chance to track him down. C’mon. It’s on me, all expenses paid.”

  “Fine with me,” Sarah said surprisingly, in a high-pitched tone.

  “What are you saying?” Jacob set down the coffee supplies and faced us. “We can’t just…leave.”

  “Why not?” Karen said. “I’ve got vacation time coming. And you can do your job from anywhere.”

  “You guys are dreaming,” Jacob’s voice rose. “We’d come back and find both houses burned down.”

  He realized too late how much that hurt.

  I stood up and went to get a glass, filled it with tap water, and got some ice.

  “Honey,” Sarah said softly. “Let’s leave for a little while. The house will be okay. We leave it to God.”

  “I’m ready.” Karen perked up in her chair. “I’ll call my boss bright and early. We’re not that busy anyway.” She shook her shoulders and giggled.

  “Jacob?” I said. “How ’bout it?”

  “Okay, okay, let’s just pray about it. Can we do that?”

  “Absolutely,” Karen said. “I’ll start.”

  After leaving Brian with my sparse list of potential witnesses and the letter I received from Zane Bender two days ago, I had no idea what to expect when I showed up in courtroom B-3 on Monday morning. Wearing a light green suit and a yellow dress shirt, Boone looked fairly well rested and quite a bit more confident than the last time I saw him.

  “Good morning, Everett,” he whispered, shaking my hand as I approached our table. “We’ve got a friend of yours on the stand today. I think it’ll be interesting. Thanks for the leads.”

  “What about the note from Zaney? Can we admit it?”

  “Problem is, anyone could have written it.” He shrugged. “Hang in there. We’re gonna have a good day.”

  After a weekend breather, the courtroom was alive with chatter and movement as the media began to mega-hype the fact that the sensational case of The State of Florida v. Everett Timothy Lester was winding down.

  I didn’t arrive a second too soon. We remained standing as Judge Henry Sprockett strode into the courtroom with his black gown flowing behind him. He immediately told the press corps to back up within its allotted boundaries.

  As I sat in my all-too-familiar wood chair, I noticed two things that came as pleasant surprises. One: the cup of Starbucks positioned on the table directly in front of me. Two: the glimpse I got of Donald Chambers and his wife seated about ten rows back.

  I mouthed a thank you to Boone for the coffee, and he stood to proceed with our defense.

  As former DeathStroke bassist Ricky Crazee walked toward the witness stand, I offered a humble smile, but he glanced at me and looked away quickly. When Ricky first stood up to come forward, I recognized his wife, Alesia, seated next to him. She wore dark glasses and was dressed in brown leather from head to toe.

  Ricky seemed the same. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt with pointed cowboy boots, a thick black belt, a fist-sized Harley-Davidson belt buckle, and a black leather sport jacket. His reddish-blond, shoulder-length hair resembled a bird’s nest, which is what we always used to tell him, but he still never brushed it.

  Boone reviewed the history of our relationship and asked Ricky questions about our friendship in order to set the stage for his next line of questioning.

  “Ho
w well did you get to know Madam Endora Crystal, during your years with DeathStroke?”

  Ricky sat erect, with his hands clasped tightly against his stomach, as if bracing for a storm. I had seen him sit like that a million times at press conferences.

  “Fairly well, I guess.”

  “Would you say you were friends with Endora?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Did Endora ever give you a psychic reading, predict your future, delve into your past—anything like that?”

  Frozen in the same position, Ricky said, “Once or twice, for the heck of it, she gave me readings. But it was just for fun.”

  “What did the readings tell you?”

  He laughed, pulling his clenched hands tighter toward his belt buckle. Then he pursed his lips, and his shoulders jumped up. “I don’t really remember, actually.”

  Boone walked quietly along the railing in front of the jury. “So…you don’t remember what the readings were about? I mean, you weren’t on drugs like everybody else in the band, right? You were known as the sober one. Tell the court, please, what Endora’s readings revealed to you. I’m really expecting you to remember.”

  Frank Dooley popped up. “Your Honor, is this relevant to the murder of Endora Crystal?”

  “It may be,” said Sprockett. “Answer, please, if you can.”

  Ricky looked at me momentarily. “Back when I was still on drugs—a long time ago—Endora talked me into letting her give me a reading. It was all casual, you know, I did it for fun. But in the middle of the thing, she got serious on me. Way serious. Told me there was…some sort of dragon in my life that needed to be slain. ‘Slay it,’ she said, or it would slay me.”

  “And who or what was that dragon? Did she say?”

  “No. She said I had to figure it out myself.”

  “Did you figure it out?”

  “Yeah, eventually.”