Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol (13 page)

Sure enough, Dooley sprang like a jack-in-the-box. “Your Honor, where did that come from? I’m surprised at Mr. Boone. He’s grasping at straws. That is pure and undefiled conjecture. It’s not a question, and the witness doesn’t have to answer!”

“From now on, Mr. Boone, let’s keep our hypotheses to ourselves. That is an order, sir.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

This was where Boone belonged—moving about a courtroom, working a witness, playing a jury. It was like watching a master fisherman as he selected just the right tackle, carefully planned where to troll, patiently deciphered a nibble from a strike, and knew when to set the hook.

“Tell us about your psychic involvement with Endora.” Boone casually approached Twila. “Did you work with her?”

I could tell the witness was suspicious of Boone, so she treaded carefully. “When I first met Endora, I came to her for readings. She was obviously good at what she did.”

“When you say
readings,
explain to the court what you mean.”

“It’s when a psychic reads your past, present, or future. She tells you what’s happened in your life, what’s happening, or what’s going to happen. And she gives you advice based on that knowledge.”

“So, Endora did that for you?”

“Uh-huh. I had been through some tough times as a youth, and our meetings really helped me.”

“Did she do things like palm readings and tarot cards?”

“Yes, and she was amazingly accurate. She had a supernatural gift.”

“How was she able to help you personally?” Boone asked.

“When we first met, she immediately realized there was something tragic in my past. She helped me cope.”

“Do you mind my asking what that tragedy was?”

“My parents were killed…in an automobile accident,” she said coldly, with a sudden glaze over her eyes.

“I am sorry to hear that, Miss Yonder. How old were you at the time and how, specifically, was Endora able to help you?”

“I was seventeen when they died,” she said, snapping out of the daze. “When I met Endora, about five or six years later, she was able to assure me that my parents were okay, that they were…okay, that’s all.”

“And how did she assure you of that?” He turned to the jury with his arms up in the air.

Frank Dooley rose to his feet, letting out an exhausted sigh. “Your Honor, I am sorry to interrupt, but I just cannot see how this is relevant.”

Clearing his throat, the judge spoke to the entire room. “This background may be helpful for all of us. Miss Yonder may answer the question.”

“What was the question?” she asked, nervously grasping at her hair.

“How did Endora assure you that your deceased parents were okay?”

“Endora believed in afterlife—for everyone.”

“Okay.” Boone raised his eyebrows. “So…it’s not like she attempted to communicate with your parents after they had died. Because, I know Madam Endora was said to have done that on occasion.”

Miss Yonder’s head tilted slightly, and her mouth fell open.

“Objection, Your Honor.” Dooley stood again. “Leading the witness.”

“Sustained,” said Sprockett.

Boone focused on Twila like a laser beam. “Did Endora attempt to communicate with your parents after they died?”

“She
did
communicate with my mother. She found out that they are well, that they’re in a good place.”

“Oh?” Boone hesitated, knowing he was perched atop a powder keg. “And where is that place? Heaven?”

“No.” She set her jaw against the world. “It’s known as the Other Side. Endora communicated with many people who had crossed over.”

“I see. And did you ever help her communicate with the dead?”

She looked down, fidgeting with her hands. “Actually, I did.”

Dooley’s head dropped slightly.

“Often?” Boone asked.

“Fairly.”

“Did you, by chance, have any part in helping Endora communicate with anyone who may be connected with this case, this trial?”

“Liza Moon.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“Liza Moon. Endora asked me to serve as a medium between her and Liza Moon.”

“Everett Lester’s former girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“When was that?”

“I don’t know, not too long before Endora’s death.”

“Tell the court what happened in that instance, please.” Boone acted as if he already knew.

“For a long time after Liza died, Endora wanted to serve as a medium for Everett, so he could communicate with Liza.”

“Why?” Boone asked. “Why would she want to do that?”

“I guess so Everett could have closure after her death.” She chomped on her gum. “So he could have some peace, knowing Liza had reached the Other Side.”

“And that’s the only reason Endora wanted to do this séance?”

“Endora also told me she was getting some bad vibes…about a dark woman coming into Everett’s life. She believed doing the séance with Liza might shed more light on that.”

The crowd was dead quiet.

“Did Mr. Lester go along with it? Did he take part in this…séance?”

“No,” she said. “Everett was changing. He wasn’t sure about the power of psychics anymore. He was questioning.”

“So, instead of having Mr. Lester in on this séance, Endora asked you to be the medium so she could communicate with Liza Moon? Is that what you’re telling the court?”

“Yes.”

“Your Honor.” Dooley arose, clearing his throat and pulling at his right cuff. “This is getting way out there. Relevance?”

“Yes it is,” Judge Sprockett said. “Let’s bring this thing back home quickly, Mr. Boone.”

“Miss Yonder.” Brian looked confident approaching the witness stand. “In a nutshell, I want you to tell the court exactly what happened when you and Endora attempted to communicate with Liza Moon.”

“We made contact with Liza,” Twila said coldly. “She was sending danger signals to Endora.”

“Danger signals about what?”

“Liza was concerned about Everett’s future. She warned Endora that an angel of death was coming into Everett’s life, a person who would change his life forever. Liza kind of confirmed these bad vibes that Endora had picked up on earlier.”

“Anything else about the future, specifically as it related to Everett Lester?”

For a fleeting second Twila’s whole body seemed to flinch. Her eyes darted up and down, and she mouthed several words.

I turned to see a slight look of alarm on Dooley’s face.

“Are you okay, Miss Yonder?”

She snapped back to reality. “Yes, it is no problem,” she said, almost robotically. “Liza said the angel of death was going to lead Everett to a Lamb of some kind and when that happened, everything would change.”

“What was Endora’s response to that?”

“She became somewhat angry.”

“Why?”

“She was concerned Everett would get his mind off his music and his fans and…”

“And what?” coaxed Boone.

“And become some kind of religious zealot, I guess.” She threw her hands up. “I don’t know. I can’t tell you any more than that.”

“Okay, Miss Yonder, we’re almost done. Let me just go back and ask you one or two final questions about this ‘angel of death.’”

Boone stopped just in front of the witness stand, where he placed both hands on the railing in front of her. “In the séance, did Liza Moon indicate who this angel of death was?”

“No,” she said, avoiding eye contact with Boone.

“Did Endora indicate to you who
she
thought the angel of death was?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Is that person in this courtroom today?”

“Yes, she is…seated directly behind Mr. Lester’s defense table.”

Mary had waited in my hotel room while I took a steaming hot shower and changed clothes. I didn’t tell anyone we were going to visit the girl I had injured. If Gray Harris knew, he would have had heart failure, wanting instead to keep me totally out of the picture.

My sister hadn’t asked me to go with her to Good Samaritan Hospital; she simply announced her intentions. I really don’t know what made me ask if I could join her. Maybe it was guilt, just knowing that Mary—a total stranger—was going to visit this girl I had hurt. Perhaps there was a faint sense of remorse buried somewhere deep beneath my wicked exterior. Maybe I just wanted to be with Mary longer. Probably, it was all three.

When we left the hotel, Mary ran me by a Wendy’s drive-thru, where I picked up a burger and a Frosty. We drove most of the way in silence, with a smattering of small talk about family and old times. Her husband of eighteen years, Rick, had left her for another woman several years ago. The divorce had recently been finalized, with Mary getting custody of the boys. She was relieved that the divorce was behind her.

Heat rushed to my cheeks as Mary and I swung into the visitor’s lot and saw a collection of local and national TV trucks. For a moment, I felt that maybe I shouldn’t go in. But Mary never flinched. She yanked up the parking brake and was three steps ahead of me as I hung up the phone with Endora.

Warning sirens sounded in my head as we approached the main hospital lobby. Outside, reporters knelt with cigarettes, stood around with Diet Cokes and bottled water, and sat on benches munching snacks. As the large glass doors parted automatically, it was as if we were heading smack into a wasps’ nest.

Suddenly, I felt cameras, mikes, notepads, and recorders deflecting off me as I tried to continue along with Mary to the information desk. But I couldn’t stay with her. It seemed as if I were snagged in a slow-motion time warp as she paced forward at a normal clip.

When I saw that she made it to the desk some thirty feet past me, I stopped where I was and let the bodies and equipment converge around me. Two, three, four camera lights popped on around the lobby.

“Mr. Lester,” one reporter shouted, “are you here to see Olivia Gilbert?”

“How do you feel, Everett?” asked another.

I could feel the sweat spreading on my forehead as I lifted up on my toes to find Mary. She was still at the information counter.

“Have you talked with Olivia’s parents?” someone yelled from deep in the room.

The questions scorched me like fire, but I didn’t have the answers.

Now on her toes, Mary’s arm shot up, a piece of paper in her hand, as if to say, “I got it. Come on!”

“Excuse me,” I mumbled, then said it louder, “excuse me!” With both arms bent upward in front of me, I moved ever so slowly through the crowd toward the elevators where Mary waited.

“Have the police contacted you yet, Everett?” asked a short, stocky reporter with a dark beard, moving along next to me. “They tell us she might not make it. Have you heard any more?”

As I broke through to the elevator, Mary hit the third-floor button, the door closed, and I felt sick to my stomach. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.” I turned to my older sister.

Her eyes were closed. “Bring peace, Lord,” she breathed, reaching for my hand. “Bring healing.”

And there was peace, for a few moments anyway.

“Her name is Olivia Gilbert. She’s fourteen.” Mary squeezed my hand tightly. “She’s in serious condition. Severe trauma to the head.”

The nausea began fighting its way back up into my throat as the reporter’s words rewound and played again in my head:
“They tell us she might not make it…”

10

THE THIRD FLOOR APPEARED
relatively quiet as we rounded a corner and headed down a long hallway toward the nurses’ station. Next, we took a right down another hall and looked for room 314.

I could tell by the look on their faces that two of the nurses at the central station recognized me. We kept going, making another right and practically stopping in our tracks.

People of all ages lined the hall. Adults stood and talked quietly. Young children ran about while teenagers leaned stoically against the light blue walls. Several elderly people occupied the chairs in the visitors’ lounge, which overflowed with guests—most of whom, it appeared, had come to show their love for Olivia Gilbert.

“I’ll find out if we can get in.” Mary scanned the crowd just outside of room 314.

One by one, I could see the word spreading that Everett Lester was in the house.

“Hurry up,” I said, as she approached a handsome, middle-aged man just outside room 314. He wore tan slacks, a black-and-gold golf shirt, and a shiny leather belt.

After whispering back and forth for a moment, Mary pointed at me with a slight turn of her head, and the man’s eyes followed, resting on me. She said something else to him, and he touched her shoulder gently, nodded, motioned for her to wait, then slipped into the room.

“Come here,” Mary said, as more and more people started to stir because of my presence.

“That’s the uncle,” she whispered to me. “He’s going to ask Olivia’s mother if we can go in for a minute.”