Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol (28 page)

The tall, thin priest who delivered the eulogy stood stoically, his thinning brown hair wet from the drizzle, his glasses dotted with raindrops. You could see wisps of his breath in the frigid air, and his hands shook while holding the Bible from which he read, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul…”

The words are so peaceful. Like an oasis. But what about David? Where is his soul right now? Is he resting in peace?
Could he be where Karen warned me about?

Many of David’s friends were here. And although I spotted some paparazzi with two-foot lenses, shooting photos from behind distant tombstones, most of the kids seemed more concerned about bringing their condolences than seeing a rock star. I scanned the crowd but did not see Tom Schlater, the nineteen-year-old crash survivor I had met at the hospital.

Eddie, Sheila, Wesley, and Madison sat solemnly in the front row next to the casket, draped with beautiful purple, white, pink, and yellow flowers. A recent eight-by-ten of David in a wood frame sat on a small table next to the family. In the photo, he wore a Rangers hockey jersey and cutoffs as he washed his Camaro barefooted in the driveway.

When it was all said and done, the cars lined their way down the hill and around the curves with headlights on and windshield wipers whirring. Those of us left here included only the immediate family, the priest, a few funeral officials, and David. The priest gave a final prayer, and the suited men from the funeral home—who resembled Secret Service agents—lowered David’s casket into the ground.

Before walking to our cars, we each approached the opening in the earth, paid our last respects, and gently tossed a light pink rose onto the casket.

Light pink, for sympathy.

Eddie and Sheila wept while Madison sat frozen with a glossy stare, looking out over the rain-soaked hillside, probably asking the same question we all do at times:
Why?

A sad day, indeed.

As I stood alone with my thoughts and questions beneath one corner of the funeral tent, chilled from the rain, a low voice spoke fast from behind.

“I hate you. You know that, don’t you.”

I turned to find Wesley standing there, legs locked shoulder-width apart, arms at his sides, forearms braced in front of him with fists clenched.

“You did this to him,” he seethed.

He was about four inches shorter than me, wearing a new, dark blue blazer with a crooked tie and gray corduroys. One of his black rubber shoes was untied. All I could do initially was stare.

“David
worshiped
you,” he growled. “He bought into you, big-time. The whole scam. So did I, for a while.”

I shook my head in sorrow. “Wesley, I—”

“He was a miserable person, you know that? He
wanted
to die—because of you! He wanted your afterlife. Your…your…your stupid life on the Other Side!”

Some of the family beneath the tent glanced our way, but no one approached.

“I’m sorry, Wesley. I’ve made some bad decisions, and I’ve surrounded myself with some bad people—”

“You and your ‘Ten Lives’ and your
‘
Own Religion’ and your so-called ‘Freedom,’”
he hissed. “Look where it got your biggest fan. He’s gone! Dead. Cold and lyin’ in a box. And that’s as far as he’s goin’.”

He looked at his watch and scanned the hillside. One lone car was heading up the winding driveway: a purple SUV with black windows and two tiny yellow lights at the bottom of the windshield. As it got closer, Wesley turned to me one last time.

“You let him down,
‘Uncle Everett,’” he whispered. “All those times you said you’d be there for us. You and your afterlife…”

“Wesley, please try to under—”

“I hope you sleep well tonight,
Uncle Everett—
” he pointed his finger two inches from my chin—“knowing David drove to his death counting on you and your fictional tomorrows.”

Then he whirled around, took one last look down into his brother’s grave, and marched into the downpour toward the SUV that had come for him.

The little white house Karen had her eye on was now hers, front porch and all. She signed a contract the day of David’s funeral and would be closing on it and moving in within a few weeks. This girl wasted no time.

Whenever I phoned her, Karen was like a kid in a candy store, running about town, choosing new furniture and enjoying time off from work in preparation for her move. Although I wanted desperately to fly to Kansas to meet her in person and help her after the fire, it did not feel like the right time.

Perhaps she needed to be alone after such a devastating experience. Maybe beneath the cool exterior, she was scared and vulnerable and felt she needed to keep her distance from me. I hoped that wasn’t the case.

Investigators soon determined that the fire had been set deliberately, starting with gasoline in the carport and spreading fast to the kitchen and remainder of the two-story home.

My anger toward Endora was palpable. Yet, I knew Mary was right; somehow I needed to keep my cool and draw close to Endora again so I could find out what was really going on behind the scenes, especially as it related to Karen.

Throughout the days surrounding the funeral, I thought long and hard before contacting Endora, racking my brain to figure out how I could get her to tell me all she knew about Karen and the dangerous events that had plagued her.

That’s when I remembered the séance.

After my one-time fiancée, Liza Moon, passed away, Endora had pestered me repeatedly about joining her for a séance to try to communicate with Liza. But each time I refused.

Suddenly, I knew what to do.

Reaching Endora by cell phone, I asked if we could meet at my condo in North Miami in two days. “Yes,” she said. Then I told her why: “I’m ready to contact Liza Moon.”

Endora was delighted.

10:30 p.m.

With Zane Bender taking the witness stand tomorrow, Donald allowed me to phone Brian and fill him in on the incident that occurred earlier tonight with Zaney. I told Boone how Zaney claimed to have set Karen’s house on fire. He assured me he would pursue it in court.

In the meantime, Chambers offered to take me to the infirmary to have my cuts cleaned and bandaged. Normally, I wouldn’t go for such minor injuries, but the deep scratch where Zaney got me on the back of the neck stung like crazy.

Not only that, but I felt like getting out of my cell.

I guess I was on edge. So much was riding on Zaney’s testimony.

Chambers told Rockwell where we were going, and we headed out. Through two large metal detectors, about fifteen feet apart, and down a short hallway to some steps. We went up, made a left, and went down a long hallway of mostly darkened offices.

Stopping at the door of the infirmary, Chambers and I looked in on a short guy in green scrubs seated at a desk. His knees bounced up and down as he ate Cheetos and played solitaire on the computer in front of him. Aerosmith blared from the boom box on the credenza next to him.

His small eyes finally sensed us standing at the door. “Oh, my goodness,” he said loudly, turning down the music and wiping his orange fingers under his armpits. “My goodness, my goodness, Everett Lester.”

He approached us nervously with an extended orange hand. “My name is Jimmy…Jimmy Pierce, physician’s assistant. At your service. Hello, Donald.”

Chambers and I smiled, said hello, and explained the incident with Zaney.

“My, my, my…I’m sorry to hear about that, Mr. Lester. Why don’t you just hop up here on the examining table and let me have a look-see.” Pierce patted the table, shaking noticeably as he snapped on some rubber gloves. “You know this Zane Bender fella, he…he’s been in a number of scrapes.”

“Believe me, we know,” said Chambers.

“Boy, he-he got ya g-good on the neck, Mr. Lester.” Pierce fidgeted with a bag of cotton balls. Pierce had a large forehead with a few strands of dark hair plastered across the top of his shiny dome and wore round glasses with no rims.

“So, you’ve heard about Zane Bender?” I winced a bit as he dabbed the big cut with hydrogen peroxide.

“Oh…oh, my, yes. People are saying he’s some kind of…of wizard or something.” He scanned the empty room and whispered, “I heard he made one inmate levitate. Do you hear what I’m saying…
levitate!
We’re talking, the guy is seated in a chair, and both he and the chair rise four feet off the ground.”

I looked at Chambers. “What more have you heard?” he asked.

Pierce glanced around the room and out the door. “You didn’t hear it here.” He smudged the cut on my neck with Neosporin. “I’ve heard wind that something big is going to come down…within the next few days.”

“Like what?” Chambers whispered now too.

“An attack.” Pierce cleaned up after himself while repeatedly peering at the door. “Maybe a riot. Something involving Zaney. That’s all I know.”

We stood to leave.

“Do me a favor, Pierce,” said Chambers. “Keep your ears open. Let me know the second you hear any more about it.”

“Will do…will do.” Pierce walked us to the door. “Pleasure to meet you Mr. Lester…a real pleasure.”

11:50 p.m.

In my bunk, I just finished some new lyrics that I began jotting down during today’s trial. I guess I’ll continue writing the memoirs for a few minutes until I get tired. (Between the lumpy bunk and the noise in the night, you had to be
really
tired to sleep in here.)

I received a special letter today. Let me share it with you…

Dear Mr. Lester,

When is the last time you remember receiving a letter from me? It’s been quite a while, I know.

I wanted to write to you for old time’s sake, simply to remind you how much your loving Savior cares about you. You have withstood a great deal during this trial and in the months leading up to it, and I am very proud of you.

As I was looking at some old notes of mine while watching your trial today, I came across the following Scripture. I know you’re familiar with it. But I just wanted to share it with you again in hopes that it will uplift you and give you hope:

“Then I heard a loud voice in heaven, saying, ‘Now the salvation, and the power, and the kingdom of our God and the authority of His Christ have come, for the accuser of our brethren has been thrown down, he who accuses them before our God day and night.

‘And they overcame him because of the blood of the Lamb and because of the word of their testimony, and they did not love their life even when faced with death.’” —Revelation 12:10–11

The evil one has been overcome by the blood of the Lamb! And the evil one is being overcome because of the word of your testimony. I know God has big plans for you, and your testimony.

I am excited about the future!

Yours truly,

Karen

She had always brought me a smile, like the one I wore now.

She had been so faithful…to her God…to me.

I was falling asleep now.

More tomorrow.

CLANG…CLANG…CLANG…CLANG…

RRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRR…

Floodlights and sirens.

Footsteps…running
…
one guard after another. Rifles engaged.

CLANG…CLANG…CLANG…CLANG…

RRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRR…

Dogs…panting, wagging, running.

“Fourth floor, fourth floor!” came the guards’ screams.

I staggered out of my bunk, squinting beneath what appeared to be stadium lights. Standing dazed, looking out my cell…searching for Donald Chambers.

Inmates began banging and clanging in their cells, cheering…screaming.

Someone is out!

Now I saw Chambers running toward the main guard station; he slid to a halt, just down the corridor from me. He wore a green helmet and was armed with a black rifle. The radio clipped to his shoulder emitted static, then voices…loud.

“One inmate…we have one inmate
down.”

Static…

“He’s in custody.”

Static…

Volume and alarm of the voice increased… “We got bedsheets!”

Static…

Chambers’s eyes locked in on mine. It was a grave, fleeting look.

Static…

Another voice on another radio. “We’re outside at the perimeter.”

Static…
“We got a…mattress. I repeat, a mattress at the top of the fence.”

The place went bonkers. I’d never heard it so maddeningly loud.

I turned to throw on another shirt, and something on the floor caught my eye. A yellow piece of paper, folded down to wallet size.

I picked it up and unfolded it. Dark red liquid ran off the edge of the paper onto my left hand. Revolted, I shook it off. Then I read the childlike handwriting:

Watch out, Lester.