12

WHEN I WOKE UP again, 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:

Everett –

After you were treated at the hospital in Dayton yesterday, Mary didn’t think you should travel far and agreed to bring you here to my home in Grayson, Ohio. It is just east of Dayton and should give you adequate privacy during the media coverage.

In case you didn’t figure it out yet, you have a broken nose! You’ve been quite heavily sedated, and more pain medication is here, should you need it. Don’t worry about upcoming concerts. Mary is handling everything with Gray Harris. I am at work, will be home around five-thirty. Help yourself to food in fridge and pantry.

For now, rest.

Fondly,

Jerry Princeton

I picked up the bottle of pills prescribed in my name. One every four to six hours. I tapped two into my hand, found a glass, and swallowed them with tap water. Then I put the orange bottle in my pocket and casually opened a cabinet here and there, hoping to find a bottle of wine or something to wet my whistle.

On top of the white refrigerator, I noticed a maroon Bible and a small, black hardbound notebook. I got the books down. Leafing through the worn Bible, I noticed that many of its words and verses had been highlighted with yellow and orange markers; others were underlined and circled in ink. Words were written up and down the margins. The black notebook appeared to be Jerry’s personal journal. I put both books back as they were atop the fridge.

Opening a door in the kitchen, I looked down several steps into a clean two-car garage. Jerry had a nice workbench, with lamps, cabinets, and shelves full of tools. Next, I opened the door to the pantry, found a box of Ritz crackers, and helped myself, taking the box with me.

I peered into the small dining room, then walked into a nicely decorated study, with a maple desk, a comfortable reading chair and ottoman, and a wall full of books—complete with a rolling library ladder. One wall was filled with unique paintings, watercolors and oils.

There was a painting of an orange sunset, a fisherman repairing a buoy, sea oats at the beach, and one of a lighthouse at night. Another showed Jesus and his disciples in a boat, surrounded by a raging storm. Christ stood with his arms stretched skyward, and the sun began to shine in the background. Words were written in calligraphy below: “He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, ‘Quiet! Be still!’ Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.”—Mark 4:39.

So this is where Jerry gets his peace… Even the tough Marine is a sheep.

Heading back to the family room, I found the remote control on the arm of the couch and turned on the TV. Flipping through the channels, I stopped at CNN Headline News, thinking I might see something about the events of the past two days.

During a commercial break, I pulled up the white T-shirt Jerry must have loaned me and examined several spots that were particularly painful. Slowly lifting the tape that covered a large bandage on my left side, I saw a red welt about the circumference of a softball. It was hot to the touch. Several ample purple and yellow bruises decorated the middle of my chest. Reaching behind me, I felt another warm lump on my lower back.

“Real news. Real fast. This is CNN Headline News with Linda Stockton and Chuck Richards…

“Management for the heavy metal band DeathStroke announced today that it will cancel at least the next ten shows of its forty-eight-city Rowdy tour. This news comes one day after fourteen-year-old ninth grader Olivia Gilbert of Xenia, Ohio, was struck in the head by a microphone stand thrown into the audience by DeathStroke lead singer Everett Lester at a concert before thousands of people at Dayton Arena.

“The young girl remains in a coma, in guarded condition at Good Samaritan Hospital.

“Fifteen other people were treated and released from local hospitals after suffering from breathing difficulties, cuts, and bruises sustained in a riot and stampede that ensued when Lester passed out onstage, and the concert was abruptly cancelled.

“Further developments have revealed that Lester was badly beaten by the Xenia girl’s father when attempting to visit her at the hospital. Unconfirmed sources say Lester sustained a broken nose, cuts, and abrasions in the tussle.

“Numerous reports indicate that Lester was intoxicated before the concert began and continued to imbibe openly during the show. Dayton police have questioned numerous people in the case and have said they are looking for Lester in order to question him. However, his whereabouts at this time are unknown.

“Insiders say the parents of Olivia Gilbert are considering filing charges against the bad boy rocker. For more, here’s CNN’s Byron Pinter…”

“Good evening, Linda and Chuck,” said the handsome black reporter, standing outside Good Samaritan Hospital. “Dayton police are investigating this case, which could lead to aggravated assault and other charges against Lester—even manslaughter, should the young girl die.

“Meanwhile, her father has made it clear he wants Lester punished for his actions. Gilbert could file suit against Lester right now for battery, compensatory damages for the wrong done to his daughter, and hefty punitive damages—designed to dissuade the guilty party from repeating his actions.

“Although Gilbert is anxious to file suit, his attorneys may advise him to wait until Lester is brought to trial by the Dayton district attorney, if indeed he is. This way, Gilbert’s attorneys could use to their advantage all of the pertinent material gathered in the case by the district attorney’s office—including evidence, witness transcripts, and factual data.

“We’ll keep a close eye on this one, Linda and Chuck. For now, this is Byron Pinter reporting live from Good Samaritan Hospital in Dayton, Ohio.”

Setting the black bag on the floor in my room, I lowered myself onto the chair, found my phone, turned it on, and held down the button programmed with Endora’s cell phone number.

“Endora Crystal,” she picked up, sounding as if she was on speakerphone.

“It’s me.”

“Where are you?” she hissed.

“Sounds like the cops are looking for me.”

“Them and everybody else. Are you okay?”

“Pretty banged up.”

“You poor thing. Where on earth are you? I know you’re not at your sister’s.”

“What am I gonna do? This girl’s in a coma.”

“Everett, you need to listen to me very carefully,” she said, pronouncing every word slowly, systematically. “This may be the most important conversation we ever have. Do you understand?”

“I’m here.”

“You need to get yourself to the Dayton police and cooperate with them—however they want.”

“But…”

“I’m not finished,” she yelled over the sounds of traffic. “Then…we’re going to get you back in the studio to finish Freedom. We’ve cancelled ten concerts so we can get that monkey off our backs. You can sing, can’t you?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Are you there?”

“Yeah.”

“Once we’re done with Freedom, hopefully you’ll be well enough to finish the Rowdy tour.”

“There’s a girl in a coma, Endora! Do you live in the real world? My nose is broken!”

“Gray and the attorneys are handling all the legal stuff. All of it. Okay? To you, it doesn’t exist.”

“That girl exists! I saw her… She may never be the same.”

“She’ll make it,” Endora said coldly. “I really feel she’s going to make it.”

“We’re talkin’ aggravated assault, battery…”

“Everett, I just hung up with Gray.”

“Manslaughter!”

“No suit has been filed,” she shot back. “The district attorney hasn’t charged you. And if any charges are filed, our attorneys will get you off. The worst you’ll have to do is pay damages.”

“How do you know I’m not at Mary’s place?”

“I called her,” she said, followed by a deep drag on a cigarette.

“When?”

“She knows where you are, doesn’t she? Why are you keeping it such a big secret?”

“I need to figure out what to do…”

“I just told you what to do! Don’t be freaked out and don’t go on some heavy guilt trip about this thing. Remember…judgment, condemnation—they’re lies from hell, Everett. Don’t be hard on yourself. Move on. Rest in the security of knowing that your friends are going to get you out of this mess. Soon it will all be just a blip on the screen.”

“What else did Mary say?”

“That the two of you went to visit the girl at the hospital, and that’s the last she saw you. Listen, I don’t care where you are, as long as you do what I tell you! Number one: Go to the Dayton police. Number two: Call Gray and tell him how soon you can be back out to The Groove. Is two more days enough?”

I stared blankly out the window at the falling darkness. It reminded me of the shade of my soul.

“Well…you decide,” she snapped. “But make it quick. We need to finish this record. Tina says sponsors are chomping at the bit to bid on the Freedom tour. That thing could launch as early as a month after the Rowdy tour ends. Listen, get some rest. You’ll feel much better in the morning. And leave your phone on! I want access to you.”

“Are the guys ticked?”

“They’ll get over it. They’re probably glad to have another few days off. None of us could believe you went to visit that girl. Great PR move.”

“It wasn’t PR!”

“I’m just teasing,” she said. “Do you need me to come to you?”

“No…where are you?”

“I’m in a cab on my way to a reading. A high-ranking official with the New York Stock Exchange in Manhattan… Hey, by the way, if I decide to stay over, can I crash at your place?”

“Help yourself.”

“You’re a doll. Be happy now, pumpkin! Everything’s going to be fine.”

She hung up, and I held the phone in my lap and stared outside.

It was the kind of yard where children would love to run and play hide-and-go-seek. Had Olivia ever romped in this backyard?

The clock by the bed showed 5:25. Jerry was due home. I couldn’t decide whether to ask him to drive me to the Dayton police, to leave the house on foot and run from all this, or to take every pill in my pocket.

The stench in my cell was overwhelming tonight. What I wouldn’t give for some fresh air. Ever since I was incarcerated on murder charges, and throughout the trial, my life had become abysmally sedentary. I couldn’t stand it. I was used to moving, going, doing. But now, I was either sitting in an uncomfortable, straight-backed wooden chair in courtroom B-3 or lying on this soft, lumpy mattress behind these chipped white bars.

But I would say this—I’d grown in the past few weeks. I was forced to learn about trust and hope, about patience, about being content in the here and now. There was plenty of time to read, which is what I did most of the time when I wasn’t writing these memoirs. I also did several sets of sit-ups and push-ups when I got up in the mornings—just to keep the blood flowing.

Although they wouldn’t let me have my guitar in here (Brian was working on that), I still managed to scribble down quite a few new tunes and lyrics. Perhaps I’ll share those with you later.

The lights were dim in here. It was depressing. Like I said, the smell was always bad. At night, when the lights flickered off at 10 p.m., I could hear men crying, screaming…laughing wickedly. The sounds echoed off these concrete walls like bad dreams.

I had a friend in here named Scotty; didn’t know his last name. He’d served four years of a twelve-year sentence for armed robbery. He had a wife and two young children at home and struggled with depression. Scotty was strung out on drugs when he did the crime and needed the money to pay for his fix.

I understood. And I hoped I could encourage him.

A large shadow crept up my legs and darkened my chest and the pages of these memoirs.

I looked up to see the outline of Zaney’s massive body covering what little overhead light came in from outside my cell. He held a mop in one fist and a bucket in the other. Looking both ways, he set them down and pressed his pudgy nose between the bars.

He stared in at me for what seemed like a minute.

“I am anti-Christ,” he finally whispered. “So was Endora… You know that, don’t you?”

My stomach tanked and I froze to the bunk.

“You were doin’ so well, Lester.” He leaned his head back a few inches. “We were settin’ people free…legions of people! Through the wide gate, down the broad road—”

“To destruction,” I said, surprised by my own words.

He squeezed the bars next to each side of his head with both mitts and sneered at me. “That’s right…to destruction. And when you found that out, we started losing you, didn’t we?”

He backed up, looked all around, then smashed his fat face between the bars.

“We couldn’t let that happen, Lester. We couldn’t lose you. We had to do something.”

“What are you talking about…Endora Crystal’s death?”

“The ultimate sacrifice.”

“I don’t know what you had to do with Endora, but whatever it was, it’s backfiring.”

“We’re not done yet,” he spewed. “I told you, we will finish what we started. Sleep with your eyes open, Lester, and tell your lovely to do the same.”

He picked up the bucket, grabbed the mop, and took several steps. “And don’t bother havin’ Boone call me to the witness stand.” He smirked. “After all, I’m the father of lies.”

He managed a sick laugh and lumbered away, repeating the words, “That’s just my nature… That’s just my nature…”