31

THE DAYS AND WEEKS ahead at the house in Bal Harbour were bittersweet, indeed.

Karen, her folks, Mary, Jerry, and I prepared meals together (including a huge Thanksgiving feast), sat around and read, sneaked away for day trips (including the dog races and an airboat ride through the Everglades), and talked extensively, sometimes well into the night. We also prayed together as I had never prayed before—for Mary and Jerry’s future, Olivia Gilbert’s healing, recovery and restoration for my brother Eddie and his family, and for success in the upcoming trial.

After about ten days, Jerry and Mary flew back to Ohio so they could return to work and get back to her boys, who were staying with close friends. They promised to hand deliver a unique seashell mobile to Olivia Gilbert, which I had found at a sidewalk shop at Hallandale Beach.

Within a day or two of their departure, the hammer dropped. The grand jury announced that it had compiled sufficient evidence for the state of Florida to prosecute me, and I was formally indicted on charges of first-degree murder in the death of Madam Endora Crystal.

Accompanied by Jacob, Sarah, and Karen at the arraignment, I pleaded innocent before presiding Judge Henry Sprockett.

Miami-Dade Prosecutor Frank Dooley made it clear that day that his intent was to remove me from society for life, whether it be via the death penalty or life in prison without parole.

“We will prove without a doubt that the defendant, Everett Timothy Lester, had every intention of killing Madam Endora Crystal,” Dooley told the judge in his syrupy Southern twang. “This was cold-blooded, premeditated murder if ever there was such a thing. Celebrity or no celebrity, Everett Lester deserves to be punished severely for his crime.”

In private, my attorney voiced his shock at the murder one charges. “I’m surprised Dooley didn’t go for second-degree murder or even manslaughter,” Boone explained to Gray Harris, the Baylisses, and me, shortly after the arraignment. “He must have some rock solid evidence. And he must have witnesses lined up who he believes are going to show that Everett had requisite intent to kill Endora.”

“What’s requisite intent?” I asked.

“Indispensable intent. In other words, Dooley thinks he can prove without a doubt that you had the reason, the motive, and the necessary intent to kill Endora.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Tell Frank Dooley that. He’s out to hang you. And he wants to do it fast. He’s gonna ramrod this thing to trial.”

Not long after my arraignment, the Baylisses packed their bags and headed back to Topeka on the Gulfstream. Karen and I had talked about the possibility of getting her a condo near my house in Bal Harbour, but she needed to get back to work for as long as possible if she hoped to return for the trial—and the media circus of the century.

***

All I can tell you about what happened next is that I became silent.

The press coverage was so smothering, I didn’t feel like leaving the house. For days I stayed alone, quiet, thinking. Brewing a fresh pot of coffee every now and then, I read the Bible. When a verse stood out to me, I read it again, sometimes praying. I read night and day, sleeping whenever sleep came.

I found great hope in those days of solitude.

One day, a box was delivered to the front door. It was from Jeff Hall, president of the DeathStroke fan club. “Everett,” his note read. “Among the tons of stuff pouring in, this came for you today. Thought you would want me to forward it along—just like the old days. Best regards, Jeff Hall.”

Ripping the brown paper from the long box, I flipped off the lid and stared at a large, pink rose, the stem of which was carefully attached to a miniature water bottle. It was wrapped in green tissue and surrounded by baby’s breath. A loose note on a small white card was lying in the tissue.

Dear Mr. Lester,

Do you know what the pink rose means?

Sweetheart. It means sweetheart!

Missing you, sweetheart. Looking forward to a bright future.

Love from Topeka,

Karen

The newspapers those days told me that thousands upon thousands of people within Christian circles had embraced the discovery about my new identity in Christ. According to an in-depth report on 20/20, however, many in the church still condemned me for the man I used to be. That was between them and God, I decided.

As for the secular world, those who had not yet believed in Christ, there was a diverse and widespread response. Some found joy and curiosity in my newfound faith, while others expressed utter animosity and resentment. Hate mail and love mail came in by what seemed like the truckload, according to Gray. Even a few death threats trickled in via snail mail.

It was then that Gray told me about a prominent New York publishing house that had expressed an interest in publishing my memoirs. Years ago I wouldn’t have been interested in such a project. But now that I had something—Someone—important to share with the world, I agreed to speak with the vice president of the company by phone. In doing so, we came to terms on the new book, which would tentatively be entitled Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol.

During those very quiet days in Bal Harbour, I began compiling the memories of my life that you read here. It was also then that I began jotting down the new lyrics and melodies that overflowed from my soul.

Pamela McCracken wore dark green slacks and matching jacket over a white blouse. Her long, sandy blond hair was soft and full. Her thin, tan face looked calm. When she crossed her legs, revealing ankle-high zippered boots, she exuded confidence as she awaited her call to the stand.

When the call came, Brian began by questioning her about her job as the former publicist for DeathStroke. She shared openly about her eight years with the band: the friendships, joy, hard work, and sometimes displeasure.

“There were a lot of drugs,” she told Boone. “That made it difficult, at times, to get information from the band, to provide on-time interviews to the press, et cetera. But overall, it was a great experience for me and I hope for them.”

“Miss McCracken, how familiar were you with Endora Crystal?”

“I knew Endora quite well, simply because she was around so much.”

“Would you say she was a friend of yours?”

“Sure, I would call her a friend.”

“And what would you call the relationship between Madam Endora and Everett Lester?”

“They were friends,” she said flatly. “Everett was not romantically involved with Endora.”

“Did you ever do a ‘reading’ with Endora? Ever have any involvement with her from a…shall we say, psychic perspective?”

“No, never.” She shook her thick hair.

“Were you ever present when Endora performed readings for other people?” Boone still stood beside our table.

“I was always kind of floating in and out. I would see things, perhaps what you described, but was never really invited to participate, nor had any desire to do so. My role with DeathStroke was always kept at quite a professional level.”

At that point—I remembered it as if it were yesterday—I noticed one member of the jury, a black man with extremely dark, shiny skin, looking at me very intently. I had noticed him before, but not like I did that day. He was tight-lipped, had a very erect posture, and wore a simple dark blue work jacket zipped up halfway. All of the other jurors seemed to be watching Boone or Miss McCracken, but this juror, in the first row to the far right, zeroed in on me.

“Tell the court, if you will, Miss McCracken, about the encounter you witnessed several months ago between my client and Madam Endora Crystal at The Groove recording studio in Santa Clarita, California.”

With that, Boone swung around and walked directly toward Frank Dooley, who was seated with a sick smirk on his face, flicking the dust off the shoulders of his gray jacket.

“I ducked my head into the lounge portion of the studio and saw Endora and Everett. It appeared as though they were arguing.”

“What were they arguing about, could you hear?”

“Endora was saying how Everett needed to keep emphasizing to his fans that there was life for all people…after death. She called it life on the Other Side. It was weird, but you know, that’s what she was all about. That’s what she spent her time talking about, arguing about, living for.”

“What was Mr. Lester’s response?”

“He told her those were her beliefs, not his,” Pamela said. “He insisted she stop pushing her agenda on him.”

“And what happened next?” Boone crossed his arms.

“I left the room at that time. I had just ducked in for a second and saw that they were arguing.”

“And?”

“Well, after I left the room, I walked down the hall, but…” She looked down. “My curiosity got the best of me. I walked back to the door to listen.”

Dooley squirmed noticeably, practically standing up as he shifted uncomfortably. The juror I mentioned earlier continued to pierce me with his brown eyes.

Pamela put her head up and forged ahead. “Endora was trying to convince Everett to take part in a séance in order to communicate with his old girlfriend, Liza Moon.”

“What was Everett’s response?”

“He said no, he wasn’t interested,” Pamela testified. “And when he did, Endora became very angry. She warned him not to turn against her.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I believe she said, ‘You do not want me against you.’ I keep playing those words over in my head.”

Chills ran up my spine with her words, which ignited the crowd in courtroom B-3.

“Keep it down!” Judge Sprockett ordered.

“What then, Miss McCracken?” Boone prompted, with a distinct tone of drama.

“Endora began to warn Everett about a lady who she predicted would come into his life and destroy it. I think she used the words that this lady would ‘bring death’ to ‘his house.’ I did not hear Endora mention a specific woman’s name, but I assume it was—”

“Objection!” Dooley ripped to his feet. “Conjecture, Your Honor!”

“Sustained,” said Sprockett.

Pamela looked at Boone.

“It’s okay, Miss McCracken, you’re doing fine. Tell us, what did Everett and Endora talk about next?”

“Endora was trying to convince Everett that he had all he needed, you know—in money and popularity. But he told her he needed help, that he had hit rock bottom. I remember feeling good that he was admitting to someone that he needed help.”

Pamela’s testimony sparked my memory. Suddenly, that day came back to me as I returned the glance of the dark juror on the far right. I remembered confiding in Endora. In my own way, I had been crying out for help.

“And what was Endora’s response to Mr. Lester saying he needed help, telling her he had hit rock bottom?”

Pamela took a deep breath and faced me. “She began to…to tell him he was getting tired.”

It was church quiet, so Boone just let her roll.

“She kept repeating that he needed rest and that he was getting drowsy…”

Her words just hung out there, dangling above the silence. Then somehow, I sensed what was coming and so did the crowd.

“I remember, she said something like, ‘Sleep little child…and let me impose my will over you.’”

Roar!

On their feet, every person in the courtroom.

Pamela sat frozen on the witness stand, perhaps suddenly realizing the crucial part she had stepped forward to play in my future.

Amid the bedlam, the black juror was still staring at me when my head dropped, my shoulders sagged, and a backlog of emotions rushed to my eyes.

The noise around me had become so loud that the sound of Judge Sprockett’s banging gavel sounded like he was only clicking his fingers.

“We will have silence in this courtroom, or I will close this case to the press and public!” stormed Judge Sprockett, now standing and leaning forward over the courtroom like a hood ornament, with both hands clutching the desk in front of him.

Boone paced the main floor. “Miss McCracken,” he yelled in an attempt to silence the storm. “Miss McCracken!”

The place was a nuthouse.

I had just finished wishing Jacob and Sarah a Merry Christmas and hanging up the phone with Karen when the doorbell rang. From the cherry-colored wood floors in the living room of my house in Bal Harbour, I heard a commotion outside the front door.

The doorbell rang again twice, then loud pounding.

I hurried to the foyer and peered through the shutter slats.

It was my brother Eddie, with his face practically pressed against the front door. Reporters and camera people were packed around him. This was the first time they had ventured down the front sidewalk or anywhere near the front porch. Didn’t these people have anything better to do on Christmas?

When I pulled the door open for him, shutters raced and strobes flashed. Some photographers even stuck their arms into the house, holding down their motor drive buttons as they did.

Eddie and I managed to get the front door shut, took a few deep breaths, and laughed. Then we hugged, clutching each other for some time and exchanging Christmas greetings.

“I can’t believe you.” He pulled back to examine me. “You always find a way to keep the heat turned up, don’t you?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“What are you doing here?”

“I just needed to see you, man.” Eddie turned away, taking his jacket off.

We made our way into the living room and sat on a couch by the empty fireplace.

“Well…how are you?” I asked, sensing a fragileness about him.

“Hey, this isn’t about me.” He feigned a smile. “You’re the one in the spotlight. How are you holding up?”

“I’m good, man.” I nodded, assuring him. “I’m hanging in there. But I can tell you’re not. What’s up?”

He fumbled for words, not making eye contact. “I guess you’d say I’m in kind of in a tailspin,” he mumbled, his handsome exterior still intact. “Ever since David died…a light’s just gone out.”

“I can’t imagine, bro.”

“I mean, even before that, things were bad. But now. This. It’s… Life is just…it’s just rotten.”

“Are you still gambling?”

“Yeah.”

“How much, Eddie?”

“’Bout the same.” He searched my eyes. “Wesley’s gone off the deep end. Running with a wild crowd. We have no control over him anymore. He’s an adult, of course…”

“He’s mad at me, isn’t he?”

“He thinks you let David down. But I don’t put any blame on you…”

“I let them both down,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. “That’s something I’ve got to try and make right.”

“Good luck.” Eddie shrugged. “He actually wants you to be convicted.”

I felt myself go flush.

“He’s a very dark young man.” Eddie dropped his head. “There’s no getting through to him.”

We sat without words for a moment.

“What about Sheila and Madison?”

That made him turn and look out the window. “Healthwise, they’re fine, but we’re still not doing good. Sheila’s depressed, wants out of the marriage. Madison’s bitter and just stays completely to herself. We’re totally dysfunctional. Remind you of anything?”

“Yeah, it does.” I nodded, as several snapshots of our childhood appeared and vanished in my mind. “You need to give it time, Eddie.”

“It’s not getting better with time, though,” he snapped, laughing sarcastically. “It’s getting worse.”

“Is there other stuff you’re not telling me?”

He brushed the dust off the top of his shoe, and twisted the lace.

“I’m just feeling the pressure from all sides, man. That’s all. I’ve just made a mess of things.”

“As much of a mess as I’ve made?” I asked, slowly breaking into a smile.

He looked at me. “I told you I saw something different about you…at the hospital.”

I smiled. “You were lookin’ at a new man.”

“I know. Then when I saw your statement outside the police station, everything clicked. I knew what had happened to you.”

“It’s real Eddie. He’s real.”

He closed his eyes, frowned, and let his head drop back on the couch.

I remembered that same frown, that same defeated spirit from the face of my father.

Putting his palms to his temples, Eddie opened his eyes slowly. “I’m just tired, Ev. Just plain tired. I know you’ve been there.”

“Don’t feel like goin’ on, do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

I patted his knee. “It’s good you came. Let’s just hang out. You can rest here.”

With the help of the Yellow Pages, we found a Chinese restaurant that was open and placed an order that would be delivered within the hour. When Eddie called Mom at my brother Howard’s house in northeast Ohio, we were surprised to hear that Mary and Jerry had joined them by making the short trek from Dayton.

They were all elated to hear that Eddie had made the flight to Miami, and that the two youngest Lester boys would be together on Christmas.

When we were all on the line and the conversation wound down, I figured there would be no better time to tell the family my news.

“Hey…you probably haven’t heard this yet, guys, but my trial is set to start January fifth.”

All the voices on the various phones in Ohio and Miami fell silent.

“They’re keeping me in custody for the duration of the trial. I check into the jail January second or third,” I said, trying to keep it light. “So get your TVs warmed up for the news event of the year.”

Quiet cloaked the phone lines, until Mary broke the silence.

“Everett, Jerry and I will try to make it down, at least for some of it. Can we stay at the house?”

“I have your rooms reserved,” I said. “Karen and her folks will be here, too, for as much of it as possible.”

When Mom got off the phone, Howard explained that her health was deteriorating steadily. They wouldn’t be able to make the trial, and I didn’t expect them to.

“Mary, did you tell Everett about the mobile…and his letter?” Jerry asked on one of the many phones they had going at Howard’s house.

“No, you tell him.”

“Claudia was so grateful to get your letter and the mobile for Olivia. When she gave Olivia the mobile, she actually smiled; she stares at it all the time. It’s hanging from the ceiling, right by her bed. Claudia also said she read your letter to Olivia, and that when she did, Olivia began to moan. Claudia thinks she was actually crying, which is the first time that’s happened since the accident.”

I fought off the vision of that scene. “What about Raymond?”

Jerry paused a moment. “He doesn’t like the contact from you. But Claudia insisted on reading the letter to Olivia and keeping the mobile. So you’ve won a fan in my sister, anyway. And that’s the first avenue to Raymond’s heart.”