Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol (45 page)

3:22 a.m.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

An occasional wicked laugh rang out from the dark.

I floundered, wide-eyed.

Every now and then, a frightening scream pierced the darkness.

The pending verdict…Karen’s kidnapping—they’ve left me beaten. Alone. Utterly overwhelmed.

It’s hot…stifling in here.

And no way out.

I was suffocating in the same desperation Donald Chambers had found me in days ago.

The floor was cold and hard on my knees.

All I could do—literally all I had the strength or presence of mind to do—was scan the small brown Bible that I clutched just inches from my eyes.

Troubles surround me—too many to count!

They pile up so high I can’t see my way out.

They are more numerous than the hairs on my head.

I have lost all my courage.

Please, Lord, rescue me!

Come quickly, Lord, and help…

Periodically, words poured out of me:
Dear God, this is all in Your hands. Comfort Karen now. Protect her. Please…bring her home. Give us the chance to live together for You. Stop this evil, Lord. Stop it!

Then I found my way back to the page…

May those who try to destroy me be humiliated and put to shame. May those who take delight in my trouble be turned back in disgrace. Do not delay, O my God…

We had two pots of coffee brewing in the conference room, both caffeinated. The jury had been back in session for an hour and a half. In order to waste some time, I got the idea that Jerry should call his sister, Claudia, in Xenia to find out how Olivia was doing. Jerry talked for a while, then handed the phone to me.

Claudia hesitantly asked my feelings about the upcoming verdict. It was awkward.

“I have no idea.” I paced. “There’s all kinds of speculation, but I won’t play that game. I don’t know how it’s going to come out… How’s Olivia?”

“We’ve moved her hospital bed to her bedroom. Her condition hasn’t changed,” Claudia said. “She is fed through a clear plastic tube that attaches to her navel. She stares at the TV most of the day or at the seashell mobile you got her. Sometimes she gazes at the greeting cards taped to her wall or at the birds that come to feast on the bird feeder that’s suction-cupped to the outside of her window.”

“Do you care for her alone?”

“No. We have a nurse on duty twelve hours a day. She helps change her, feed her, turn her, and hoist her onto her exercise board for physical therapy. Occasionally Olivia laughs or cries for no apparent reason.”

Claudia seemed relieved to tell me all of this.

Her husband was at work. Claudia said he now worked overtime almost every day at the fiberglass factory near their home. He was struggling with depression.

Claudia was adjusting to life with a comatose daughter. But remarkably, she had forgiven me. And she began going to a local church, where she was finding friends and newfound peace.

“We’ve watched every bit of the trial, Everett. Olivia seems fascinated by it. We’ll be keeping our fingers crossed.”

Police spotted the dark green Arctic Fox camper again two hours ago. It was leaving a campground in Florida City, a small town near Homestead, adjacent to the enormous Everglades National Park.

Karen’s dad found out that Miami-Dade police pursued the camper for three miles but lost it when a drawbridge went up and blocked them off. Whether Karen was in the camper or not was unknown.

I was dying inside. I mean, really, my insides, my organs, felt like they were weakening—almost like they were becoming infected or shutting down.

Karen was the one thing in this life I’d ever truly loved…
my rose.

The thought crossed my mind to just run. To try and sneak away, steal a car, find her… Ridiculous.

The large clock on the wall read 3:42
p.m
. The jury had been behind closed doors all day. Sandwiches were delivered to them at 1:30.

This could last weeks.

Various newspapers, pads, wrappers, folders, magazines, napkins, Bibles, coffee cups, and books were scattered across the top of our conference room table. We were all emotionally spent. Gray was asleep on the floor. Although I wasn’t allowed to leave the room, Jacob, Jerry, and Donald were constantly in and out, checking with police on what was going on with the search for Karen.

I thought of the black man who stared at me so often throughout the trial.
What did he see? What was he thinking?
Perhaps he’d be the one juror who was vigilant for my acquittal. Or maybe he’d pound that last nail in my coffin.

As I sat here, I passed the time by scribbling some new lyrics. Here’s a song called
Release
I envisioned doing as a rock number. I could hear the tune in my head…

There’s a place I know oh so well, where I am in control.

It’s a cozy place I never want to leave, but then You say, “LET’S GO!”

Release yourself to the One in charge,

Release yourself tonight.

Release yourself, don’t look back,

Everything’s gonna be all right!

Do you know the place I’m talkin’ about, where you call all the shots?

Well, it seems pretty good from where you sit, but from where He sits, it’s not!

Release yourself, He’s waiting now,

Release yourself today.

Release yourself, He’ll carry you,

Along life’s rugged way.

There’ll come a day, there’ll come a time, when you got nowhere left to turn.

You’ll be all tapped out, all used up, you’ll have nothin’ left to burn.

Release yourself,

Release yourself,

He alone can set you free!

Release yourself,

Release yourself,

You were blind, but now you see!

35

TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND PEOPLE WAVED
their arms back and forth, singing along. Matches, lighters, and cell phones were lit like a zillion stars around the glowing arena. We did one final encore. They loved us. Fireworks exploded. The place went black. Roadies saw us offstage by flashlight.

In the wings, Endora waited. She handed me a bottle of Jack Daniels, put a lit cigarette in my mouth, and we headed toward the dressing room.

“They worship you, Everett,” she yelled, laughing. “You are their god.”

My body jerked against the carpeted floor.

I opened my eyes and wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth.

Sarah lay on her side near me on the floor of the conference room. She saw me wake up and smiled softly. “Dreaming?”

“Yeah.”

“Was Karen in it?”

“No…I wish she had been. It was a bad dream.”

“What about?”

“The old days.”

“Ah.”

“Any word?”

“No. Jacob and Jerry left for a few minutes. I don’t know what they’re doing.” She laughed. “Driving around, maybe. They were going stir-crazy.”

“Tell me about it. What time is it?”

“Almost seven-thirty,” Sarah said, still lying on the floor. “Boone thinks Sprockett will keep the jury here as long as they’ll stay without committing mutiny. They could go till eleven-thirty again.”

She sat up, leaned against the wall, and motioned toward the table. “There’s a sandwich and chips for you. Gray had it brought in.”

“Thanks, Sarah. Where’s Mary?”

“Sleeping…over there.” She pointed to the other side of the long table.

“I’m not asleep,” Mary said from across the room. “Just meditating… That’s what my dad always used to say. Remember, Everett? He would take these long, deep naps—snoring and all—and when someone asked him how he slept he would say, ‘Oh, I didn’t sleep…I was just meditating.’”

We all cracked up.

The hoagie tasted good. I’d barely eaten in days, just had no appetite.

Jacob and Jerry barged in, followed by Donald.

“A family spotted Zaney’s camper at a campground near the Everglades.” Jerry hugged Mary.

Jacob approached Sarah. “No sign of Karen.”

“The cops didn’t make it in time,” Chambers announced. “He was gone when they got there.”

“Bender’s either got her in the back of that camper or…I just don’t know,” Jacob said, as Sarah hugged him and buried her face in his chest.

“Well, it’s not going to last,” Jerry said. “This thing is all over the networks. The whole state of Florida is watching for them.”

The door swung open again.

It was Boone. His posture was straight as a board as he walked into the room, not making eye contact with anyone and taking an enormous breath. “Don’t mark my words, but I think we may have a verdict.” He crossed to the far side of the room, turned around, and focused on the door.

“Already?” Sarah questioned.

“Just wait a minute.” Boone nodded, watching the door.

“What’s going on, Brian?” I asked.

Voices…approaching the door. Closer…louder.

The door crept open several inches, and a conversation could be heard. Someone stood just outside. The door opened about two feet, and we saw the gray-haired bailiff there, surrounded by loud noise and turmoil in the hallway. He talked with officers, answering questions and barking instructions.

“Time-out!” he finally yelled to the people outside the door. “Time-out. I’ll be back with you in a minute.”

He stepped inside our conference room and closed the door behind him. His white, bushy eyebrows raised above his thick glasses. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a verdict.”

Once the bailiff explained what would happen next and cleared out, we quietly and nervously straightened each other’s collars and hair and ties. Then we stopped at the door just before leaving, and we prayed.

Even though courtroom B-3 had no windows, it took on a whole new aura toward evening. Somehow the lighting seemed different, almost yellow.

I couldn’t recall the courtroom ever being this packed. The usual press boundaries had all but disappeared beneath the sea of bodies, recorders, mikes, and equipment.

Side by side, arm in arm, my “family” sat along the first row, just behind me: Jacob and Sarah, Jerry and Mary, Donald and Della, and Gray Harris.

But someone was missing, and her absence burned at the base of my throat.

Boone’s hand clasped mine tightly, and he looked up into my eyes. “Everett, I’m not much of a praying man, but I’ve been praying for this moment. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Brian.” I squeezed tighter. “Thanks for everything.”

Judge Sprockett glided into the courtroom, black robe wafting behind him.

We were seated.

Just a few formalities.

Judge Sprockett called the bailiff.

The somber gray-haired man approached the bench, handing the judge a white index card.

The bailiff looked directly at me, his face stone-cold sober.

After staring at the card for a good forty seconds, Judge Sprockett’s eyes rose above the card and zeroed in on our table, then shifted to Dooley, who was fixing the jagged white hankie in his left breast pocket.

The judge’s head slowly turned to the jury box. As he eyed them good and long, his head nodded up and down several times, almost unnoticeably.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice echoed off the silent walls, “a verdict has been reached in the case of
The State of Florida v. Everett Timothy Lester
. The verdict will now be read by the jury foreperson.”

It was the calm before the storm, as the bailiff retrieved the index card from Judge Sprockett and walked it directly into the hands of…yes, the black man, the one on the far right. The only juror standing. His eyes were, once again, locked on mine like laser beams.

He took the card from the bailiff and looked at Judge Sprockett.

“Jury, what say you?”

With a fist to his mouth, the black man nodded at the judge and cleared his throat. And then I saw it flash in the yellow light—the silver ring on his middle finger…and the black cross engraved in the top.

“On the matter of
The State of Florida v. Everett Timothy Lester
, we the jury find the defendant, Everett Timothy Lester,
not guilty
on the charges of murder in the first degree.”

My knees wobbled.

My eyes felt like they rolled back up into my head.

The gavel cracked.

Rushing and shouting and chaos.

Boone’s arms were wrapped tightly around my waist. The family engulfed us.

And the tears came like rain.

***

We were mobbed now.

Reporters and camera crews rammed against us due to pressure from behind.

Gray yelled that a car was waiting.