Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol (47 page)

The other detectives moved in to surround the two of us.

“More than enough time has passed by now, sweet Everett, more than enough.” He smirked and made that familiar raspy squeal. “Pretty Karen is certainly no more…”

I sensed Detective Hardy’s eyes shift to me, waiting, watching for my reaction.

“Where’d you leave her?” My temper boiled to a rage, yet I fought back tears at the same time.

“Let’s see how much faith you have now, you religious fool…now that your
almighty
has allowed sweet Karen to be eaten alive by one of His very own creations.”

“Where is she?” Hardy demanded. “In the Glades?”

Zaney glanced at Hardy and turned back to peer at me.

“If you’re so sure she’s dead, cough up the location,” Hardy insisted. “Then we’ll leave you alone, let you get some beauty sleep.”

“Come over here, choir boy.” Zaney sneered at me. “Closer.”

I stepped toward him, my legs touching the side of his bed.

Lord, please…lead us to Karen. Make him spill it…

“I wanted to tell you in person,” he whispered with a hideous look on his face. “I left your sweet saint—who I became very cozy with—
for the gators.”

Hardy’s hand fell soft on my shoulder as the rage from my entire life was somehow harnessed by an invisible dam.

Instead of borrowing one of the investigators’ guns and unloading its magazine somewhere I shouldn’t, I attempted to make whatever face Zaney wanted to see in order to keep him talking.

Just keep talking!

“You’ll find what’s left of her corpse at Everglades National Park. Near Bear Creek campground. In the swamp, tied to a post near a dock.”

The investigators guided me out the door, clamor and motion all around me…

“But I can promise you, you’re only gonna find table scraps!”

We headed due west, straight into Everglades National Park.

I had never seen such sheer darkness, and the roads were poorly marked.

I was with Jacob, Jerry, and Donald in a dark green Camry that Gray rented and had parked near the ambulance entrance an hour ago. After much pleading, Detective Hardy agreed to let us follow his team’s caravan of unmarked cars.

Jacob drove and I sat next to him, with Jerry and Chambers in back. Our windows were down and the noise of the everglades’ wildlife sounded almost prehistoric.

Jacob could barely sit still, as we flew through the night.

Lord, don’t let it be too late. Please, Father. Please. Let her live.

I looked straight ahead at the marshes, swamps, and wilderness, coming and going in the path of the headlights.

She must have been so scared…

We passed parking areas, picnic spots, and wilderness—deeper and deeper into the marsh we went.

Hurry, hurry…please…lead us.

Stretches of sand-washed road narrowed to one lane and became so dark I felt as if we were in the middle of a jungle. Our task seemed impossible.

Please, God, protect her.

Jacob quietly prayed as he maneuvered the Camry into the eerie depths of this watery nightmare. Jerry nodded in agreement with his prayer as he searched the night outside his window.

“There!” Jacob pointed to a short brown sign. “Bear Creek Campground.”

We followed the lead cars another hundred feet and turned right down a slope and into the campground.

As the investigators’ cars crept forward, slowly branching out, Jerry pointed way to the right, to a small opening in the trees. “There, Jacob. Pull in there. You see that path?”

“There’s barely any road,” Jacob said. “Let’s stay with the cops.”

“I have a feeling,” Jerry insisted. “We’re close. I know it.”

“Go, Jacob. Try it.” I pounded the seat. “We can always come back.”

Jacob made a hard right away from the pack. Forging through twenty feet of brush, we came upon a sandy path—just two tire tracks of packed-down mud. We rocked and bumped. Branches scraped the Camry, which suddenly dropped a half a foot into the swampy marsh.

The helplessness wanted to overcome me.

“I hope this is right,” Jacob cried, shaking his head, peering over the green dashboard light.

“Straight now, Jacob,” said Jerry. “Go straight a little farther.”

Jacob gunned the engine as the brush that had been scraping the sides of the Camry disappeared.

We pulled into a huge, open expanse where the crescent moon cast a faint glow over a small island of picnic benches—and acres of river grass.

“I’m goin’ back.” Jacob turned the wheel sharply and punched the gas.

Just as the Camry swung left, my eye caught something in the path of the sweeping headlights.

“Wait!” I strained my head out the window.
“Stop!
It’s a dock!”

Most of it was submerged. Only a ten-foot stretch could be seen some one hundred yards in front of us. It was as low as the water and led nowhere, with water at both ends.

We jerked to a stop, and I broke loose out of the car.

When my feet hit the bathlike water, I heard gators slither into the night, at least three or four. The sound of their presence brought tears to my eyes, as I felt myself panicking…crying…bolting through the eight-inch-deep water.

“Karen!
Karen!”

The headlights behind me projected a huge, eerie shadow ahead. It was me. Racing like a madman through the swamp toward the dock.

Oh God, please, please, please…

I took a wet leap and landed on what was left of the dock. It swayed and almost gave way.

No Karen.

I saw movement in the water: the eyes of alligators sticking up out of the saw grass, illuminated by the headlights.

The car was way back there. I heard Jacob and the others coming.

Quiet.

The water swirled again, but that’s not what I heard.

My hands froze in the air, and my head was down, concentrating—trying desperately to separate the sounds of the wildlife from the…singing.

My head spun.

“Heaven’s gates to open wide…”

I splashed through the warm water, running as I had never run before, spattering through the prairielike wetlands…to the voice. To the post. To the rope.

To my Karen.

As I knocked on Karen’s bedroom late the next morning, the room was dark, but I could see the bright Miami light gleaming behind the shades.

“Come in,” she whispered, rolling over to face the door.

“This isn’t a dream.” I smiled, carrying two cups of coffee. “How are you?”

She smiled slightly and patted the bed, making room for me to sit. I put our coffee on the nightstand.

“What can I do for you, Karen?”

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“Are you okay, baby?” I held her, not knowing what she’d been through, afraid of long-term scars.

She began to cry softly, not wanting to make eye contact.

“I know. Everything’s going to be okay now. I’m here.”

She sniffed and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“I was so scared,” she whispered. “He meant to kill me.”

I tried to calm her with soft strokes through her hair.

“He honestly thought he was doing good…by getting rid of me—
and you.
You were next.”

“Don’t talk about it now, sweetheart.”

“He said if he didn’t get you, someone else would.” She stared off. “There are thousands like him, he said. They may not know him or Endora, or even resemble them, but they’re family. All of them. They’re out there. Antichrists. Vessels of dishonor. Out to stop the gospel; that’s why they exist, he said.”

“He’s sick, Karen. But that’s behind us. It’s over. We’re safe now.”

“He was…
possessed.”
She looked up at me now. “I really believe that, Ev. And your conversion was just devastating to his dark world—and Endora’s. I mean, they
lived
to stop you. Zaney was ready to sacrifice himself to do it. He believed that’s why he was born! I prayed so hard, the whole time. It’s all I could do.”

Her arms gripped tight around my waist. “He would talk to himself all the time, laughing and muttering,” she cried. “Then in the night, oh, it was so bad. He would toss and turn, moaning and crying and sweating—like he was being tormented.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.” I hugged her tight. “But now we can start over.”

She squeezed me again. “You won.” She smiled, managing her first glimpse of the old Karen. “I knew you would. I just kept praying.”

“I was so worried about you, Karen Bayliss.”

“I know, and I’m here now, Everett Lester. And you’re a free man.”

We kissed and held each other for a long time.

The quiet was good. We closed our eyes and prayed our thanks mixed with tears.

Both of us lifted our heads in response to Mary’s soft knocks.

She tiptoed in, wearing a pink and purple flowered nightgown. Her eyes and cheeks were red, and she held a Kleenex in one hand, but she was smiling. Smiling gloriously.

“This is for you.” She sniffed, wide-eyed, handing me the phone and shooting a teary glance at Karen.

“Hello…Mr. Lester?” came the young lady’s voice. “This is Olivia Gilbert calling…from Xenia, Ohio. I wanted you to know…my mother said I should call…”

I fell to my knees, face to the floor.

No words would come. No words.

“I’m okay now. I woke up out of the coma, not long after your verdict was read on TV.” She laughed. “My mother almost died. And my father, well, he’s a happy man, to say the least. He wants me to tell you—he’s sorry…”

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader,

God has been so good to me, a very undeserving man. Karen Bayliss modeled Christ’s unconditional love for me, and through her, I was able to learn that I am an accepted, blessed, forgiven child of God! There is contentment in my life now, and security, and acceptance—just like Karen said there would be if I gave my life to Christ.

In order to bring these memoirs to a close and to catch you up on the very latest happenings, allow me to reprint this latest interview I did with
Rolling Stone
feature reporter Steve Meek. The story ran six months after my acquittal.

With warm regards,

Everett Lester

Matthew 11:28–30

Steve Meek (
Rolling Stone
):
It’s good to see you again.

Everett Lester (formerly of DeathStroke):
Thanks for coming. It’s good to be with you, Steve.

SM
: So much has changed since we last talked. Where do we begin?

EL
: How about with my new wife?

SM:
Yes, please. Tell…

EL:
Karen and I were married in the spring. We had a double wedding with my sister, Mary, and her new husband, Jerry. It was beautiful. The ceremonies were held at a church in Topeka, Kansas, with magnificent stained glass—and Karen’s dad officiating.

SM:
Karen is a lovely lady. I will note here for the story that we are at one of your homes, this one in suburban New York, where Karen greeted me first today. Now Karen was the young lady who wrote to you throughout the DeathStroke years, correct?

EL:
She wrote; she sent gifts; she sent roses. She sent my first Bible.

SM:
Is that how your life began to change?

EL:
Yeah. I thought she was crazy. But what she did, slowly but steadily, was model the love of Jesus Christ for me. Now understand, her love was not romantic. She hated my music. She was just a girl doing what she thought God was prompting her to do, and that was to write to me—reach out to show me God’s love.

SM:
Why did she choose you?

EL:
(laughing)
She knew how messed up I was! She has a whole scrapbook of my Siren and DeathStroke days. It’s like, she picked the darkest, most demented star she could find and set out on a mission.

SM:
Why did you listen? Why did you accept what she had to say, with all the other voices calling out to you?

EL:
And there were a lot of other voices!
(laughing)
No, but seriously, Steve. I didn’t listen at first. However, I wasn’t content. I was miserable. Addicted. Angry. Suicidal even. I needed something money couldn’t buy. I needed to be accepted and loved. And the only One who could do that was Jesus Christ… Karen’s letters and the Bible helped me realize that.

SM:
I must say that, sitting with you here today is remarkable. You have certainly changed. It’s dramatic.

EL:
That’s only because I’ve accepted the gift of Christ’s love and forgiveness, just like you and every person reading your story has the opportunity to do. He’s come inside me to live, you see.