Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) (21 page)

She listened with her eyes closed. “There are always excuses…” She crossed to the window. “No, we don’t need anything. Just get here, for Wesley.”

By the time she hung up, the bathroom was silent.

Sheila entered the room. “The doctor will be here in a minute.”

“Dad’s on his way,” Madison told her.

“Where’s he been?”

“Said he’s been working all day and didn’t realize his phone was off. When he finally turned it on, he had twenty-three messages.”

“Uh-huh,” Sheila said. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

The hospital phone on the table by the bed let out one low but annoying ring. Everett picked it up. “Hello.”

“Wes? That you?”

“No…Wesley can’t come to the phone. Can I give him a message?”

“Who’s this?” the blunt voice asked.

“A relative.” Everett turned his back to those in the room and lowered his voice. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, ho! I know who this is,” came the deranged voice. “Glo-ray, glo-ray, hallelujah! Out of the darkness and into the light. This is Everett Lester, ain’t it?”

A flash of chills engulfed Everett. “It is.”

“It is, or ‘I Am.’” Hideous laughter blared from the other end. “Is this the great ‘I Am’?”

Everett dropped his head, closed his eyes, and tried to remain calm.

“Are you there, I Am, or did you disappear on me?”

“I know who you are.”

“Oh, that’s right, you know all things.”

“Tony Badino,” Everett said quietly.

Long pause. “Wrong! This is the ghost of your nephew, David Lester, askin’ why you led me astray. Why you promised me the Other Side. Now I’m dead. I don’t exist no more. I’m cryin’ out from nothingness, reminding you that my blood is on your hands. Does that haunt you at night, I Am?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because, I
can’t stand
people like you, leading others astray.”

Even coming from a deranged idiot like this, the words battered Everett’s psyche. He waited for more.

“First it was the Other Side,” Badino seethed, “some make-believe oasis for everybody who dies. Now it’s even worse—a selective utopia for Jesus freaks only.”

“If you don’t believe the way I do, that’s your business—”

“You’re right! It is my business, and I’m gonna make it other people’s business, too. People need to know the truth. We exist for the here and now! This life is
it
.”

“That talk’s from hell.”

“There is no such thing.”

“I’m not going to argue with you.”

“The point is, Lester, you shouldn’t be able to just spout your dead-end lies and promises of paradise to the whole world and go on your merry way, leaving a trail of corpses. You gotta answer to somebody!”

“To you?”

“That’s right!”

“Why you?”

“Because I’m an authority on the subject.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“’Cause I lost somebody because of religious zealots like you. Three years ago. Her name was Erica Santose.”

“That’s what this is about? You losing your girlfriend to Christianity?”

“Shut up, jerk! She’s dead!” Tony breathed heavy. “I was gonna marry her. She got baptized at a
stinkin’
revival. They promised her new life—all the things you promise. She got blindsided by a drunk driver on the way home that very night. Some new life your God gave her, huh?”

A thousand images of Liza Moon, an old girlfriend, spun in Everett’s head. Before Karen, she’d been the one—until she overdosed. Her death—the loss—resurrected itself in the pit of his stomach, and he felt for the kid.

“Okay, look, I’m sorry about your friend—”

“Sorry ain’t good enough, Lester. You need to
pay
, for Erica, for David…”

Badino’s voice was intense, and his gall troubled Everett’s spirit. “God will judge me, Tony, just as He’ll judge you.”

“No! Don’t do that. You hear me? Don’t you dare try to feed me your hypocritical self-deception.”

“Jesus loves you—”

“Don’t give me that! You’ve been brainwashed. You’re pitiful.”

“But there’s peace in my heart,” Everett said. “Even now, while I face your wrath, I have a high tower. I take all my troubles to Him.”

“No! I told you not to do that. You’re lying. I won’t listen. Nothin’ you’re talkin’ about satisfies.”

“Yes it does, Tony. Jesus satisfies. His Spirit lives in me. I’m His child—”

“That’s a crutch for losers like you who don’t know how to cope with reality.”

“But He forgives my sins,” Everett pleaded. “He makes me whole.”

“You rely on invisible myths and spiritual pipe dreams, but
I’m
the captain of
my
soul.”

Everett dropped his head and shook it. “No—you’re not. You’re mistaken. Tonight, you could lose your life. And then you’ll face the real Captain of your soul…”

He took a deep breath and pressed the phone hard against his ear. He still heard movement, breathing. Waiting through the silence, he sensed the attention of those in the room but did not turn around. His ears were ringing, and the ground spun slightly from the intensity of the conversation.

“Lemme tell you somethin’,” the nasty voice rumbled like a beast. “You know what satisfies? Indulgence. Vengeance.
Sin
. Sin rules, Lester. Sin reigns. And sin is gonna ruin you. You know why?”

Don’t listen. You don’t have to play his game.
“I’m going to hang up now—”

“’Cause you’re a creature of habit, just like me! You think your house is swept clean, but the unclean spirit that left you ain’t gonna find no rest. He’s comin’ back. Haven’t you read your Bible? Matthew twelve. He’s comin’ back with seven spirits more wicked than himself. And they’re gonna rock your world, man. You’ll see.”

Everett had read the words Tony quoted but had no idea what they meant. There was a slight commotion behind him. He turned to see the doctor helping Wesley back into his bed. Sheila and Madison were by his side. So was Karen, but she was searching Everett curiously as she did.

“Bad dogs like you always return to their vomit, Lester. You just wait. All it takes is one time. One slip…”

“Look, Badino, you’re confused and you’re angry. I don’t want any trouble with you—”

“But what if we want trouble with you, huh? What if we decide to make hell for you and your sweet little wife?”

“Who’s we?”

The phone went silent.

Everett waited.

“Me and my legions, of course.” Tony’s voice suddenly sounded like a jovial romper-room teacher leading kindergartners.

“Legions?”

“That’s right. What if we decide David’s and Erica’s deaths will not be swept under the rug? What if we
hate
what you’re doing so much that we—”

“I’ll get the police involved.”

“You’re going to fight a spiritual battle with flesh and blood? Good luck. Besides, they won’t have anything on us.”

“What about your father? What will they have on him?”

There was a loud rattle, a click, then silence. With the phone still glued to his ear and his hands trembling, Everett looked around. The others were tending to Wesley, but Karen approached as he placed the phone back in its cradle.

“Who was it?” she whispered, running her hand down his back.

“Tony Badino.” He squeezed her hand but didn’t want her to feel his shaking, so he let go.

“What was it about?”

The doctor—a pretty woman of fifty or so with fair skin, stylish white hair, and blue eyes—was examining the wound on Wesley’s wrist.

“Satanic.” Everett leaned down to Karen’s ear. “I’ll tell you, I’m ready for us to get out of New York, get on the road.”

“You look terrible.” Karen touched his face. “You’re pale.”

“I feel clammy, like I just gave a gallon of blood.”

Sitting on the bed and rebandaging the wound, the doctor faced Sheila and Madison. “This is going to be fine in no time.” She patted Wesley’s upper arm and pivoted to face Everett and Karen, who stood near the foot of the bed. Reaching out her hand, she shook with Everett. “I’m Rebecca Denton, Wesley’s doctor.”

“Hi, I’m Everett.” He tried to smile. “This is Karen, my wife.”

“I’ve met Karen.” She grinned and stood. “And I recognize you.” The doctor put the lid on her pen and dropped it in the pocket of her white physician’s coat. “It’s amazing how little damage the bullet did. He’s lucky. In fact, it may be the thing Wesley needed to get him in for a much-needed doctor’s visit.”

“I told Dr. Denton she could speak freely,” Sheila said, almost frantically. “We’re all family. Wesley’s okay with it.”

Wesley rolled his eyes and looked out the window.

“We’ve talked a little about this, but I’m going to be frank with you.” Dr. Denton examined each person. “Wesley’s methamphetamine habit is doing some serious damage to his body. It’s been going on for quite a while.”

Wesley mumbled something about Sherlock Holmes, but it didn’t faze the doctor. “I’m concerned by what I see and hear going on in his body and by what he’s told me. He realizes the meth is tormenting him, that it’s taking its toll.”

“I’ve ignored it.” Sheila snatched another tissue. “We lost a son a year ago. It’s set me back.”

“Wesley told me about that.”

A rap sounded at the door, and Eddie hustled in wearing a navy suit out of the pages of
GQ
, with a dark overcoat slung over one arm. No bandages were on his face anymore, just small scabs. “Where’s my man?” He glanced at the others and headed for the bed. “Look at this guy.” He rubbed hard at the brown stubble on Wesley’s head. “Unstoppable. Even bullets don’t slow him down.”

Wesley’s lip turned up, and he yanked his arm away when Eddie fumbled for the bandage on his wrist. Ignoring his son’s coldness, Eddie said his hellos and introduced himself to Dr. Denton, who didn’t appear impressed.

“Shall I continue?” The doctor looked at Sheila then Everett.

“Yes.” Sheila sat on the bed and addressed Eddie. “We’re talking about methamphetamines. I’ve been pretending this wasn’t happening. I think you have, too. Dr. Denton says it needs to be dealt with.”

Eddie grimaced and opened his mouth, but Dr. Denton jumped in.

“This drug is on the rampage in New York, and it’s a killer, both of lives and souls. First, it’s addictive as all get-out. Second, heavy users are losing their minds. They’re racked with chronic depression and hallucinations. The drug ramps up the neurological system so high it can literally make your heart explode. We’ve seen brain damage, lung disorders, fatal kidney disease. I don’t think there’s a more dangerous drug out there right now.”

Eddie scratched his head and stuck his hand on his hip. “Wait a minute. When did—?”

But his son’s voice claimed the floor. “Not to mention the fact that it makes you do things…”

“You don’t have to do this, Wes! Your mother’s cooked this up—”

“Dad, would you be quiet! We’re finally getting somewhere here. Or is dealing with this gonna be too much of an inconvenience for you?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Madi.”

“People. There are no comparable options here, not even close.” Dr. Denton picked up her clipboard from the counter. “Wesley needs help—now. In two days or less, he’s going to hit a cycle of withdrawal symptoms of nightmare proportion. He needs proper care.”

“Now, come on.” Eddie raised a hand toward his son. “Is it that bad, Wes?”

Sheila shot to her feet, and Madison got in Eddie’s face. “I can’t believe you! Are you on drugs, Dad?”

With an open-mouthed smile, Eddie feigned innocence. “All I’m saying is, let’s ask Wes how bad this really is.”

Wesley’s nostrils flared as he jerked his head away from his father. His eyes pierced like lasers, and his jaws ground together, muscles flexing. When he closed his eyes, a lone tear trailed down his cheek.

Sheila fell back to the bed, sobbing, and wrapped her arms around him. Madison squealed something and buried her head in Karen’s arms. Everett could only meet Eddie’s confused eyes with an unflinching glare.

“Look.” Dr. Denton exhaled heavily. “I know a program in Stamford. It’s been extremely successful at getting meth users clean and back on their feet. It’s called Horizons at Harbor View. Wesley could be admitted today. It’s a two- to four-week program. He could be out in January, start the New Year off right.”

If it weren’t for Dr. Denton, war would have broken out in that room. She kept things moving nicely. “How ’bout it? I can call and make sure there’s an opening.” She reached for the cell phone in her coat pocket.

Eddie held up his hands. “I’m just asking, are there any other options?”

“None even close to this one.” Dr. Denton didn’t make eye contact with him. “This deals with the disease of addiction. It helps patients identify usage triggers and develop new social skills. It gives them a thorough relapse prevention plan, teaching coping skills. Wesley could try Crystal Meth Anonymous meetings, but I really don’t think he’s a good candidate for that.”

“How do you know?” Eddie squirmed.

“She talked to me!” Wesley exploded. “She sat on this bed and asked me questions. Okay? She listened for an hour. She
listened
to me!”

“He’s going to Stamford,” Sheila blasted to her feet, “and that’s final.”

Eddie marched to the window, pulled out his cell phone, and started jamming buttons. “Fine, make the call.”

21

THE MIDAFTERNOON SKY HAD
darkened, and the snow fell heavy and thick in the fifty minutes since Karen left Twin Streams to pick up her parents, flying in from Kansas City International. With only a few days left before Christmas, parking at LaGuardia was dreadful.

Wiping her feet on the soaked mat and checking the arrival monitors once inside, Karen found that American flight 2822 would be pulling up to gate D in the Central Terminal Building about forty minutes late.

Not too bad.

Having met Everett at LaGuardia on a handful of occasions, Karen was somewhat familiar with the layout. She strolled past the busy postal kiosk and the gents at the shoe-shine stand by the souvenir store and ducked into a restroom.

When she came out, Karen stopped for a moment to get her bearings. Since she couldn’t go to the terminals, she set out to find something to drink in the central hub of the airport. She got in line at Starbucks behind about eight people. While reviewing her grocery and to-do lists, the phone in her purse played “Silver Bells.” “Hello?”