I chose to tell a story based on the Leith Von Stein murder in 1988. Von Stein was the heir of the Camel City Cleaners fortune, and he and his wife (who survived) were stabbed and beaten in their home by a man who turned out to be the roommate of his stepson, Chris Pritchard. The murder was a conspiracy between Chris and two roommates at N.C. State. There was a lot of press at the time (including two books and subsequent TV movies) about the murder being instigated by acid-fueled Dungeons & Dragons fantasies, but it appears that it was primarily motivated by hopes of getting their hands on the money (Pritchard promised his co-conspirators cash and a fancy sports car of their choice, as referenced in the second verse).
There's been a lot of speculation about the mother's involvement, and possibly the sister's, as well. In addition, there have been a lot of questions about the true nature of the involvement of the third conspirator, Neal Henderson, who by most accounts was brought in primarily to be the driver. He was convicted but released in 2000. I couldn't find any definitive information on his current whereabouts, but at least one account mentioned that he was living in a drug haze in the eastern part of the state.
This song is an absolutely fictional tale, told from Henderson's perspective. In my version, his faulty memories, chemical confusion, and self-mythologizing have left him defensive but admittedly in a state of self-doubt about what actually happened. I incorporated some of the real-life evidence that has led some to doubt his testimony: his alternate accounts of the car being black or white; his assertion that he and his co-conspirator sang along to the radio on the way back, when in fact the car's radio had been removed; and a discrepancy about the primary defendant's ability to find the getaway car, though it had been moved to a spot hidden by a corn field.
By the way, Pritchard was paroled in 2007 and has mostly been living in the Triad since, I believe.
Musically, this song began as a shamefully direct lift, stylistically, of Sufjan Stevens, whom I went to see this week and whose music has been very much on my mind. As it progressed, the Smiths took over a bit, and I'd like to think it ended up mostly sounding like me.
lyrics
I
I remember driving
the flanks of the black Mustang
frothed, illuminated, and taut
rippled with the night-sweat
in the cold summer moonlight
we ran from the coastline
cross the uncut corn
6 feet tall and still alive
had the call been made?
pausing to drink our fill
the flanks of the white Mustang
we washed them to a shine and yet
pale impression of the prize
Italian steed to come
promised for my services
we listened to the static on the radio
they said I said there was no radio
but I remember singing "Daydream Believer"
they're saying what I said before
I could never pass that door
never could have caused the pain
but it was only hearsay
they're saying what I said was true
that I was only there for you
I could only drive away
but it was only hearsay
II
was I ever in that room?
they say I said I stayed my post
but I can see the bloody knife
and I can see the blank stares
you'd think the scream's the thing
or the terror in the eyes
what stays with me, it it seems
the emptiness that comes
before the clock gets stuck
the moment spirit flies
they're saying what I said before
I could never pass that door
never could have caused the pain
but it was only hearsay
they're saying what I said was true
that I was only there for you
I could only drive away
but it was only hearsay
III
there are no hills to be found
anywhere on Hillsborough Street
but I remember space below
stories told to play a role
did we move in dreams?
glimpses of the legends told
did we swim upstream
can't remember anything
the sins of the father
the bastard had it coming
they're saying what I said before
I could never pass that door
never could have caused the pain
but it was only hearsay
they're saying what I said was true
that I was only there for you
I could only drive away
but it was only hearsay
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