L Sellers - The Suicide Effect

He walked over and stared at her monitor for a moment trying to decide if it was worth the risk. He noticed the CD sitting on top of the computer tower. He picked it up. At first, the case appeared to be unlabeled, then he saw the letters PRS in small print along the spine. Puerto Rico suicides?

Rudker clicked on the machine. After twenty seconds, he grew irritated waiting for Windows to load. Get out, idiot, the voice nagged. Finally, icons appeared on the screen. He loaded the disk, accessed the CD drive, and a window displayed the contents. Four file names were listed: Miguel Rios, Luis Rios, mr DNA, lr DNA. A sharp pain flashed through his chest. Jesus! The girl had everything she needed to shut down Nexapra and ruin his career.

The traitor! The bitch!

Rudker popped the CD out of the drive, put it back in its case, and crammed it into his other back pocket. He clicked off the computer, picked up his penlight, and left the room.

He left the same way he’d come in, out through the garage and the side yard onto 26th. Rudker found himself whistling as he hurried to his vehicle. He was in control of his company and career again. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about Sula. If she were trying to destroy someone besides himself, he might have admired her audacity.

Saturday, April 17, 10:43 a.m.

Bruised, exhausted, and in desperate need of a shower, Sula walked out of the jail. She had barely slept. In the middle of the night, a deputy had herded everyone out of the holding area and into a smaller room so the larger area could be cleaned. Then an hour later, they were roused and moved back. The activity seemed bizarre and surreal, almost intended to deprive the inmates of sleep. Earlier this morning, she’d pleaded not guilty in the little makeshift courtroom inside the jail and been given a court date of May 11.

Her truck was still in the parking lot at Prolabs, so she walked eight blocks to the downtown station in a light drizzle, waited forty-five minutes to board a bus, then rode out to Willow Creek. She walked the last mile to Prolabs campus. It had stopped raining, but she was wet and cold and her feet had never hurt so much. She wished she had gone straight home and changed into sneakers before retrieving her truck, but that would have added an hour to her travel time.

She could have called her friend Paul to help her out, but she wasn’t prepared to talk about her ordeal yet. Or even to admit to anyone that she had been fired and arrested on the same day. She had to form a plan first, to feel more in control. She couldn’t let anyone see her this vulnerable.

It was Saturday, so the company’s parking lot was nearly empty. She was glad not to run into anybody. As soon as Sula climbed in her truck, tears of relief pooled behind her eyes but did not spill over. She drove home in a state of numb exhaustion, peeled off yesterday’s clothes, and lay down to sleep.

When Sula woke late that afternoon, she was disoriented for a minute. The bright sky made her think it was noon and that she’d slept late. Then it all came rushing back, the humiliating arrest and sleepless, bone-bruising night on the jail bench. She shook it off and crawled out of bed, determined to move forward.

As she showered, her stomach growled and she realized she was ravenously hungry. She hadn’t eaten since her breakfast of scrambled eggs and cantaloupe the day before. She really wanted Chinese food, Mongolian Beef, in particular, but now that she no longer had a job, she couldn’t justify spending the money. She dressed in comfy black sports wear, then made a turkey sandwich and heated a can of vegetable beef soup.

Reading through the want ads as she wolfed down the sandwich, Sula found two jobs to apply for. A public relations position with the county and a technical writing position offered by Microprobes, just down the road from Prolabs. The possibilities perked her up a bit.

Halfway through the soup, she got full and pushed it aside. She grabbed a notepad and pen from her purse and started a list of things to do: 1) Write a letter to the FDA explaining what was on the disk and where it came from. 2) Make a copy of the disk. She needed a computer with a big hard drive and CD burner. Paul could help her with that.

Sula continued her list: 3) Mail the letter and a copy of the CD to her public relations contact at FDA. 4) Send out letters and resumes for both jobs. 5) Apply for unemployment. 6) Call Barbara, her custody lawyer, and let her know about her new situation.

Sula felt better already. Except for the vile taste in her mouth. On her way back to her computer desk, she stopped in the bathroom and brushed her teeth, which felt fuzzy with neglect. Dark circles showed under her eyes and she thought she looked older than she had yesterday morning.

While waiting for her computer to boot up, she jotted down some ideas for her FDA letter. When Windows was up and running, she decided to check her e-mail. She deleted a promotion from Apple without opening it, then scanned through Paul’s note, in which he complained about his boyfriend and invited her to go see Three Dog Night at the McDonald Theater.

Sula hit reply, then wrote Paul a quick note saying she would have to pass on the concert for lack of funds and asked him about burning a CD of some large files. She clicked Send, then glanced up at the top of her computer case.

The disk was gone.

Sula’s chest tightened in a painful squeeze. Someone had come into her home and taken it. Her breath went shallow and she fought for air. Be calm, she told herself. The disk had to be here somewhere. The idea that Rudker had broken into her home with the purpose of stealing the disk seemed…crazy.

What else? She was not the type to misplace things. Yet, maybe she had put it away somewhere. Sula searched frantically through her desk drawers. Not finding it, she took two deep breaths and started again, this time making herself move slowly. Piece by piece, she removed every item from her top drawer: the scissors, the bottle of white out, scraps of paper with phone numbers, little cases with paper clips. Each went on the floor until the drawer was empty. The clear, unlabeled CD case was not there.

Sula repeated the same process with the other two drawers. She also inserted all the disks she did find into the drive to look at their contents on screen. As she went through the motions, she knew it was pointless. She had left the disk on top of her hard drive. Now it was gone. She had no roommates, dogs, or ghosts who could have moved it.

Anger and frustration burst from her in a wordless wail.

Halfheartedly, she rummaged through her dresser drawers, night stand, and closet shelves, then flopped back on the bed and stared at the dingy ceiling. She had lost her job and risked her custody hearing for nothing. She had underestimated Rudker and he had beaten her. How had the bastard gotten in? Sula jumped up and rushed to the kitchen to check the door that opened into the garage. It was unlocked. She never left it unlocked. Never. It was a ritual to check that door in the mornings before she left the house.

She crossed through the garage and checked the door leading into the side yard. It was also unlocked. She couldn’t guarantee she hadn’t left it that way. So he had come in through the garage and had jimmied the interior lock somehow. She knew it wasn’t difficult. Any teenager with a student body card could get past a cheap lock. She had never worried much about it because she had nothing worth stealing, and that would be obvious to any thief observing the size and value of her rental.

Had he hired someone? It was hard to imagine Rudker breaking into her house, standing here in her kitchen. Had he handled her personal things? Her lingerie? Sula fought the urge to gather up all her clothes and run them through the washer.