L Sellers - The Suicide Effect

Chris was already right behind her. “Got it.”

She heard the click and knew the tape was rolling. Together, they jogged after Cricket, Chris lagging behind with the heavy camera on his shoulder. A glimmer of early morning light peeked over the south hills.

A large man came into view from the dark dirt field. He thundered along, wheezing like someone with only one lung. Trina drew in a sharp breath. It was Karl Rudker, Prolabs’ CEO. What the hell was going on here?

The news story played out in real time. As Cricket reached the running woman, Rudker began to shout. “Get away from her. She’s mine!”

Rudker brought up his arm as he ran, as though it held a weapon. Cricket ripped the tape from the young woman’s mouth, and she cried out, “He’s trying to kill me.”

Rudker bore down on them, shouting, “Death is a release! Let her go.”

Three other protesters rushed past Trina.

Cricket pushed the woman in the direction of the road and shouted, “Get in the van.”

Trina watched as the skinny environmentalist turned and faced Rudker, the madman who kept coming. She felt a pang of fear for their safety. What did Rudker have in his hand?

Hands still behind her back, the woman ran past the other protesters as they rushed to help Cricket. When they reached him, the dreadlocked men stood side by side, forming a narrow barricade. They were young and lean, and their presence gave Trina little comfort. Rudker kept up his charge, shouting all the while, “Death is release.”

Trina tried to take it all in, but when Rudker barreled right through the protesters, knocking them to the ground as if playing Red Rover, her nerves frazzled.

“Jesus!” Chris swore as he stepped closer. The woman stumbled up to them, nearly collapsing into Trina. Her forehead was bruised and swollen and blood had dried on her face.

“Get my hands free!” She turned so Trina could reach the tape on her wrists. Then the woman saw Rudker still coming after her. She swore and raced toward the van.

Trina wanted to bolt after her and lock herself in the news vehicle, but she forced herself to stay put. This was the story of a lifetime. Rudker was clearly focused on the young woman. Trina figured as long as she kept out of his way, he wouldn’t even see her.

Rudker kept coming, a massive man in a psychotic rage. Trina and Chris stood their ground, the camera still rolling.

As Rudker passed by, Trina took a step forward and stretched out her leg. She caught him at the ankle and he went down with a thunderous flop. Chris shoved the camera at her, then jumped on Rudker. He straddled the madman before he could catch his breath. Although not as tall as Rudker, Chris was two hundred plus pounds. Trina prayed he could hold him. Two of the protesters rushed to help hold Rudker down and Cricket ran for the van, calling “I’ll get some rope.”

Trina set down the camera, grabbed her cell phone out of her pocket, and dialed 911. Everything had happened so unexpectedly and so quickly, she hadn’t thought of it before.

“What’s your emergency?”

“Attempted homicide. Suspect detained, but still dangerous. We’re on the Prolabs’ construction site on Willow Creek Road. Between West 11th and West 18th. We need police units here immediately.”

Trina hung up before the dispatcher could ask her a bunch of questions. She wanted to interview the escaped woman.

Sula sobbed with relief as the young man with the dreadlocks cut the tape from her arms. Her shoulders ached from the hours spent in such an unnatural position. She wanted to feel safe, but Rudker was still only thirty feet away and the only thing standing between them was a beefy cameraman and a couple of skinny hippies. Sula heard Rudker yelling and cursing her with death. He was out of his mind.

She had no idea what all these people were doing out here in the construction site just before sunrise, but she was extremely grateful for their presence.

“I want to get in the van and lock the doors.”

“Of course.” The young man opened the side door and helped her into the van. She collapsed onto the back seat and fought for control. She was on the edge of hysterical sobbing.

“Are you all right?”

She had almost been buried alive by a lunatic. It would be a long time before she was all right. “I could use some water. Maybe some aspirin. And lock the doors.”

“You got it.”

He went to the other van and came back with a bottle of water. Sula opened the door for him. He shut and locked it behind him. As Sula gulped down the water, the newswoman approached with camera perched on her shoulder. Sula recognized her as Trina Waterman from KRSL. The young man let the newswoman into the van.

“What’s your name?” Trina asked.

“Sula Moreno.”

Sula did not want to be filmed. She knew she looked like hell and she might be too shaky to be coherent. Yet it was a chance to tell her story, to warn people who might be taking Nexapra.

“What happened here tonight?” Trina gently probed.

Sula took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “Karl Rudker kidnapped me, then brought me out here to bury me. He was digging my grave when I escaped. And all because I found out that his new blockbuster drug, Nexapra, has a fatal flaw that he doesn’t want anyone to know about.”

“What flaw?”

Before Sula could answer, a police scanner on the floor behind her squawked to life.

“Units 205 and 315. We have a possible suicide attempt at the Hilyard Street Apartments, 1560 Hilyard.” The dispatcher sounded a little worked up. “The caller says the jumper’s name is Robbie Rudker.”

Sula and Trina stared at each.

Trina asked, “Do you know Robbie Rudker? Is he related to Karl Rudker, the man who just tried to kill you?”

“He’s his son.”

“I do not believe this.” Trina shook her head, stepped out of the van, and shouted at her cameraman. “Chris! I’ve got to go. There’s another breaking story.”

Trina climbed in the driver’s side of the news van. Sula followed, glancing over at Rudker on the ground, then got up in the passenger seat. “I’m going with you.”

Trina looked at her skeptically. “Maybe you should wait for the ambulance.”

“I know Robbie and I think I can help him.”

“Okay.” Trina started the van and backed out through the gate. “The police won’t like it that you’re gone when they get here.”

“I’ll talk to them later.”

They bounced along the gravel road and Sula experience a new round of pain. Once they were on Willow Creek, the newswoman floored it.

“How do you know Robbie?” Trina asked when she had the van up to about fifty.

“He works for Prolabs, and I used to work for Prolabs.”

“Did you know he was suicidal?”

“No.” Sula thought about her last conversation with Robbie. He’d seemed wistful, but not depressed. She wondered about his mental health. Clearly, his father was psychotic. Had Robbie inherited a serious mental health problem? Sula berated herself for the thought. It wasn’t fair to make those connections. Her father had been unstable, and she took antidepressants. That didn’t mean she was mentally ill.

“He seems like a sweet young man,” she said. “He uses his mother’s maiden name at work so no one knows he’s Rudker’s son.”

Trina was too busy taking a right turn to respond. Sula grabbed the “oh shit” strap above the door and held on. Fortunately, there was no traffic this early in the morning, so they were unlikely to get into a collision. The thought made her laugh a little.

“What’s funny?”

“Rudker tried to kill me twice in the last twenty-four hours. I feel amazingly lucky to be alive. It would be tragic to die in a car wreck right now.”