L Sellers - The Suicide Effect

“Sorry.” Trina slowed down a little. “He tried to kill you twice?”

“He ran me off McBeth road yesterday. My truck landed on a tree and rolled.”

“We’re going to do a long and thorough interview in the very near future.”

Trina turned right on Garfield, then left on 13th without slowing down. Sula closed her eyes.

“What was that drug you mentioned? And what’s the problem?”

Sula suddenly felt exhausted. She struggled to think and speak clearly. “It’s called Nexapra. It’s for depression. But it makes some people, some Hispanic people, commit suicide.”

“And Rudker knows this?”

“Diane Warner, Prolabs’ chief scientist, discovered the problem and told Rudker. He told her to forget about it and go ahead with clinical trials.”

“Oh my God. Did he kill her too?”

“Yes. He bragged about it when he dragged me out to my burial site.”

“Jesus. Who would have guessed he was such a psychopath?”

They were nearly downtown and the sun was just up over the hills. An occasional car appeared on the street and Trina flew past all of them.

“How old is Robbie?” the news reporter asked.

“Twenty or so. I’m not sure. Why?”

“There’s all this data that says antidepressants are linked to teen suicide. I wonder if he’s taking medication.”

Sula wondered about it too. She thought about Robbie and how different he was from his father. He even looked completely different. He was lean, with light brown skin with caramel colored eyes. In fact, he looked Hispanic. Oh dear. “I wonder if he’s taking Nexapra,” Sula said, half to herself.

“It’s not approved yet, is it?”

“No, but there’s clinical trials going on right now.”

“That would be ironic.”

“To say the least.”

They were in the campus area now and Trina slowed down. No students were out and about yet, but that would change soon. A moment later, they pulled up in front of the Hilyard Apartments. A small group of young people stood on the sidewalk and took turns glancing up at the roof. Some looked as if they had just gotten out of bed. Others seemed to be just getting in after a long night of partying. One girl had a blanket around her shoulders.

Trina parked across the street in a handicapped space. She grabbed the heavy camera and scooted out. Sula followed, moving more slowly.

Trina strode up to the group and began filming.

“Where is he?” Sula asked the girl with the blanket.

“There. On the corner.” She pointed with one hand and held on to her covering with the other.

Sula saw Robbie on the edge of the flat roof. He sat cross-legged and stared off into the sky. He seemed oblivious to the group below. Sula wanted to get close enough to talk to him. He wouldn’t be able hear her from the street.

She headed up the stairs. At the second landing, she had to sit so her head would stop spinning. Her body felt as if she’d been beaten with a bat.

On the third floor, three of Robbie’s neighbors had gathered at the end of the balcony. Sula joined them. She couldn’t see Robbie, but she assumed they were close enough to communicate with him.

“Is he responsive?” Sula asked a girl who looked too young to be in college.

“Sometimes.” She turned to look at Sula. “Jesus! What happened to you?”

Sula reflexively touched her forehead, where Rudker had tried to kill her with a flashlight. “It’s a long story.

The students all turned to stare.

“You can see it on the news tonight.” She stepped toward the edge of the balcony. “What does Robbie say? Does he plan to jump?”

“He hasn’t said anything in about ten minutes.” The guy with the buzz cut looked as if he’d been downing whiskey sours. Yet he seemed genuinely concerned.

“I’d like to try talking to him.”

“Be my guest.” Buzz cut stepped aside so Sula could move up to the railing.

The other young man stepped back too and lit a cigarette. The enticing smell of an outdoor smoke on a cold morning flooded Sula with an old desire. “Do you have another one?”

“I don’t. Sorry, man.”

“It’s okay.” She was both disappointed and relieved.

Sula pressed against the railing and called out, “Robbie. It’s Sula Moreno, from Prolabs.”

After a long pause, he responded. “What are you doing here?”

“I have some information that I think will help you.”

“I doubt that.” His voice was quiet but Sula could hear the pain. “Why don’t you and everyone else go away. I just want to die the way I lived. Alone.”

“Are you in a clinical trial for Nexapra?”

A short pause. “How did you know?”

“The drug has problems. It gives some people strong suicidal thoughts.”

Robbie laughed, a harsh sound. “The shrinks all say that isn’t how it works. They don’t believe a drug can make you commit suicide.”

“Mental health problems are complicated. And this drug has a genetic flaw that only affects Hispanic people.”

Robbie unexpectedly scooted into view. Sula was glad to make eye contact, but she didn’t like his proximity to the edge of the roof.

“Why would Prolabs give it to people if they knew that?” He seemed genuinely confused.

“There was some disagreement within the company. Not everyone believed Dr. Warner’s findings.” Sula wanted to keep the conversation away from his father if she could.

“Why should I believe you?”

“I’ve seen the data. I’ve talked to the wives of the men who committed suicide while taking Nexapra. I think it’s the drug making you feel like this. If you stop taking it and start on another antidepressant, you’ll feel better.”

Robbie started to cry. Sula winced. What had she said? She wanted so badly to help him. She couldn’t bear the thought that he would die as a result of his father’s greed.

“Robbie, please come down. It’s going to be okay. We’ll get you some help. And a new prescription. Your world will look brighter, I promise.” It was not a promise within her control but she believed it with all her heart.

Robbie continued to cry. After a minute, he stood and stepped toward the ledge. He looked over at her. “My father knows, doesn’t he? He knows the drug has problems, but he doesn’t care. Because it’s going to be a big money maker.”

Sula couldn’t lie to him. The truth would be out there soon enough. “Yes, he knows.”

“What a bastard. I am the son of a bastard. The world would be better off without either of us.”

“No!” Sula couldn’t stay calm. “You are not your father. Just as I am not my father. Or my mother. They were both unhappy and messed up people. My father’s selfish desire to end his life killed both of them. I know all about grief and depression. I lost everybody I ever loved. But I came though it. My life has purpose even though I don’t always know what it is. Yours does too. You just have to give it time. Your life will be better if you fight for it. And if you stop taking Nexapra.”

There was a long silence. The young girl behind her started crying. Sula felt like crying too. It had been quite a day. In the distance, she could hear police sirens coming their way.

“Robbie, come down. You can stay with me for a while. I’ll help you through this. I know a great counselor.”

“Do you have a younger sister?” Then he laughed, a quiet, beautiful sound.

“No, but I know a few young women.” Sula was smiling.

Robbie stepped back from the edge. He moved out of view and they heard his footsteps on the walkway roof above them. He was coming down.

Monday, May 3, 8:45 a.m.

Sula walked into the courtroom with Barbara at her side. Her lawyer’s sharp black suit and confident stride failed to bolster Sula’s nerve. Her heart quickened just at being there. Courtrooms tended to produce winners and losers, and today she didn’t look or feel like a winner. She’d appraised herself in the mirror before leaving her house and was not all at pleased with what she saw.