The Suicide Society

by William Brennan Knight

  Clearly distracted, Zach didn’t see Jarad’s eyes flicker for a moment as he looked toward the restaurant’s entrance.

  “Zach, don’t turn around.”

  “Wha, why not?”

  “We were followed,” said Anston. “There are two of them, and I don’t like it. I’m not sure if they’re plain clothes detectives or federal agents, but I sense it’s bad.”

  Zach smiled weakly and shook his head. “I’ve had a terrible day; don’t mess with me. How could anyone know what happened back there?”

  As Anston stood up from the table, he shielded the approach of the men he suspected were law enforcement officials. Their earpieces, smartly creased slacks, and suit coats seemed to betray their line of work.

  Jarad grabbed his friend’s forearm. “C’mon, we’ve got to go. There’s something really wrong here.”

  Zach hesitated for a moment, but he looked up, and his eyes locked firmly with Anston's. He glanced over and saw two men talking quietly with the hostess, who pointed in the direction of their table.

  “You’re being paranoid.”

  “No, I’m not.” Anston grip tightened. “I get a very bad feeling about this place. We need to leave—now.”

  Zach looked away and then back toward Anston. There was no mistaking the genuine fear. He hesitated for just a moment. “Ok, let’s go.”

  They rose from their chairs and weaved through the maze of tables toward the rear of the restaurant where a sign announced Employees Only. Past the cooks, stainless exhaust hood and counters, they walked quickly through an air curtain with Anston trailing, keenly aware that the two suited men were following them.

  After reaching the rear exit, Zach ran past an easement out to the strip mall’s driveway and toward the parked rental car. About 30 yards farther was an access to I-95 going north.

  “There, that’s the car; we need to get to it,” he said while pointing to an aisle where several shoppers lingered around their own vehicles.

  Zach heard the first shot as if it had been fired underwater. There was no explosion of sound as he might have expected, but rather a muted whoosh as the projectile passed between them.

  He didn’t even turn to look; there was no need to. The errant shot missed its mark and slammed into a bystander three parking spaces over. The man grunted as the bullet hit him, and the sickly sound of skin and fabric skidding on the pavement confirmed he was down. For a seeming eternity, Zach considered stopping to check the extent of the man’s injuries, but his primordial instinct took control of his higher brain functions. He kept his legs pumping and veered away from the path that would have taken him to the waiting car.

  The rasping voice of Anston came from behind. “Run Zach, you must—run. And remember, he knows you exist now. They will not d—”

  Zach hardly heard the words. He turned and stole a quick glance at the dying man lying near him. Light from a parking lot quartz halogen bathed his body in an eerie shade of orange, and the blood on his chest glowed in deep red hues.

  By now, the car was too far away, and his choices were limited. Another bullet flew dangerously close to his head, triggering a new spasm of fear and panic. With only one option, he plunged into the darkness of the desert that bordered the parking lot. Zach ran like a hunted animal, knowing that his pursuer was not far behind. His eyes adjusted to the night sky as the full moon illuminated the brush and growth in shadowy clumps of potential danger. He saw an expansive group of head-high vegetation and jumped in without hesitation, unaware and unconcerned about the thistles and thorns that tore at his clothes and body.

  Crouching, Zach tried to control his breathing. His lungs were on fire, and his heart beat so hard his ribcage shook.

  A snapping sound came from the dead brush and grass nearby. The crunching pattern of footsteps through the desert was unmistakable. The moonlight outlined the silhouette of his pursuer. The man moved cautiously, looking right and then left, a weapon drawn and waving menacingly from side to side. The attacker walked rhythmically and then slowed, finally stopping within a couple feet of the prickly pear cactus patch that hid Zach from view.

  The voice was gruff and impatient. “You can come out now; it’s safe. That was no bystander I shot. If you come out, I’ll explain the whole thing. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

  Zach’s breathing was shallow. He could smell the pungent aroma of the assailant’s aftershave mixed with fresh sweat. Could the attacker be telling the truth? Was it possible that the dead stranger really was the one with ill intent? Zach sifted through the paltry facts he had. Indeed, someone was out to kill him, and he had no idea why.

  A soft chuckle cut through the hot, humid desert air. Zach’s skin grew clammy, and he scuttled any thoughts he had of offering up his position.

  “You made a mistake, pal,” he said. “You stink of fear; I can smell it from here. Next time, take the shine off your sweaty skin. It reflects like a mirror in the moonlight.”

  Zach recognized the soft click of the gun’s hammer as the firing pin engaged. In a brief flash, he thought of Mandy and Carol and felt a painful stab of deep remorse. So many birthdays, holidays and important events he would miss. The clarity was unnerving and peeled away the veneer of illusion. In that instant, Zach faced the reality that his own selfishness and manipulation had destroyed his marriage. Every other excuse he conjured up was nothing more than a self-serving delusion. Perhaps most unsettling, he knew there would be no opportunity to change it.

  The dead silence was pierced by a high-pitched whine, sounding much like a baby’s rattle when shaken aggressively. He knew that sound, although it was never this close before. Zach’s eyes grew wide, and his attention was drawn to the source of the din that kept increasing in volume and urgency.

  He sensed the assailant had stumbled since he heard much thrashing of brush and tumbleweeds. There was more rustling and then a scream. The man jumped forward, and his sorry plight became apparent when illuminated by the full moon. Attached to his leg, sunk deeply into the meat of his thick left calf muscle, was a four-foot diamondback rattlesnake. The reptile writhed and hissed as the rattle on the back of its tail exploded with sounds of aggression and attack.

  The gun erupted with a muted thewt, and then twice more as the figure in the silhouette squeezed the trigger in desperation. The bullets discharged through the silencer and scattered harmlessly into the hard desert floor.

  “It bit me! Oh God, it bit me. It’s poison—poison. My leg is burning—on fire. Help me, help me!”

  Zach didn’t wait for an invitation to leave. He thrashed about in the cactus, his limbs covered with barbed needles. Once he was free of the prickly pear, he fell to the ground breathing heavily and crawled a few yards before regaining his footing.

  A hand grasped his left ankle with startling strength and brought Zach back to the ground. He tripped awkwardly with a grunt.

  “You bastard. My leg is on fire. I need help. Help me, or I’ll kill you!”

  Kicking viciously at the man’s arms and upper torso in an attempt to free himself, Zach felt the assailant’s grip actually tighten. Instead of liberating his ankle, the man pulled himself up and across Zach’s body, trying to use his weight as leverage. Zach twisted around and saw the whipsaw action of the slender snake as its fangs remained embedded in the man’s leg.

  Rising panic came up from his gut, and Zach knew he must find the strength to free himself or possibly suffer the same fate as the snake-bitten attacker. For all he knew, there could be a den full the snake’s angry relatives nearby.

  Zach searched through the darkness for something to use as a weapon while the assailant continued to claw and rip at his legs. The attacker used his strong upper torso to overpower the smaller, weaker man. Zach’s hands dug through the soil, grabbing nothing but dirt and cactus. Finally, he felt the rough surface of a fist-sized rock and picked it up. The chunk of granite was heavy enough that when the boulder impacted with the back of the other man’s skull, the effect was
immediate.

  The attacker let out a weak whimper and then lost consciousness. The accumulated poison had swelled his leg significantly and left him susceptible to any type of attack. He was probably losing consciousness anyway, so it proved to be an easy score. The man’s hold on Zach went limp, and his journey into the bowels of death accelerated.

  Zach panted like a crazed animal. His eyes widened with terror at sight of the bludgeoned man lying before him. He was still alive, but his breathing was labored, and his body convulsed spasmodically. In the distance, the wail of several sirens grew louder, and Zach crouched down instinctively while trying to regain control over his senses and heart rate.

  He struggled to his feet and stumbled blindly through the pitch-black desert, his mind in clinical shock. Instinct told him to walk toward the direction of the sirens. With the lights of the mall complex growing closer, he ran through the sands of a dry wash, past the last thicket of cactus, until he was standing at the edge of the strip mall parking lot.

  Amid the glare of whirling squad car lights, Zach looked upon the scene unfolding in front of him. He realized the cars were bunched in the vicinity of the fallen stranger from the restaurant. As he looked quickly in both directions, the other vehicles involved in the altercation already left, and the body had been removed.

  He hesitated briefly before starting toward the gathering of police officers up ahead. His gait was stiff and robotic as he moved across the dimly lit portion of the parking lot, yelling in a rasping voice that couldn’t be heard above the jumbled din of squawking police radios. The night sky seemed to skip a frame; the television with a reception problem returned. A cool wisp of air invaded his nostrils with the sickly smell of discharged bile. He grabbed at the lamp post and tried to steady himself. These were all too familiar precursors to his personal, private horror. He was having another vision.

  ***

  When the apparitions invaded Zach’s psyche, they approached like a dust devil in monsoon season, replacing the tangible with subconscious energy. He was always left with the feeling that linear time had ground to a halt. When the full force of the new vision hit, it knocked him down, and he fell face first onto the asphalt, loosening a tooth and splitting his bottom lip.

  As the gray mists parted, Zach saw the vague outline of an old man who looked gaunt and disheveled. His hair was a matted tangle, his face a mask of torment and suffering.

  Zach gained clarity as he pushed through foggy layers of consciousness. The victim stood on a small stool, which creaked unsteadily with every movement. Hangings were less common but exceedingly gruesome.

  Searching for something that might give him a clue as to the man’s identity, Zach moved the perspective of the vision around the room while examining every scrap of paper for some sign of a name or address. No matter where he looked—magazines, an envelope, a utility bill—the writing was smeared or illegible.

  He strained against the boundaries that the vision enforced and engaged in a mental tug of war for control. With effort, he pushed hard against the pliable membrane of the vision’s surface layers.

  The smell of rotting fish signaled that he would soon regain consciousness. The drama unfolded much quicker than usual. The vision started to fade, and Zach began to panic. He was losing clarity, and sharpness yielded to washed out color and limited focus.

  With extraordinary effort, Zach pushed through the preconscious and subconscious layers of the sheath that separated him from the suicide victim on the stool. He imagined he was wading through molasses, but he inched closer until he knew their separate realities merged.

  Don’t be frightened.

  The man’s body stiffened, and he nearly fell off stool. “Who…wha—what are you?”

  I don’t have time to explain. Please, I need your name and address.

  “Another one of you,” the man muttered. “Why won’t you leave me along? I’ve done everything you asked. I hope I’m not in hell.”

  The vision tried to seal the breech, and Zach was beginning to lose contact and control. Your name and address; please. I can help you.

  “Help me? No one can help me. This place has made me crazy. It’s the same as I told the other one. Leave me alone to die.”

  I can…save you from hell.

  The expression on the man’s face changed. “Please, I don’t want to go to hell. The other one said… Are you an angel?” In his confusion, he came precariously close to losing his balance.

  Yes—I—I am an angel. Now, tell me your name and address. It’s all I need.

  The man paused, and then Zach was seemingly shoved from the alternate reality as the malleable gel of consciousness back-filled the void. He rapidly floated away from the vision but recognized the voice in the distance: “My name is Curtis Roberts. I live at the Sun Valley mobile home park, unit 12, in Seattle. Please, I’m losing my sanity, but I don’t want to go to hell…” His voice faded out completely.

  The vision ended as Zach imprinted the information in his mind. Through the haze, mist and hallucinations, it didn’t immediately occur to him that this vision was far more significant than any of the others.

  His attention was drawn to a pain in his ribs, and it was growing progressively worse. Someone was shaking him, and Zach heard his name echo in the distance. He moved slowly through the confusion and began to reorder his thoughts.

  “Jesus, wake up. Wake up, Zach. We’ve got to leave before the cops see you. What the hell happened? Did you just have another vision?”

  Zach rubbed his eyes and tried to regain focus. As his recognition of Anston grew, he reached up and clutched at his friend. “We’ve got to go, Jarad. Get me up; we’ve got to go now.”

  Anston looked around and nodded. “Ok, we’ll get out of here. I heard the shots and figured the police would come quickly. I moved the car out back; it’s safer there.”

  Anston helped Zach to his feet, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around his own shoulder. They moved slowly toward the perimeter of the parking lot, taking pains to avoid the illumination of the street lamps. Once they reached the side of the building, Anston quickened the pace, and Zach was soon coherent enough to move under his own power.

  They quickly got in the car and drove slowly behind the loading dock, headlights extinguished to avoid detection. For a long moment, Zach worried their escape might fail amid a flood of sirens and whirling red lights. He looked back over the headrest as the crime scene receded from view while the car sped away on a winding surface street. A sense of relief coupled with exhaustion came over him as he exhaled and slouched down in the seat, briefly closing his eyes.

  Anston slapped a hand across Zach’s chest. “Oh no, you can’t pass out on me now. I think that guy lying in the parking was shot and may be dead. Tell me what happened out there.”

  “I can’t. I swear I don’t know.”

  Without provocation, Zach sat straight up and grabbed the wheel. The car swerved violently, jumping the curb and plowing through a freshly spread bed of desert rocks.

  “What the hell are you doing? Let go of the wheel!”

  “Listen to me!” screamed Zach. “You need to leave—now! Take the car back to the airport and go home. Jarad, this is too much. I can’t handle it. I—we could have been killed back there.”

  Anston pulled the car back over the curb and turned off the headlights. He faced his friend and stared at him for a long moment. A sly grin spread slowly across his face. “I’ll be dammed.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Zach, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually were concerned about me.”

  “Of course I’m concerned. Why would you say such a thing?”

  Anston scratched his head. “It’s just that…Well, I’ve never really known you put others ahead of yourself.”

  Zach’s eyebrows rose up for just a moment. “Selfish? You think I’m selfish?”

  “Let’s forget what I think. What would Carol say about it? Did you ever touch on the
subject with the psychiatrist?”

  Zach turned away and looked out the window. “Carol has her own issues. She never cared enough about me. She never felt my pain or understood what I was going through.”

  “I see… So, the marriage fell apart solely because of her, and you had nothing to do with it.”

  “That’s right. In fact, she was the one who…” Randal’s voice trailed off as he remembered the moment of clarity in the desert. “No, that’s actually a pile of crap. It was me. I drove her out of the marriage. There was nothing she could do to please me, and she finally gave up.”

  “I see.”

  “The suicide was the ultimate act of revenge and cowardice. I wanted to hurt her the way she hurt me. I wanted her to suffer and feel responsible for my death. I would fantasize about how it would ruin her life, and I hated her.”

  “Did you? Or did you hate yourself?”

  Zach folded his hands and fidgeted. “I—I hated myself, I guess. In some ways, I suppose I still do. I took it out on Carol, and worse, on Mandy.”

  “We all bear our crosses, Zach. Every single one of us. But I’ll tell you this: If we were sitting with the group, I would tell you this was a breakthrough.”

  “Doesn't seem like one.”

  “Trust me on this, it is.”

  They drove in relative silence until Anston turned west on Claremont. He merged onto I-15, the corridor that would take them to McCarren airport. “Ok, Zach, where are we going now?”

  “Jarad, I told you to go home. It’s too dangerous.”

  Anston smiled at his friend. “No way. I’m in too deep and couldn’t live with myself if I left you now. Maybe I’m exorcising my own demons, but I’m going to see this through.”

  Zach raised his eyebrows and sighed deeply. “All right then. We need to fly to Seattle. I was having another vision when you found me in the parking lot. The 10th one. There is a man; I believe his name is Curtis Roberts. I know what apartment complex he lives in.”

  Anston shook his head. “Then we leave for Seattle. Maybe we’ll find the truth there.”