The Suicide Effect

by L. J. Sellers

  “Dad?”

  “Not now, Calix.”

  Down the hall, he plodded. The muscles in Sula’s back began to ache from the tension. She stood and started to follow.

  “I wouldn’t do that.” Calix stood too.

  “We can’t let him hurt her.”

  “He’s more likely to hurt himself.” Calix moved toward the hallway as the shouting began. “Let me talk to him. Maybe he’ll listen to me.”

  Sula stopped and let her sister move ahead of her. From the bedroom, their mother cried out. “Jake, no. Don’t do this. Think of the girls.”

  Calix began to run. Sula followed.

  The bedroom door was open. Their mother stood by the dresser in her underclothes, clutching a towel. Their father was a few feet away, the gun pointed at his own head. He didn’t take his eyes from his wife as they entered.

  “I can’t live like this, Rose. I used to just hate myself, but now I’ve made you miserable for so long, I hate you too.” He turned to look at his daughters. “I’m sorry, girls. I love you.” He turned away and closed his eyes.

  “No!” Calix lunged for their dad’s arm just before the gun went off. She knocked him askew as the blast echoed around the room. Sula covered her ears, but she should have covered her eyes. At the edge of her vision, she saw her mother fly back against the wall. Her slender body slid to the floor and a hole opened in her chest. Blood, the color of summer berries, poured out of her.

  Time and motion ceased to exist. The three of them were frozen, mouths open, as a dull hum filled the room. Their father broke free. With an anguished cry, he rushed to his wife. Sula edged in behind him. If she did not see the destruction, it would not be as real.

  Her father was no savior. He could only weep as blood flowed from her mother’s body. She tried to speak and a trickle of blood oozed down her chin. Her eyes closed and she slumped over.

  Calix knelt down beside her body and wailed. “I killed my mother!”

  Dad pulled Calix away. Grabbing both arms, he lifted her to her feet. The movements seemed slow and choppy, like an old reel film.

  “It’s not your fault.” He shook Calix as he cried. Sula could see by his expression that he was shouting, but his voice seemed far away.

  Calix would not be calmed. Sobbing hysterically, she jerked free and backed away. “You bastard.”

  Her father’s face went slack. “Tell them I did it.” He looked at both of them for compliance.

  Sula was too numb to process what he meant or anticipate his next action.

  He spun around and grabbed the revolver off the bed where he’d dropped it in his rush to his wife’s side. He put the gun to his head again. “Tell the cops I killed her, you hear me? I don’t want Calix blamed for this.”

  He pulled the trigger.

  Sula was still on her knees holding her dead mother’s hand when she saw her father’s brains spray into the room and fall to the white bedspread. She looked at her sister, as if to confirm it was really happening. Calix’s face went deathly pale and her mouth fell open.

  Sula felt numb, as if her brain had been injected with anesthetic.

  Calix screamed. “Look at what I’ve done! I’ve killed them both.” She pulled her own hair and began to keen, a never-ending sound that didn’t seem human.

  Sula wanted to comfort her, to say the right thing. Their parents had been headed for this tragic outcome as long as she could remember. Her father had craved death and her mother had no respect for life. When Sula envisioned her future, they were never there. Yet her mouth would not open; her body would not move.

  Calix was alone in her guilt and it was more than she could bear.

  All at once the wailing stopped. Before Sula could process why that scared her more than anything, Calix lunged to their father’s body and pulled the gun from his dead hand. She shoved the weapon into her mouth, looked at Sula with eyes that begged forgiveness, and pulled the trigger.

  The blast sent the room into a spin and Sula’s mind went dark.

  Chapter 38

  For a few minutes, Sula’s mind floated in darkness, unwilling to re-enter either her present reality or the anguish of her past. Finally, the searing pain in her head and arms pulled her, trembling and cold, into full consciousness—where she was bound and gagged in the middle of an open dirt field with a madman nearby digging her grave.

  For a moment, she lingered on that fateful day in her fifteenth year. Part of her had wanted to die as well, to join her family in their exodus rather than live with the grief of losing them. Yet she hadn’t even picked up the gun, nor had she managed to kill herself later with drugs and alcohol. She had clung to life, in all its anguish, again and again.

  Sula listened for Rudker’s activity. The digging sound had slowed and lost its steady rhythm. She kicked violently against the tape around her ankles. It gave a little bit. She realized the new strip on her mouth must have come from her leg binding, leaving it less secure. She kicked again. And again. She also began to inch away from Rudker, pushing with her feet and shoulders.

  She kicked and pushed until she ran out of oxygen. A tremendous effort for such a small gain. With her mouth taped, she could only breathe through her nose, limiting her air supply and making her weak. Sula rested for a moment and listened for Rudker. She heard nothing except the wind in the poplar trees up the hill. In that instant, she knew where she was. She’d heard that musical sound many times while having lunch in the Prolabs courtyard. She figured she was in the open construction site adjacent to the factory. Fortunately, she had been inching herself in the direction of the road.

  Rudker sat on his pile of dirt and took long slow breaths. His heart pounded in his ears and he felt dizzy. He needed to lie down. Staring into the two-foot by six-foot crevice, he wondered what it would feel like to lay in a grave.

  Do it. Get in there. Feel the terror.or peace. Death can be a release. See if you like it.

  This voice was new and soft, perhaps even female. Rudker was surprised by its presence, but compelled to obey its hypnotic suggestion.

  He eased himself into the hole and lay down. He didn’t quite fit, so he kept his knees bent. Gazing up at the stars, he listened to his heart pound and felt the cool comfort of the dirt around him. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have it tossed on top of him, shovelful at a time. What would it be like to finally stop fighting? He had lost Tara and he’d lost his position of power with JB Pharma. Even with Sula out of the picture, how long would it take him to get back on top?

  He could not imagine his life without the struggle to be better than those around him, the need to make more money than he could spend, the craving for admiration and fear from others.

  Death can be a release.

  Rudker sat up and shook the new voice out of his head. He was not ready to give in or let go. He would fight his way back to the top. It was time to wrap this up and stop thinking about Sula Moreno forever.

  The silence was disturbing. Where was Rudker? What was he doing? With a surge of adrenaline, Sula started kicking again. A small ripping sound pierced the night as her legs pulled free of the duct tape. A sob of relief rose in her throat. Arms still taped behind her back, Sula struggled to her knees.

  The night air filled with the sound of his thundering footsteps. He’d heard the tape give away! Sula lunged to her feet and ran. Without the use of her arms, it was awkward and sluggish, and he would catch her soon. She scanned the area, searching in the dark for a place to hide.

  The builders had leveled everything on the site, save for a few trees near the creek at the back of the property. For a moment, she regretted her direction. She should have run for the trees.

  It was too late now. She kept running, with Rudker’s footsteps gaining on her.

  As her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, Sula realized she was down inside the massive footprint of where the new factory would stand. The perimeter of the excavated area was just ahead, a short wall that would have to be hurdled. If her a
rms had not been tied behind her, she could have easily leapt up and out of the two-foot deep foundation. Without the swing of her arms, she wouldn’t make it over in one leap.

  Rudker was gaining ground. She could hear him breathing hard behind her, sounding like a sprinter at the end of a four-forty yard dash.

  Sula ran harder. Just before she hit the ledge, she threw herself forward. Her torso landed on the upper ground and knocked the wind out of her. Behind her, her legs stuck out over the recessed excavation, with nothing beneath them. Sula rolled on her side and pulled her knees to her chest. She started to roll again to get up on her knees, but Rudker’s hands were there, grabbing for her feet.

  She kicked viciously, landing both feet against his chest. He grunted and stumbled back. Sula got her legs under her and pushed up. Without her arms for balance, she stumbled on her first step and went down on her knees. Again, she pushed with all her leg strength to get on her feet and run.

  Rudker wanted to shout, but he couldn’t risk the noise. His heart hurt with the exertion of chasing her, and now he struggled to climb out of the foundation. Thank God for his long legs. He regained his footing and began to run again. The old familiar other in his head tormented him for letting her get away.

  Incompetent fool. Lying in her grave instead of burying her! I told you, never empathize! What if she gets away?

  “She won’t!”

  Rudker tried to speed up, but his arms and legs ached with fatigue. Digging and running were not activities he was conditioned to, but Sula was also moving slow and he would soon catch her. The farther the little bitch ran, the farther he would have to carry or drag her body back to its grave.

  Bright little flashes of light popped behind his eyelids, as if he’d just taken a blow to the head. Was he having a stroke?

  Rudker kept running, flashlight in hand. This time, he would take no chances. He would happily beat her with it until she was dead. It would serve her right for causing him this stress and pain.

  Sula stumbled on a dirt clod and almost went down. A sob rose in her throat as she struggled to get moving again. She heard Rudker closing in. Her shoulder screamed with pain but she forced her legs to keep going.

  In a moment she heard traffic and looked up. She was near the road! She called on the Gods to give her the strength and her pace accelerated. Headlights were coming in her direction. The cars were on Prolabs’ property. If only she could reach them in time. Her legs and lungs burned with exhaustion, but she kept running toward the lights.

  The vehicles came to a stop about a hundred yards away. Their headlights blazed across the opening between them. They would see her and help her. Sobs of relief choked her as she ran.

  Cricket and his crew were prepared for the gate. Joe, riding shot gun, jumped out of the twelve-passenger van. With a sturdy pair of bolt cutters, he snapped through the small chain and pushed the gate open. Joe climbed back in. “That was too easy.”

  “We needed the break,” Cricket said. “Daylight is coming, and we can’t afford to waste time.”

  He put the van in gear and rolled forward. Another rig carrying their gear was bringing up the rear. Sandwiched in between was the KRSL TV news van. Trina Waterman had jumped at the chance to film his crew setting up their tents at daybreak on Prolabs’ construction site. The company was hot news right now. Cricket hoped to have a chance to talk on camera about the environmental consequences of building on wetlands. Trina had made no promises other than to get up some footage.

  This protest site would be more difficult than others. Typically, they built platforms in trees that were about to be logged. Cops and security guards couldn’t get to them in their tree-top perches. Sometimes they chained themselves to equipment or fences. This time, they would set up in the middle of the construction site and use long chains to secure themselves to the vans. Eight of them would stay for however long they lasted.

  Cricket knew that eventually they would be dragged away in handcuffs, but that was the way it worked. Sometimes they managed to stall “progress” long enough for legal maneuverings to take place and change the course of events. Sometimes they accomplished nothing except a trip to jail, several court appearances, and a hefty fine. This was his life and he couldn’t imagine living it any other way.

  “Hey! What’s that?” Joe shouted.

  Cricket peered out beyond the headlights immediate range. In the distance, someone was running toward them. It looked like a woman with no arms. He kept his foot gently on the gas, closing the gap between them. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket and pressed redial.

  Trina answered immediately. “Yes?”

  “There’s something going on here. A woman running toward us. Just thought you might like to know.”

  He stopped the van and put it into park, unsure of what to do. The news van pulled up along side. The woman stumbled into view about three hundred feet away. Duct tape covered her mouth and her eyes were wide with terror. Cricket jumped out and heard the other van door slam at the same time. He sprinted toward the woman, taking in the dirt on her clothes, the blood on her face, and the arms pinned behind her back. She had been held against her will and was running for her life.

  Chapter 39

  Trina took in the bizarre scene. Heart pounding with excitement at the strange turn of events, she shouted, “Camera!”

  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.