The Suicide Effect

by L. J. Sellers

  “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.”

  “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 s
uicidal 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.

  Chapter 40

  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.

  Her dark blue skirt and jacket looked as if they’d been borrowed from someone older and heavier, and the collarbone brace could be seen at the base of her neck. A thick slather of foundation across her forehead failed to hide the giant purple-and-yellow bruise, and the gash on her temple was still quite prominent. She looked gaunt from missing so many meals and her eyes were jumpy, like those of a stalking victim. Overall, she was not the picture of physical and mental well-being she wanted to project to the judge.

  Barbara took her by the elbow and nudged Sula toward the front bench in the small windowless room. This was a private hearing and only those involved were there. Tate’s foster parents, Emily and John Chapman, were seated on the first bench to the right. Tate sat next to Emily looking very serious in his little grown-up courtroom clothes. He glanced up at her and waved, a bright boyish smile suddenly on his face. Sula’s heart fluttered with joy. In his hand was a little blue transformer toy she’d bought him for his fourth birthday.

  She tried to put her thoughts in order before the judge came in. Ever since Rudker had threatened Tate, Sula’s feelings had been in turmoil. She loved her son more than anyone or anything in the world. All that really mattered was for Tate to be safe and happy. She didn’t know if she was the right person to make him happy.

  For the hundredth time, her mind played out the what.if scenario. What if the judge gave her custody? Would Tate go home with her today? Or would the judge give the Chapman’s time to gather his things together and have a few days to say goodbye? Either way, what would it be like for a little boy to say goodbye to the people he thought of as parents and loved most in the world?

  What would it be like for him to go live in a new home with a woman he had spent less time with than his daycare provider? How long would it take her to earn his trust? How long would he grieve for Emily and John? Could she bear to make him that unhappy? Even if it was only for a few weeks or months?

  Everyone—her lawyer, her counselor, even Nate’s caseworker—had reassured her that young children adapt to new family situations. Sula didn’t know if she had the right—or the will—to make him unhappy, even temporarily.

  It was so much more complicated than that. Most important, she couldn’t provide him with a father, and little boys really needed a father. Especially in today’s violent and mixed-up world. They needed, more than anything, a good male role model. Someday, she might find a suitable stepfather, but right now Tate already had a great father.

  Sula grabbed Barbara’s hand. “I want to withdraw my petition.”

  “What?” Barbara turned to her, stunned.

  “I want to withdraw. I want to take the deal they offered. Unsupervised bi-weekly visitation.”

  Barbara locked eyes with her. “You remember that part of the deal was to give up your parental rights.”

  “I know. It’s time. They are his parents. I can’t undo that now.”

  “You should think about this.”

  “I’ve thought about it constantly for the last few days. I don’t want to disrupt his life and take away his security. Long term, I think they’ll be better for him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Sula nodded.

  Barbara clicked into lawyer mode. “All right, this is what we’ll do. I’ll withdraw the petition and agree to meet with their lawyer in a few days to work out the new visitation arrangement. Giving up your custody will take a whole separate petition. This way, you’ll have some time to make sure that’s what you really want to do.”

  “Okay.” Sula felt a little numb as she watched Barbara approach Emily and John with the news. They both stared at her in disbelief. She smiled to reassure them it was real. Their faces lit up with joy. She stood and waved and left the courtroom. She knew she should have spoken with them, but it was more than she could bear. She was afraid if she started crying, she wouldn’t stop.

  It was time to put the tears behind her and move forward. Rudker had suffered a stroke while he was in police custody, and now he was in a coma. The doctors didn’t think he would recover, and she would probably never face her tormentor again. She would start seeing her counselor again and stay with it for as long as necessary. She would also get to see more of Tate. She would be in his life for as long as he let her.

  Sula planned to go home and tell Robbie, who had been sleeping on her couch for a week, that he could move into Tate’s room. Then she would call Aaron and see if he still wanted to have that cup of coffee.

  About the Author

  L.J. Sellers is an award-winning journalist and the author of the bestselling Detective Jackson mystery/suspense series:

  Secrets to Die For

  Thrilled to Death

  Pa
ssions of the Dead

  Dying for Justice

  Liars, Cheaters & Thieves

  She also has four standalone thrillers:

  The Sex Club

  The Baby Thief

  The Arranger

  The Suicide Effect

  When not plotting murders, L.J. enjoys performing standup comedy, cycling, social networking, and attending mystery conferences. She’s also been known to jump out of airplanes.

  Thanks for reading my novel. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review or rating online. Find out more about my work at ljsellers.com, where you can sign up to hear about new releases. —L.J.

  An Excerpt from… The Baby Thief

  Wednesday, Oct. 18, 2:45 p.m.

  Elizabeth stared at the file on her desk, heart pounding with indecision. Say it! Her forehead went damp, and she reached for a tissue, avoiding her patient’s gaze. Ms. McClure sat calmly, waiting for her to speak. The patient had come to the Assisted Reproduction Clinic in good faith. How could Elizabeth violate that trust? She was a doctor!

  The thought of Dr. Gybbs, her chief of staff, discovering her deception horrified her more than anything. She owed him so much. He’d promoted her to director of genetic science her third year with the hospital, passing over several male associates. Then Columbia had honored her with its Scientific Excellence award just last year. To risk all that… Just say it!

  McClure shifted in her chair. Elizabeth glanced at the file again and took a deep breath. “The test results show you have the genetic marker associated with cystic fibrosis.”

  There, she’d done it. She’d told the lie that set the plan in motion.

  Her patient’s eyes widened, then filled with despair. Elizabeth knew how she felt. Hearing that you couldn’t or shouldn’t have a baby was the most devastating news a woman could receive.

  She wanted to reach out and comfort the woman. Instead, she leaned back and spoke casually. “Don’t be too alarmed. One out of twenty-two Caucasians is a carrier. But unless the father is also a carrier, your chances of having a healthy child are still good.”