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.
“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 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.