The Suicide Effect (31 page)

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 arms 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.

“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.”