The Altruism Effect: Book One (Mastermind Murderers Series 1) Read online

  THE ALTRUISM EFFECT

  by Kristin Helling

  Copyright © 2017 Kristin Helling

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2017

  eISBN 978-0-9908743-7-9

  Adrenaline

  An imprint of Wordwraith Books, LLC

  705-B SE Melody Lane #149

  Lee’s Summit, MO 64063

  e-mail [email protected]

  website www.wordwraiths.com

  Twitter @Wordwraiths

  Edited by Ellen Campbell

  Proofread by Reece Hanzon

  Cover Design by Rob Allen @n23art

  Format Design by Kevin G. Summers

  Kristin’s email [email protected]

  Kristin’s website kristinhelling.com

  The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  Dedication

  For my husband, Austin for his immeasurable support.

  For all those involved in Sterling and Stone’s Apprentice program (Including but not limited to Ric Beard, who held my wordcount accountable).

  For my business partners, J. R. Frontera and Rod A. Galindo of the Wordwraiths.

  For Nick Brown, for his extensive beta notes.

  For my Mom and Dad, who have always protected me from the likes of the monsters in this story.

  Without the above, this series would not be possible.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  Want to know what happens next?

  About the Author

  ONE

  The stench of chemicals clung to the hairs inside her nostrils as she reached up and clutched her hand around her neck. She attempted to swallow and lubricate her dry, scratchy throat.

  I’ve been drugged. Her eyes fluttered open and scanned the damp concrete her cheek was smashed against. As she lifted her head, a splitting pain erupted at her temples. She groggily looked around to realize she was in some kind of holding cell.

  How the hell did I get here?

  As she strained to recall her last memory before she woke, a bright light illuminated the cell and forced her arms up over her face. “Hello?” she asked the light.

  Two bodies emerged on either side of her and hoisted her up to her feet.

  She winced as her limp ankles dragged across the floor. “What’s happening? Why am I here?” She hardly recognized her own voice, rough and scratchy.

  The two strong figures brought her into a room that was floor to ceiling in white tiles. She strained her eyes against the starkness of the room, and noticed the only break in the white was a mirror along one wall. The pressure from the men on either side of her stopped, and she crumpled to the floor.

  The heavy door slammed behind them.

  Using what strength she had left, Raine Walsh pushed against the tile floor and stabilized herself on all fours before grounding each foot. She stood shakily and turned to the mirror.

  Tears quivered in her eyes as she stared back at the stranger in the reflection. She reached up and touched her tangled, straggly hair. The chestnut strands were caked with a black sticky substance that emerged at her hairline. She leaned closer to the mirror and shoved her bangs up. Blood. The crusted crimson was stark against her skin. She stared into the broken blood vessels in the whites of her eyes, and turned her head to peer deeper. A sick feeling in her stomach told her that someone was staring back. She pushed off the mirrored wall.

  The door chinked open and two men entered the room. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the two that brought her here, she didn’t know if they were the same men.

  Raine scanned their tan uniforms and duty belts, fully equipped with guns, batons, and cuffs. As far as she saw, they were guards. Cops. “Help me please, I don’t know how I got here and I’m injur—”

  “You have the right to remain silent.”

  She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow at the guard. They’re here to help me, right?

  “—Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

  Raine crossed her arms over her chest. “My name is Raine Walsh. I’m a licensed psychol—”

  “Do. You. Understand the rights I have just read to you?”

  She couldn’t look into his eyes because he wore large, reflective sunglasses. Both of the officers were wearing dark shades.

  She croaked, “Clearly this is some sort of mistake.”

  The lead guard nodded over to the other, who reached for the baton on his belt.

  “Yes! I understand, I understand.”

  “We weren’t able to perform intake for you because you were brought in unconscious. Now that you are... coherent, will you comply so we don’t have to restrain you?”

  A sense of panic tightened around her body. She focused on her breathing, the only thing she could control. What else could she do? Comply. She nodded her head.

  “Good. Now strip.”

  She didn’t quite understand at first. She looked down at herself, then back up at the two guards. The lead guard stepped towards her. The other stood back by the door. He appeared aloof as he stared into the corner of the room, away from her, with purpose.

  “Take off your clothes and put them on the floor to the left.” His voice did not falter.

  Raine felt the panic constricting her throat. “Can I have. . . female officer?” Her voice was almost inaudible, just above a whisper.

  “The second you came through those doors, you forfeited your right to privacy. There are no female officers in this facility. Strip.”

  She saw no other option but the baton. Raine reached down and shakily slipped her fingers into the waistband of her black yoga pants. She shimmied them
down her thighs and yanked them off her ankles, inside out. She wasn’t about to give them a show, and even though she worked through a splitting headache, her balance was on point.

  Yoga pants . . . She pressured her brain into trying to remember what she was doing before she was knocked unconscious. It was as if a slice of time had been removed from her memory. These pants might have indicated that she was going to or from a class, but not in her case. When Raine wasn’t wearing the business casual attire that she wore to her office as a clinical psychologist, she was often found wearing exercise clothes. She could have been knocked unconscious and brought here at any time.

  Next came her top. An oversized, magenta tee shirt that she peeled up and over her head, then tossed on the floor with the pants. Her eyes were drawn down to some deep purple bruises on her ribs. She ran her fingers lightly over the tender area as she looked sideways at the mirror on the wall. The chill in the white tiled room pricked the skin on her arms, raising goose bumps.

  “Faster.”

  She winced at the sound of the lead guard’s voice, and reached up between her breasts. Her racer-back bra was clipped in the front. With her fingers trembling, it was a challenge to grip the clasp. She unhooked the bra and let it fall back off her arms. She leaned forward and inched off her underwear, moving it over on the floor with her foot.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and stood in the stark room, avoiding the gaze of the men in front of her. As she heard a clink of metal, she lifted her eyes and saw the lead guard reach for a hose clipped on the wall next to the door, one she hadn’t noticed before.

  He clutched a gear and twisted it to the left. A hissing sound filled the space. He turned back to her. “Spread your arms and legs.”

  “Why is this necessary?” she whimpered.

  “Do it!”

  She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, spreading out her arms like a bird and parting her feet. As she moved her right foot out, it seemed to sink into a slight dip in the tiled floor. She cracked open her eyelids to see a drain at her feet. She was beyond the knots in her stomach and the aching of her body at this moment, but something of a raw energy emerged through her limbs. She was humiliated. Exposed.

  She recalled studying inmate behavior in prisons during her time at Stanford University when she was fulfilling her doctoral psychology degree. When an inmate was admitted, they’d literally and figuratively strip them of their identity.

  The next step is always water. The cleanse. Just as the thought crossed her mind, the stream ripped into her body. Even though the guard was at some distance, the water pressure was just too much for her 110-pound frame. The pain was consuming and her knees buckled. She held her arms out as best she could, the freezing cold water felt like it was skinning her. She dropped her head and caught a glimpse of the muddy water. First, it shot out of the hose clear, but became tinted with her blood before it swirled down the drain.

  “Turn!”

  She heard his terrible voice over the water and spun around, exposing her back to the jet. Hair clung to her forehead and cheeks in soppy strands. He finally finished, and hung the hose back on the clip. Without waiting for approval, she fell forward onto her knees on the cold, wet, tile. The door opened behind her, but she didn’t dare look.

  “Your uniform.” The voice was softer this time. She assumed it was the voice of the hands-off guard that stood by the door. The door slammed with an echo that bounced off the corners of the room.

  Raine turned and crawled to the crumpled pile of fabric. The grout in the tile pinched her knees, but she focused on the terrycloth fabric underneath the uniform. She grabbed the navy blue towel, one that had probably been used by many before her, and wrapped her body. She dabbed at her pink, tender skin to dry herself.

  As she wrapped her hair in the towel and squeezed the water from it, she glanced back up at the mirror. She’d almost forgotten it was there. That they were there, whoever was surely watching. She reached for the uniform, which was essentially a hospital gown like smock: a sheet with holes for her arms and head, that tied up the back.

  The longer she stared into the mirror, the more questions arose in her mind. And with every question, frustration played across her face.

  Where am I?

  Why can’t I remember what got me here?

  Who can I trust if not the police?

  Despite her exhaustion, she had the intense urge to run up to the mirror and bang her fists on it. But before she could do anything, the door opened and two different guards came in. The others must have been the intake guards, and these were the transport guards. They flanked her and half dragged her through the door.

  She struggled to keep up with their pace. Her eyes darted all around as she tried to soak up any understanding of her environment.

  They dragged her down a long, dark hallway, lit only by a few caged sconces with Edison bulbs inside them. Not long after, they arrived at a pair of large, metal doors. The guard to her left reached into his pocket and retrieved a ring of jangling keys. He shoved the key inside the slot, pushed one side open, and they guided her into the room.

  When Raine turned the corner, a sinking feeling in her stomach took the place of curiosity.

  Before her was a massive warehouse. Her eyes scanned up concrete walls to the tall ceiling with its exposed metal rafters. Though what gripped her with terror were the rows upon rows of cages. As they forced her down one of the rows, her eyes absorbed the sight of the concrete cubbyholes, each stuffed with a cage the size of a large dog kennel.

  And inside each cage, a person.

  She started to struggle wildly and the guards tightened their grip on her arms.

  One of the guards wrapped her in his beefy, muscled arms and nearly squeezed the breath out of her. He grunted, and his shoulders swayed back and forth as she fought.

  The guard in front grabbed her chin and looked into her eyes. His eyes were a sickly, olive green. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a syringe.

  Her eyes widened. She tried to turn her face from him, though when she saw him bite off the cap of the syringe and toss it aside, she let her body go limp. There was no use fighting. They were stronger, and she was outnumbered. She would have to continue to comply, and try to think of a plan as she went along.

  The man behind her loosened his grip, and she gasped with relief. She doubled over and clutched at her aching chest.

  The guard behind her pressed the palm of his hand into her spine and pushed forward.

  As she stumbled forward she caught a glimpse of a lethargic man crouching inside his cell. The cages weren’t even big enough to stand in. She was shoved forward to an empty kennel.

  “Why?” she screamed, as she searched the caged faces for answers. Silence. It seemed as though the other people were immune to noise.

  The man behind forced her onto her knees.

  She dropped her head down as tears welled in her eyes. She crawled across the hard ground and into the cage. There was just enough room for her to turn around as the man slammed the door shut behind her, rattling the entire structure.

  He locked it, and then turned to leave.

  “Why am I here?” she screamed again as they walked away. She raised her feet in front of her and kicked at the door of the kennel. As she rattled the door, what the guard said next stunned her into silence.

  “Second degree homicide.” He raised his arms. “Welcome—to the place for murderers.”

  TWO

  Nothing made sense.

  Second degree murder? I could never… She slumped back in the cage and pulled her knees to her chest. Her bare bottom pressed against the cold concrete and she wrapped the excess of the gown tightly around her legs.

  “What is this place?” she shouted again, though the guards were long gone. None of the other caged people seemed interested in speaking with her.
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  The moment she had entered this warehouse and saw the cages, she’d understood this was not a state facility, if it was even legal at all. Her memory was still foggy. Exhaustion played the colors of her emotions inside her closed eyelids.

  Confusion.

  Frustration.

  Paranoia.

  “It’s no use.”

  Her eyes fluttered open again as she heard the voice from the cage next to her. The tone was raspy and husky, as if the wind had been kicked out of him as well.

  Raine crawled forward and smashed her face against the grate of her own cage, trying to see who spoke from the cell next to her. She wasn’t able to see who it was directly, since there were barriers in between each cage.

  She felt a sense of urgency at the sound of his voice. She wanted to talk to somebody coherent. Maybe he can give me some answers!

  As she looked down the line of cages across from hers, each person inside was like a zombie, lethargic or lying down.

  She thought carefully before she spoke. “How come it’s no use?” she asked quietly as she continued to press her face against the metal door.

  “They won’t answer you. They won’t give you any information.”

  “Are they okay? The others over there?” She slipped her hand through the bars in the front of the cage, to point at the people across from them.

  “Just as good as me and you. Saving their energy for when it matters, I suppose.”

  Saving their energy…

  “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “I’ve lost track.” He sighed and kept his voice low.

  “Do you know why we’re here? Surely. I didn’t—I’m not a murderer.” Is that pushing it?

  A silence loomed between them, and she’d thought for sure she blew it.

  “I’ve been trying to figure that out since the day I got here,” he finally said.

  Raine stretched her legs out to the back of the cage. She stayed quiet a moment, as questions ran through her mind. “Why the hospital gown?” she asked and looked down at the garment.

  “To strip you of your individuality. Make you vulnerable.” His voice was drained, even more so than before. “What’s your name?”