The Altruism Effect: Book One (Mastermind Murderers Series 1) Page 7

  Everything felt blurred as she ran her hand along the wall. She was exhilarated by her escape, yet everything was terrifying and closing in on her as she weighed the possibilities of the consequences. Desperation drove her, and she couldn’t think of anything other than the fact that she had to keep moving forward.

  When she reached the end, she placed her hands upon the steel. Would it trip an alarm? Would it be locked? Could this door be the only thing keeping me from escaping? She pushed her body into the door, swung herself inside, and leaned her back against it.

  She was through it. It was almost too easy—too good to be true.

  She looked ahead and, sure enough, just as she hoped, a staircase. It spiraled down. Her legs shaking, she took the stairs one at a time while hanging onto the railing for support. There was a breeze in the stairwell, and she felt a draft on her legs. She felt exposed and vulnerable in the gown, which was paper thin and clung to her skin.

  As she went down, she wondered what to expect at the bottom. The anticipation reminded her of all the anxiety she’d felt in her life, derived from the paranoia she experienced every time she walked on the street alone, even in broad daylight.

  Two Weeks Ago

  Years had passed since she’d been dragged towards the black car on the side of the road. The scene played out again and again in her head as if it’d only just happened yesterday. The what-ifs. What if she’d stayed longer at that party? What if she’d been able to reach her phone in her purse faster? What if that football player that recognized her from class hadn’t been there?

  What if the man in the trench coat had gotten her into the car?

  That moment shaped all of the moments that followed: when she’d gone to the grocery store. Leaving the office. Walking Viona.

  It became a constant state of consciousness, awareness of her surroundings. Each day she studied other people’s anxieties and paranoia. She taught people to overcome their fears, the fears that were impairing their daily lives and the comfort that was impaired by fear—even though she couldn’t control her own.

  She gathered up her papers and stuffed them in her laptop bag. She’d stayed too late at the office again, something that had become a common occurrence. The problem with owning her own practice was the fact that she had the ability to make her own appointments. Lately she liked the idea of sleeping in, so she scheduled her appointments in the afternoon. When she arrived to the office late, she stayed later. Though in any normal circumstance, that should have been fine. She had the right to stay late at her office if she wanted to, without feeling fear.

  She made sure she turned off her office lights and closed the door. Marcus’s office was closed, the light under the door turned off, and Sylvie had gone home for the day. She turned the two lamps in the reception area off and made her way to the door. A light beamed from a crack of an open door behind her. Troy’s office.

  She stood a moment, turned, and walked up to the door.

  “If you’re staying late, will you turn down the thermostat before you leave?” she asked.

  He was hunched over his computer, hovering inches from the keyboard. He jerked up when she spoke, and his chest rose and fell quickly.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to—did I interrupt something?”

  “No. I’ll get the thermostat.” He went back into his crouched position at the keyboard.

  Raine bit her lip and turned to leave, catching a glimpse of his elbow on the desk. He had deep crimson scratches across his arm. “Troy! You’re bleeding.” She squinted at the injury.

  He turned from her, and swiped his other hand across the gouge, smearing the fresh blood. “Get outta here, Raine.”

  “What happened?” she pressed the matter.

  He pushed his chair back abruptly and stood. He walked towards her.

  She took a step back, out of the doorway.

  “Nothing. I hit the edge of the cabinet. I’ll get the thermostat.” He held the door.

  She nodded and turned. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, see ya.”

  Without looking back, she charged through the waiting room and out the door, turning to lock it behind her. She took off through the small parking lot that could fit only a few cars, and situated herself on the sidewalk.

  When she didn’t have to drive, she walked or took public transportation. If she could reduce her own carbon footprint even just slightly, she’d always take that route.

  As she walked at a brisk pace, she was grateful she’d remembered to bring a scarf that day. She was used to the weather in the Bay Area, where she could wear a short-sleeved shirt but needed a scarf.

  The leaves were changing, and the briskness in the fall air was biting. She couldn’t help but think about the four scratches, equally spaced, on Troy’s arm. That wasn’t a cabinet. Those were from nails. Human nails.

  She wanted to call Marcus and tell him what she’d seen, but she was walking home now and didn’t want to be on her phone. She needed to be fully aware of her surroundings as she walked to the streetcar stop.

  As she walked along the sidewalk, the street lamps just turning on for the evening, she caught a glimpse of a man up ahead walking towards her. He had broad shoulders, and wore a muscle tank and gym shorts.

  He’s just working out. She documented in her mind every detail about his appearance as if she had to give a police sketch in an hour. Grey tank, red gym shorts. Running shoes. Tube socks. Bronze skin. Broad shoulders. Ripped arms and shoulders. Buzzed head. Brown eyes? Maybe hazel, too far to tell. Narrow nose.

  He was getting closer.

  Her heart raced and she thought they’d made eye contact when she was trying to figure out the color of his eyes. She shifted her glance away.

  No. Look him in the eye. When you make eye contact and acknowledge they are there, they are less likely to choose you as a victim, because they know you are aware.

  As he approached her, she felt a numbing sensation run through her limbs. It was almost time.

  She smelled sweat on the wind as he blew past her and continued on his workout down the road. She exhaled.

  He’d passed. He hadn’t even looked at her; had no interest in her.

  She instantly internalized the feeling in the pit of her stomach. This guy was just living his life, doing his workout. She’d pegged him as a bad guy before she gave him a chance.

  What’s wrong with me? she thought and sighed. If she hadn’t experienced what she had, would she be more trusting of humanity? Would she still feel that every person was out to get her?

  She reached the F line streetcar and stood by the map, tapping her foot on the sidewalk, as an old woman holding her handbag sat on the bench.

  As she ran her hand along the railing in the stairwell, she thought back to that moment. She’d had a right to be afraid of a strong, unfamiliar man coming towards her. Only he didn’t do anything to harm her. And he only fueled in her the illusion of danger. Every incident like that made her feel like she was the one acting ridiculous.

  And now she tried to live her life with caution and awareness, yet it didn’t matter. Perhaps if she hadn’t dreamt up all the possible situations that could happen to her, this never would have happened.

  But look at me now. I was taken.

  Her worst fear came true.

  TWELVE

  Raine stumbled down the last few steps and pressed her hands against the door at the bottom. She looked back up the stairs. Only one floor down? It was odd that there weren’t any stairs leading down from this stairwell. Her eyes scanned the door, and her gaze landed upon the red glowing light of the EXIT sign.

  As she laid her hands against the door, she tried to absorb the energy through the metal. Was her freedom there on the other side of the door? When she pushed it open, would the sun embrace her? Would it be another hallway? So far she’d been able to make it withou
t being followed, and no alarms had sounded behind her. When she pushed through the door, would it trip an alarm this time?

  There was only one way to find out.

  She put one hand on the handle and the other against the metal. She turned the knob and leaned in with all her might.

  No alarm.

  She squinted into the white light.

  She was definitely outside the prison. But she was not outside the building. She closed the door behind her, and grabbed hold of the handle from the inside to allow the latch to meet the frame without slamming.

  She turned back around as her eyes finished adjusting and leaned back. She scanned the room.

  Some sort of loft space? It was an open floor plan: family room straight into the kitchen, with a huge entertaining island in between, all white marble. She walked into the room, her bare feet chilly on the cold, white tile. She tried to swallow, her throat dry, her chest rising and falling in rapid motions.

  The family room held a sofa with armchairs across from it, and a coffee table in between. She walked up to the couch and went to touch it, but thought twice. She felt dirty, like her fingers would stain the white furniture.

  A large crystal chandelier hung above the furniture in the sitting area, and her eyes followed the beams of rainbow light from the sunlight through the windows hitting the crystals of the chandelier and scattering. Windows!

  She scurried over to the floor-to-ceiling glass, feeling incredibly exposed, especially in her gown. She ran her hand along the sheer white curtains. The sun was blinding, and an immense pain erupted in her head from the bright light. She’d been in the dim, gloomy prison for who knew how long, and her eyes could not adjust. What she could see outside was a thick fog. Nothing but fog.

  She made her way around the perimeter of the apartment, keeping her eyes peeled. Off to her left was a set of stairs that led up to a loft, no doubt the bedroom.

  Where am I? she wondered. She was overwhelmed. Everything in her sight was clean, and pure, and beautiful. A complete contrast to the dark, cold, musty, uncomfortable prison she’d spent an unaccountable amount of time in. The prison. This place was directly underneath it.

  As the realization hit her, her trance shattered into a million pieces and she nearly fell to her knees. How was it possible that this place was directly underneath the prison? So close to them, yet she’d been suffering in a cage where she couldn’t even stand. Did the guards know about this place? Did Megan know about this place?

  She stood still a moment. Only the ambient noise of the air vent spilled sound into the room. The rest was silent.

  How do I get out, if the only door in here leads back up to the prison? She scanned the room again for any signs of an exterior door. The windows were sheets of glass, with no way to open them or hinge them upwards. She walked toward the kitchen. Not a single speck marred the white surfaces. She neared the large farm sink cut out in the counter and stopped dead in her tracks.

  Sitting in the sink was a coffee mug. Used. Somebody lived here.

  There was only one answer as to who. Someone that wasn’t worried about keeping their doors locked. Mainly because the only visitors they’d ever have were behind a lock themselves.

  She was a hundred percent certain that this was the home of a dangerous, dangerous person.

  The Warden.

  THIRTEEN

  Her stomach sank into a fiery pit of rage as she eyed the coffee mug, a tiny pool of black liquid in the bottom of the cup. She imagined a man drinking the steaming mug with traces of hazelnut early this morning as if he weren’t torturing people just on the floor above him.

  As her thoughts drifted to who could be responsible, she remembered where she was. She’d escaped. She’d come into the loft through one door, and needed to find the way out.

  There had to be a way out.

  There was no way that the only escape could be up.

  Raine looked over her shoulder before she grabbed the chrome handle of one of the kitchen drawers and pulled it open. Measuring cups, rubber spoons, and spatulas. She closed the drawer. Next, spoons and forks. Next, potholders.

  “C’mon… “ She reached around the dishwasher and pulled out another drawer. She stared into it before she reached in and grasped the handle of a four-inch, serrated knife.

  Holding it up, she looked at her reflection in the blade: sunken, bloodshot eyes. Bruised jaw. Dry, cracked lips. She placed the tips of her fingers on her bottom lip.

  As she stared at herself in the blade, she thought of what Arie must have been thinking as he touched her cheek through the bars. Just one look, one touch was enough to know how much he truly wanted her to escape.

  And Marcus was probably searching for her right now. He was probably worried sick. He was a good guy. He was one of her best friends. They tried at the possibility of a relationship and it didn’t feel right for her.

  As she looked into the reflection on the knife, she half expected to see somebody standing behind her shoulder, but only the reflection of an exhausted, desperate girl stared back.

  A door slammed.

  She spun around and held the knife down by her thigh. There was nowhere for her to put it in the gown she wore. For a moment, she was frozen in the kitchen. Nowhere to go. White everything. Exposed.

  She crouched down to the floor. The knife clattered on the ground and she held it up, realizing her hands were shaking like a dry oak leaf in the middle of fall. There was nothing to do but move. The noise came from down the hall that she hadn’t had the chance to explore yet. Her only other option was to go back the way she came, though she wanted to do anything other than go back to the prison through those doors.

  She scooted across the floor on her knees and the grout in the tile ripped into her kneecaps. The adrenaline circulating through her veins was enough to keep her hands steady, particularly the one with the knife, as she passed the refrigerator and rounded the corner. She peered down the hall. There was no movement. It was clear.

  There were only two doors to choose from, both were closed. One was probably the bathroom, gauging the style of the loft. The other, the way out.

  She opted for the door at the end of the hallway, the most logical one to be another set of stairs. Raine rose to her feet and tiptoed down the hallway, towards the slamming door she’d just heard.

  What the hell am I doing? she asked herself as fear ripped at her insides, tearing through her stomach and nerves. The only thing driving her was the undying knowledge that there was absolutely no other choice. She’d gone in too deep.

  She reached the door at the end of the hall, grabbed the knob with her free hand, and turned it as slowly as she could.

  The best-case scenario would be that she made it to the other side of this door and could run down the flights of stairs to the bottom without being caught. She pulled the door back, and peered around it.

  An empty room.

  Four white walls. No windows. No other doors. No stairs.

  Though something caught her attention immediately. It was the scent of creamy sandalwood, along with the lush floral heart of iris softened by fresh cut cedar wood, and it wafted from the room and drew her inside.

  It was familiar. Comforting.

  As she looked up into the corners of the room to try and find its source, the door slammed shut behind her. Raine dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter, just centimeters from her toes. She jiggled the doorknob, now locked.

  “No!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. Her throat constricted.

  The walls closed in. The panic set in.

  She banged her fists against the door and screamed. “Let me out!” until her knuckles were swollen and bloody. When nothing came of that, she slumped down on the ground with her back against the door.

  The familiar, comforting scent of the sandalwood triggered her senses again. Why is it s
o familiar? Sandalwood was used for anxiety, or a sleep aid.

  Immediately, the source of the scent memory appeared clearly inside her head. It was so overwhelming it was almost sickening. Her head swirled. It was such a mild, calming, beautiful smell and he was using it against her.

  She burned incense all the time in her office. She and her colleagues were each able to choose a scent that they preferred. She chose lavender and honey, a scent she often used in her diffuser in the yoga room. Marcus was partial to rose geranium. There was only one person in the office that burned sandalwood.

  That person was Troy Batterman.

  She was small. Helpless. Stuck in the role she was forced to play. What did Troy want with her? What did he want with all these people? How could he even do something like this? She’d noticed signs of anger in him, and she had an idea of the kinds of things he was capable of in his personal life, but she never realized it could or would amount to something like this.

  There was no use expending any more energy in trying to escape the room. As she sat upon the cold floor, her bottom exposed in the thin gown, she looked at the tile and realized for the first time that there were vents in the surface. Four of them. That must have been the physical source of the scent pumped into the room. And just as she allowed the scent to take over her body, tingling through her anxious breathing, a new scent wafted from the vents and overwhelmed her. It was the strong stench of chemicals, also familiar. The scent she had traces of in her nostrils when she’d woken up to this nightmare. She pulled the gown up over her nose and mouth to try and shield herself from the anesthetic, but it was too late. The room grew foggy. Raine coughed, hacking up what felt like her lungs. She lost control of her limbs, her eyelids heavy. It was no use fighting. She had to… she couldn’t keep her eyes…

  FOURTEEN

  Raine’s consciousness came back before she opened her eyes. She heard movement above her head. There was pressure on both her wrists and her ankles, and a cool draft chilled her entire body. The memory of what had happened before the world went black came flooding back to her. She slowly opened her eyes and looked around.