She thought a moment. Could she trust him? What use would he have for her name? The gown is used to strip us of our individuality, but they can’t take our names away. “I’m Raine,” she answered, her eyes welling up unexpectedly at the sound of her own name on her lips.
“Well, nice to meet you Raine. My name is Arie.”
She saw movement out of her peripheral vision. She turned her head to see fingers that reached out of his cage, and curled around to the front of hers.
The corner of her mouth twitched up into a small smile. She put her fingers through the cool metal as well, just managing to touch the tips of his fingers for a makeshift handshake.
Even though she’d just gotten here, she felt as though it’d been an eternity since she’d been in her normal life routine.
She felt a connection with him.
It comforted her.
And the silence between them told her that it comforted him as well.
THREE
Meditation hadn’t always come naturally for her. It was a practice she’d had to work at. Though in this moment, behind the cold metal bars of her cage, she felt grateful for the art. She closed her eyes and began her breathing routine. In for four seconds as her belly expanded up to the rib cage, then out for four more as she caved into her spine. Her mind became a blank slate as the sights, sounds, and emotions of the prison faded around her.
Two weeks ago
A smooth woody fusion with effervescent notes of bergamot and iris wafted across her nose as Raine pulled back the door to her office. She held it open for the woman inside to pass into the lilac-walled waiting room. A receptionist sat at a desk made from a kitchen table across from a river rock water feature.
“Julie, just keep working at what we talked about, okay? You’ve got all the right tools. You just need to use them. And you have my number if you have any questions. We had a great session today.”
The curly haired woman in her forties reached out to shake hands with her. “Thank you so much, Dr. Walsh.”
Raine smiled warmly at her and squeezed her hand gently. “It’s my pleasure, as always. Sylvie can set up a time for your next visit.” She motioned at the receptionist. After one last smile, she turned and headed back towards her office door.
She noticed the door next to her office was cracked open. She peered inside at her fully equipped yoga studio, which she used for therapeutic yoga and meditation. The light from the window reflected sunbeams onto the ancient original hardwood floors—one of the many benefits of restoring an old home into a therapist’s office. She reached forward and pulled the door closed.
She looked over her shoulder to see both doors on the opposite side of the waiting room closed as well. Her eyes fell upon the plaques that bore the names of the two colleagues who went in on the co-op office with her. Doors shut meant they needed to check with Sylvie before entering, to make sure they weren’t with a client, the common name they used to replace the term “patient.” Though doors shut this late in the day could also indicate that they had gone home.
As her client Julie headed out, Raine moved into her office and secured the door. As she stepped to the couch she curled her toes in the soft, shaggy carpet under her bare feet. Throw pillows were askew on the sofa where she helped so many clients reach clarity in their lives, and she reorganized each one back to its original spot. A glass of burning incense sat on the coffee table. She loved to use scents in therapy. Sandalwood was a great relaxer for those with anxiety, something she treated on a daily basis.
Just as she moved over to her armchair to gather the papers on the end table next to it, the door creaked open. Without turning around she spoke, “Sylvie, did you get a schedule worked out for Mrs. Handson?” She collected her papers into a folder on the chair. The door shut again.
“Damn, you look good in those pants.”
Raine leaped up and spun around. “Marcus . . . what are you still doing here?” She crossed her arms, her lips twitched into a small smile.
“I had a session run late,” he answered, glancing at his watch. “How was your day?” He moved towards her.
“Oh you know… I’ve made some progress with—”
Marcus slid his arm around her hips.
She stifled a small laugh, “—a few clients. Man, you’re handsome.” She pushed her hips into him and grabbed the back of his neck. She stretched up on tiptoes and placed her mouth on his, giving a gentle kiss as she reached back and ran her hand along the waves of his buzzed, black hair. Marcus had full lips that she could kiss over and over again, but the awareness of their location came back to her as she dropped down on her feet and turned to grab the folder.
“Last night was fun.” He reached up and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and then pulled at his necktie to loosen that as well.
She smiled and nodded. “Yeah… we should probably be more careful here at work, though. We need to keep things professional.”
“Professional?” He smiled at her with his straight, white teeth.
Raine laughed. “What if Troy finds out about us? And even if he did, I’m not entirely sure we’re more than casual?” she teased.
“Naw, we’re just having fun. Professional fun.”
She laughed. “I’m serious!”
“Oh come on, Raine… “ Marcus sat in her armchair. “Troy has the same status in this co-op that we do. Plus, he’s been hanging around us since University. I’m sure he already suspects something is going on, and he hasn’t done anything about it.”
“Sure he has.”
“What are you talking about?”
“C’mon, Marcus! You haven’t seen it?” She walked over to her filing cabinet and pulled open the second drawer, filing away the folder from her last session. She closed the drawer and reached into her pocket for a small set of keys attached to a lotus flower keychain and locked the cabinet.
“I can’t even walk from the water feature to my office without getting the side eye from him.” She turned around and leaned against the cabinet.
“You must be just imagining that.”
She threw her hands in the air. “Imagining it? Right. Yup. That’s what it is.” She walked over to her closet, grabbed her shoes and slipped them on her feet, then grabbed her bag off the hook inside.
“Oh, come on, now you’re angry?”
“Of course I am! You know how many times Troy has crossed the line? He’s even made Sylvie uncomfortable, watching her sitting while he walks in and out, in and out of his office all day!”
There was a knock at the door. A pang flipped her stomach and she gave Marcus a look before calling out, “Yes?”
The door cracked open and Sylvie said, “I’m going to head out now. You two okay? Need me to take any cases home?”
Raine relaxed her shoulders. “Naw, thanks so much Sylvie, I’m going to stay a little late and finish up some paperwork. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye Raine. Try and get some sleep tonight.”
“Bye Sylvie!” Raine and Marcus called out in unison.
“Bye to you too, Marcus… “ she trailed off, and shut the door behind her.
Raine collapsed on the couch. “You think she heard us?” She looked up at him, her words dripping with guilt.
“She didn’t,” he whispered. He moved from the armchair to sit next to her. “You worry too much. Hey, look. I’ll keep an eye on Troy, okay? If he makes you feel uncomfortable—”
“He does.”
Marcus let out a long sigh. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I hate asking you to butt in. Most things I can handle on my own. But that boy doesn’t know when no means no. He’s disrespectful. And not just to me.” She liked that Marcus was there for her. Her whole family was back in Ohio. After getting her graduate degree at Stanford, she decided to stay in the San Francisco Bay area to start
her life. Being so far away from her family, it was nice to feel security in the person in front of her.
“I know you can handle it.” He pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face.
She warmed as he tucked it behind her ear.
“I love this… little line on the side of your mouth when you smile. It’s not quite a dimple, it’s—I don’t know. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
She couldn’t help but smile as she reached up and touched his cheek. His brown complexion was flawless. She pulled close to kiss him once more. “All right, Prince Charming, I’ve got to get in the other room and start some restorative yoga.” She twisted his wrist towards her to look at the time on his watch.
“Do you ever stop working?” he asked.
She laughed. “Self-care, right? You have to take care of yourself if you’re going to take care of other people. It’s been a long day. You should understand, with all your mending of relationships with adolescents on probation and their families.”
He nodded. “Yeah. It’s exhausting.” He reached up and rubbed at his eye. “And rewarding… Can I get you some dinner, maybe get take out and bring it back here?”
“Not tonight. I brought some granola with me. But after I do yoga and finish up my paperwork, I should get home to Viona. She’s been cooped up in the house all day and I’ll need to take her out to the dog park.”
“How about we plan a date night some other time, then?”
She paused a moment, reading his amber eyes. “I’d like that,” she whispered.
He smiled and stood up from the couch. “Text me when you get home tonight, okay? I don’t like you being here so late on your own.”
“I will.” She returned the smile, and then opened the door to her office for him to leave. As he went across and locked his own office, she glanced over at Troy’s door. He must have already taken off for the day. Lately he’d been heading out early, which was the reason she decided to stay for yoga in the first place.
Troy hadn’t always been a womanizer. Sure, he appeared to be a ladies man at Stanford, but he seemed to respect her at least. She’d heard stories from some of the other girls in her classes, but she’d always just minded her own business. It wasn’t until Marcus suggested they went in on a co-operative office with him, that she hesitated before agreeing to work with him.
As she watched Marcus leave, locking the glass door behind him, she was beginning to think that it was going to be hard to not want something more than a casual relationship with him.
She moved from her office to the studio next door. One of her stipulations for moving into the office with the boys was that she had her own studio in addition to an office. It was an important part of her lifestyle and practice. She moved into the room and turned binaural beats on the stereo. The repetitive, relaxing rhythm came through the speakers.
She rolled her yoga mat on the floor and sat. She stretched her legs out in front of her and took a deep breath, expanding her belly and rib cage, before releasing everything out that wasn’t serving her.
It was Marcus who had convinced her to join the co-op. He argued that Troy came from a family of high status, and he’d have the credibility in the industry to give them a good start. Since he came from money, he was able to buy the house. He could pay for it outright and they wouldn’t need to rent the space.
She brought her attention back to the euphoria of the music, the scent of the room, and the mindfulness in her soul. These things fueled her day to day in this mentally exhausting profession that she couldn’t live without.
As she turned onto her stomach and pushed up into a cobra stretch, she heard a loud bang coming from reception. She glanced toward the door.
“What the… “ She turned over and hurried to the stereo, paused it, and listened.
Next came a series of bangs on the glass that rattled the front door. Her heart raced, pounding against the inside of her chest cavity as she hurried to the door and threw it open.
There, in the spray of light from the porch, was a man in his late fifties, banging his fists on the front door. When he saw Raine, he fell to his knees, continued to rap on the door, and called out.
Darkness surrounded the porch light and the man that knelt under it. How long had it been since Sylvie and Marcus left? Had she lost track of that much time?
She felt conflicted as she watched the panicked man. He wasn’t her patient. She didn’t recognize him. It was late. And she was alone at the office. This situation broke all safety protocol of the office, and quite frankly, all of the rules she lived by. But clearly the man was in distress. He needed help.
Raine had a curse. She inherited the human emotion of empathy. She became a psychologist to help those in need. Against all common sense, she rushed to the door and unlocked it, then placed her hand on the knob. Shit, where’s my phone? As she opened the glass door, the man fell in at her feet, sobbing.
“Hey, what’s going on? Hey… hey now.” She patted his shoulder. She tried to see if she recognized the balding man. She still didn’t.
“The office is closed now. Who are you trying to reach?”
“You… you are… “ He inhaled audibly through his sobs.
She knelt down on the floor by his side. “Breathe deeply. In two three four, out two three-”
“You are Dr. Walsh?” he gasped, grabbing her arm.
She flinched. Keep calm. She tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he was strong. She swallowed and pasted on a professional face. “Sir, if you’d like to make an appointment, I can see you during office hours. If you aren’t feeling well now, I can call an ambulance.” Where the hell is my phone?
“I don’t want an appointment. I came here to tell you—” He cried again, almost hysterical, breathing sharply and loudly—all signs of a panic attack.
Take control… She reached under his arm and hoisted him up, then guided him over to a couch in the waiting room. “Look. Look here,” she instructed him, holding her index finger in front of his face. “Look at my fingernail. It’s painted. What color is it painted?”
The man avoided her gaze.
“My fingernail.”
“It’s painted gray.”
“Good. What shade in the gray family?”
His breathing smoothed as he focused on the one, small thing. “It’s a charcoal color.”
“Good. Now tell me who you are. Why are you looking for Dr. Walsh?”
“My son… my son is Aaron Brittle,” he croaked as he looked up from her fingernail.
Raine racked her brain. Aaron Brittle. Brittle. Brittle. “He’s one of my clients.”
“Was.”
The air in the room grew thin. “What do you—no… “
“You were supposed to help him! Your job was to cure him!”
“What happened?” Her voice was just above a whisper. “I’ll be right back, I need to get my—” She stood. Phone. I need backup. She couldn’t handle this on her own. When she turned toward her office, the man grabbed her arm again.
“You’re hurting me.” Her voice was throaty.
“He hung himself.”
Raine reached her hand up to cover her mouth. “But he was doing so well—we were… making progress.” Her eyes flicked back and forth.
“You murdered my son, Dr. Walsh. He came to you for help and now he’s gone. He’s gone!”
FOUR
The overwhelming guilt ripped her from her meditation as the memory of that night in her office surged through her mind. Raine weaved her fingers through her hair, and closed her fists around it. She remained sitting with her back to the door of the cage, the metal bars pressing into her back. She’d rather stare at the back of the cage than at the others in their boxes across from her.
How can I remember the details of that night weeks ago, but I can’t remember yesterda
y? She racked her brain until her head throbbed. The obvious solution was to blame it on the drugs she’d been given, but her professional training told her that it was because of trauma. Sometimes the mind will choose to block out information that is painful or devastating to remember, or deal with, until it’s ready. Part of her job was to tap into those moments with patients and help them deal with and overcome them, so they could move on with their lives. She was fully and consciously aware of this, but couldn’t fathom conducting this strategy on herself without help from another therapist. Right now, she needed to devote her energy to the burning questions that kept her from falling asleep like the rest of the murderers.
Why am I here?
How did I get here?
How can I escape?
It was that first question that drilled into her head. Why. She pulled her hands back from her hair and observed them, front and back. The mauve nail polish was already nearly chipped off. She’d changed her polish from charcoal to mauve since the day she met Aaron Brittle’s father.
Maybe it was my fault, she thought, as she remembered the sessions she’d had with Aaron. She should have been able to help him pull through. She should have received updates about his wedding and the success of his career, not of his death and date of when the funeral would take place. Even though he took his own life, she felt responsible. He knew that he could call her in times of emergency. But if his emotions were pushed to the limit, strong enough that he felt the only way out was to end it, then she failed. She did murder him.
I am responsible. She let out a short, exasperated sigh.
As she closed her eyes to the darkness, an alarm resonated through the warehouse. Raine reached up and covered her ears against the miserable high-pitched tone with underlying mechanical banging noises. She turned to look both ways up and down the row. People in the other cages were stirring. She felt as though the alarm was imbedding itself into her skull, as if it would never go away.
“Arie!” she cried out, and pressed her face against the bars. “Arie, what’s happening? What does that mean?” Her throat constricted. When Arie didn’t respond right away, she was worried he was gone for good.
The Altruism Effect: Book One (Mastermind Murderers Series 1) Page 2
