CHAPTER TWENTY

Without the Mask

The morning of the second day, Brandon did not write me a note explaining what would happen. He probably didn’t know himself. He brought me breakfast, watched me eat it, and then disappeared into the front of the house. Undoubtedly, he was watching the road. He was expecting Christian and the Argonauts. Exchanging a whole person for only a tongue made less sense to me than it had on the first day.

Brandon opened the door quietly when he went outside and even more quietly when he came inside. I probably wouldn’t have heard him moving at all, except that the air was so still, there was nothing to hear except his movements.

I heard the engine of a vehicle approach. Brandon was on the roof. Unless I was mistaken, he had been assembling guns and arranging ammunition for the last hour.

The engine cut and the vehicle door slammed shut. I didn’t hear the footsteps up the walk, but I heard the front door click open and bang closed.

“Brandon!” a male voice called out. “Are you in here? I got the package you wanted. I’m opening it. If it’s material used for making explosives, I’m going to kick your ass until it burns. Where are you?”

I heard paper ripping. The voice was familiar and yet not an exact match. The edge of my awareness was prickling. Was it him?

I didn’t know if I should call out. I wasn’t certain it was Christian. I waited.

“The package is empty!” the guy yelled. “I thought it was too light,” he muttered to himself just as he opened the door to the room I was tied up in.

I saw him and at that second, I knew exactly who he was. This was Christian when he didn't look like Christian. This was who he really was. Now I understood that when he played Rogan, or Christian, or any other man, there was a pinched quality to his face like he was flexing a muscle that was not normally flexed, a muscle that a normal person could not flex. He had much more control over his expression and form than anyone average. It must have been the reason the scientists wanted to cut off Brandon's head, to examine not only why these men didn't die, but also why they could change the shape of their features so completely that they could essentially become someone new.

The man in front of me looked very different from the Christian I had always known. Christian wore a smirk, a playful, adorable smirk, that made you think of games and danger and trouble. He didn’t look like Rogan either. Rogan looked disinterested, bored, and blank because you made him blank. He blamed you for his boredom. As I examined his actual face, I realized it wasn't just his expressions either, he could change his features, so he looked different, even if he didn’t smirk or sigh.

However, it didn’t look like he had the power to change his coloring. He had to dye his hair and wear contact lenses if he wanted to change color. I had already seen what he could do when he made me into Jill.

The man in front of me had Rogan's dark hair and haircut, though it was obviously in need of a touch-up, the pitch-black had dulled. His jaw joint under his ear was higher than his mouth; his chin distinguishing and pointed. If I thought his nose was sharp when he played Christian Henderson, I was surprised, as his nose was even sharper. His beard had grown in, filling in Rogan’s goatee, and the dark blue contact lenses were gone. Now his eyes were a grayish green and wide like seeing me tied up on a bed meant something to him.

Other than that, he wore no expression at all, like a person whose eyes reflect the ocean. His hand went to his throat as if to stop himself from speaking. I knew the back of that hand, square knuckles, long fingers, nine fingers, and a line around his wrist.

My mouth wasn’t taped, but I couldn’t say anything. I was too stunned. It was him; the man I had waited all my life to meet.

He glanced down the hallway, as though he were still looking for Brandon. Directing his focus back to me, he approached the bed and touched the nylon binding my ankles together. “This,” he said, “all this,” he motioned to the whole room, “means something disastrous has happened, doesn't it?”

“Brandon is trading me for his tongue. Was it supposed to be in the package you brought?”

“It probably was. He had me driving for two days to pick it up. He said the only way to get the delivery safely was if I did it. In exchange, he would make sure you were safe,” he said, examining the knots around my ankles. He found one of the ends tied underneath the bed and pulled on it. The entire thing came loose in one motion. “Why didn't I think of tying you up? It would have solved everything,” he said, like joking around was the best he could offer me.

“Would it have?” I said sarcastically as I slipped my legs under me and raised myself into a kneeling position. He freed my wrists and I looked around, commenting on what I saw, “This room is kind of familiar to me. The green paint on the walls feels very nostalgic. I like it in a sick sort of way. Do you ever like something you shouldn't?”

“All the time,” he breathed.

“Do you think you can get me away from here before Charles and my father come get me?”

“I doubt there’s much time for any other action than to meet them when they arrive. It’s easier to defend the house than to meet them on the road. They have probably blocked the roads and we wouldn’t get far on foot. Since the package was empty, this has obviously been a trap. Well, it worked since all three of us are in the same place at the same time. They’re trying to capture us all. I doubt Brandon intended to turn you over to them, but he had to have you here to show them he was in earnest. Nobody wants to give up their leverage. Not your father either if he didn’t send the tongue.”

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“And you knew my father was alive? He was the family member interested in my safety all this time?” I questioned.

“I didn’t know he faked his death. At first, I was as fooled as you. I wasn’t there when they buried him. It was slow getting the information necessary to be the executor of his will and I was very busy with you for the first six months after his death, but I grew suspicious when they couldn’t produce a death certificate for him. I didn’t see him immediately either. That was how the Argonauts got me the first time. He contacted me and said he wanted to meet. Obviously, for your sake, I agreed. They caught me, but they were sloppy and I escaped quickly.”

I took a painful breath. “I don’t want to see him.”

“I don’t want you to see him either, which is why I never took you to pay your respects at his grave. Even if I didn’t tell you, there was always a chance he’d reenter your life, but he also might not.”

I didn’t know how to answer him, or how to move forward.

Suddenly, he smiled. “You’ll have to tell me how you feel about all this. Seeing my face, learning what I’ve kept from you? My secrets unbuckling themselves without my permission? How are you taking it?”

“I’m not even remotely shocked. If you had approached me in the middle of a crowded street, I would have recognized you,” I said cautiously. “I’ve spent a long time studying you.”

He breathed deeply and looked back at me. His eyes full of mischief, like the Christian I had known was not completely erased from him. “I’ve shown you my last face. It’s always the last face I show anyone. My sixteenth face.” His eyes met mine and his expression was curious, as it was at least half challenging.

I tried to meet his challenge and remarked grouchily, “I thought you said you were old. You look about the same age you did before.”

“That’s because there’s more wrong here than I’m willing to admit.” He cupped the back of my head with his palm. “Are you scared?”

I shook my head, portraying false confidence.

“Brandon will have a plan, but he’s a bit bad at explaining his plans at the moment. We probably don’t have much time.” he groaned, putting a hand to his forehead. “If things go badly and they manage to get you, remember; I’m bad news. I wasn’t there when I should have been. I threw money at you rather than giving you the life you deserved. Remember, you are better off without me. That’s what you have to tell them.”

“Don’t worry,” I soothed. “Things won’t go badly, but if they do, I’ll tell them all the right things. I’ll be your girl and do everything you would want me to do. Everything you taught me to do.”

He paused. “You’ll be mine?”

I looked at him and realized suddenly what an incredibly intimate thing that had been to say.

“Even if that should happen, don’t worry too much. You’re very precious to them. I believe that was the reason your father entrusted you to me in the first place, but a lot has happened since then. His feelings have probably changed more than either of us realizes.”

“Do we have much time? Can you tell me one more thing before you go?”

“What?”

“Your name.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s Damen.”

“Damen Cross?” I squeaked in surprise. “That’s your real name?”

He tugged at his collar like he was choking. “No. It’s Damen Christianus, but I always have a few aliases with my real names in them, so I don’t forget, and so I hear something familiar once and awhile.”

I felt a great settling in my chest. Something that had bothered me forever was finally settled. I smiled. Damen had been my favorite alias. Finally, I had opened one of the secrets, like a present he had kept from me. “Can I call you that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He scoffed. “Because you have to call me Christian, or Rogan, or Louis, or whatever I tell you to call me. But you can know it, and remember it for me.”

“And when we’re alone like this?”

“You may as well keep calling me Christian. I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

I loved being the keeper of his secret. “Are there more secrets you’re keeping from me?”

“Not many,” he said softly. “Maybe a hundred. Maybe a thousand. I really can’t keep track of all the things I’m supposed to know and keep quiet.”

We heard the vehicles rumble up the driveway.

“There isn't time for this,” he muttered. “Stay here, stay quiet, and try to hide if you can.”

Though I wasn't tied down, I was again locked in the room. I was worried at first, about what could be going on outside. He was up on the roof.

There was talking in the yard and then a shot was fired. Then multiple shots were fired. The noise was coming from every direction. What could I do?

An enormous crash sounded outside. Something had exploded. I pinned myself against the wall. I didn't even hear the window break because there were too many other sounds coming from everywhere. It was impossible to isolate that particular sound or to know it was vital to my safety, so I hadn't moved from under the window when a hand reached in to grab me. It curled around my chin and hefted me up through the broken window frame. As he pulled, my back was dragged across a thick piece of broken glass. It cut from my shoulder blade down to my hip. I screamed. He raised me to my feet and put a pistol to my head. With the barrel of the gun pressed against my skull, he walked me around the side of the house, disregarding my pain and blood.

I saw two men propped up against the far side of the roof. I could only assume it was Christian and Brandon looking like people I'd never seen before (but with hair I recognized). Each had a rifle positioned in front of him. As the front yard came into view, I saw army vehicles. They weren't really the army, as the men did not have Canadian insignia on their shoulders. They were a private army. Once I was in view, they began their retreat.

Christian changed the direction of his rifle and shot the man holding me at gunpoint through the neck. The blood splattered against my back. Before I could run, my elbow was yanked backward by someone firing their gun blindly at the roof. I saw Christian and Brandon duck behind separate chimneys, as a vehicle swung around to collect me.

I didn't see Christian or Brandon as I was hauled off into the back of a van. Once inside, there was nothing to see. I was handcuffed, with cold painful rings around my wrists. They hurt all the more because of the nylon ones Brandon had used, keeping me tied up for days. My back was bleeding and a pool of blood was forming behind me, enough for me to feel the wetness soaking through my pants.

The anger that besieged me was unmanageable. This couldn’t be just because my father wanted to see me. He had had millions of opportunities to get in touch with me if he had wanted to talk. What did he want now that he hadn’t wanted before?

I breathed slowly and didn’t even feel the pain in my back as I kicked the man who had abducted me.