CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Make Me Into You

I stood in the middle of nowhere, on a deserted road with nothing but lines of trees on both sides. My car was in the ditch far behind me. It was dark. There were no street lamps and no moon that night. It was lucky the Milky Way was so bright or I would not have been able to see my way at all. I moved through snow that came up to my shins. The road had not been plowed. I had only been walking for five minutes and already my thighs were aching.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly so I made a mini steam cloud.

Admission was the first step. I was freaked out. It wasn’t treading through the snow in the dark that freaked me out. My freak out began when Rogan showed me headless Brandon. I had been expecting some parlor trick that was see-through to someone who didn’t scare easily, so I got right in on the scene so I wouldn’t be fooled. A decapitated person should not be alive and when I saw with my own eyes, felt with my own hands, that it was possible—I threw up in the garbage can. There were no strings on his fingers as he wrote the word HELP in my palm one letter at a time.

Once I was convinced Rogan wasn’t a filthy liar (at least not on that occasion), he put all his efforts into telling me his plan and showing me what he wanted me to do. The disguise he had planned for me was… intense.

My hair was light brown and was usually a wavy, curly, mess. Fighting it with a hair straightener regularly wasn’t on my timetable. Christian put a prosthetic hand on his stump and immediately dyed my whole head a light platinum blonde. When I saw it, I pretended to gag. He smiled wickedly and got out the hair straightener. Then he plucked and pencilled my eyebrows in.

Then he showed me what he’d done. My hair was stick-straight and I looked like a runway model… one of the pretty ones.

“I had no idea,” I gasped, gaping at my reflection.

“If only that was enough,” he said longingly. “Unfortunately, I have to go further.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that these people have been watching you for years. They know what you look like. Luckily, you are a bit skinnier than you were in high school.”

“I thought you didn’t care to give me a complex about my weight.”

“I don’t,” he said innocently. “If you’d gained forty pounds I would still have applauded you. The key is to look different. Either way is fine with me.”

Then he put contact lenses in my eyes, which were unfamiliar and uncomfortable. My eyesight was perfect.

“Your eyes are green-hazel. I don’t dare go blue. Blue contacts always look so phony on darker eyed people. We’ll go darker. We’ll go all the way to dark brown.”

Again, he let me look at myself, but that was the kicker. By that point, I looked nothing like myself. He sprayed me with bronzer and showed himself to a master makeup artist.

Of the intimate activities he was willing to participate in, the makeover was very high up on the list. Every second, he was looking at me, touching me, asking me if I was comfortable, and generally showering me with attention. I should have let him do my makeup before.

He took me to West Edmonton Mall that afternoon, straight to the second floor and all the most expensive boutiques. The clothes he picked out were designed to make me look even skinnier and help me look like I had a different shape. He put me in the tightest black pants in the world and I had to object.

“I can’t wear these,” I complained. “They make my butt look enormous.”

He shook his head haughtily. “You don’t know how much I would rather they looked at your bottom than your face. I hope they won’t look at anything else. You’ll be much safer that way.”

I frowned—deeply embarrassed. “But I can't look cute if I wear those.”

“You will,” he said confidently. “My face doesn't look anything like this. Trust me. This is what I do. You will look drop-dead sexy without showing off your skin. Satisfied?”

“Maybe I will be… when you’re finished.”

“Covering your skin is important. I can’t let them see your moles.”

“I don’t have moles!”

“You have three.” He pointed them out to me. One under my collarbone, on my back and my arm. “I know your body and if they’ve watched your footage, they’ll know it too.”

I blushed and allowed him to continue.

He was right about the clothes and by the time my look was complete, I wouldn’t have known myself from surveillance footage.

We went back to his place and he drilled me on ‘the plan’.

After that, he tucked me into bed and told me to sleep for a few hours. He said he had some work to do to get the car ready, and I needed my rest if I was going to work all night. I was so tired from my restlessness the night before that I slept undisturbed by the occasional noise from the other room.

That evening, I found myself walking pitifully in ridiculous girl-boots, any human being would freeze to death wearing, on a highway in Northern Alberta. I saw the lights from the building I was headed toward and prayed that I wouldn’t screw up. I could do exactly what he instructed. I was spunky! I couldn’t think about what these people had done to Brandon, or what they would do to me if I were discovered, but I could think about what I would get if I were successful—one whole year with Rogan... Christian... whatever his name was.

I trod through the thick icy-like-a-snow-cone snowdrifts until I got to the only door in sight. I knocked on it.

No one answered.

Feeling anticlimactic, I knocked again.

It wasn’t until I started feeling desperate and crazy cold did someone finally come to the door. It was a young man with short spiky dark hair and a bit of winter stubble on his chin. In the reflection of his eyes, I saw what he saw. His whole face lit up like he’d chosen the right door on a game show.

“Hi,” he said, dazzled.

“Hi,” I said back, exactly the way Rogan coached me. “I had a car accident down the road. I’m alone. Can you help me? I’m really cold.”

Actually, I wanted to die. It felt too stupid to put that expression on my face and to say those words. Rogan reassured me countless times that even though it felt like the opener to a horror movie or a porno flick, it wouldn’t turn out to be either. These guys were animals, but not the way I thought. Besides, if I simply told them my name, he said they would heel like canines.

The guy opened the door wide and let me come in. The room inside was a break room where people had coffee and sandwiches. There was a fridge, a stove, a microwave, and about a zillion and one unused styrofoam cups. The place smelled like old rubber and motor oil. The guy in front of me wore heavy-duty brown overalls with a T-shirt with skulls on the shoulders.

“What happened?” Skull Boy asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. But I’m lost. Is this anywhere near the Westgate Ski lodge?”

Skull Boy stifled a laugh. I was nowhere near it, but I had to act bewildered. He straightened his back. “No. You’re on the wrong highway.”

I let my shoulders droop and gave the impression of being completely defeated by the news. “Well, crap. My friends invited me up there to go skiing with them for one final ski of the season. Now I’m completely lost, and my car is broken. I went in the ditch and now it won’t start. Do you know, I would have frozen to death if you hadn’t opened the door. Thank you.”

“Does your phone work?” he began. He was extremely pleasant. “Have you called a tow truck?”

“I tried, but I couldn’t get my GPS to work. I don’t know where I am. I can’t tell them where to meet me if I don’t know where I am!” I threw myself into one of the orange plastic chairs.

“So, I take it you have no idea what’s wrong with your car?”

“None,” I pouted.

He smiled. “I have a few minutes. Maybe I can figure it out. Did you go down near here?”

I sniffled. “I’m not sure how far I walked to get here.”

“What’s your name? I’m Steve.”

“Jill,” I lied.

“Well, let’s find your car,” he said as he grabbed his coat.

I recoiled with my back against the plastic. “No. I don’t want to go back out there yet. I’m frozen solid. Can’t I stay here for a bit? At least until I warm up?”

“Sure,” he said brightly, dropping his coat and sitting next to me. He offered me a doughnut.

I accepted it. Taking off my gloves, I crushed my fingers together to get the warmth back into them.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have a space heater or a fireplace to warm you up.”

“Oh,” I said vacantly. Rogan said that I mustn’t act overly interested in where I was. My behavior must be patterned by the following priorities. First, I must be concerned about my own comfort. Thus I must eat everything they offer me. At that moment, I was cold, so I needed to act like it. Secondly, I must be anxious to be on my way. Thirdly, I must flirt. It should be fun for them to have me around. Christian said that these boys were girl-deprived, so I had to give them a reason to keep me around as long as possible.

Keeping my priorities in mind, I asked, “Do you know much about cars?”

Well, Skull Boy Steve knew a lot about cars. On my very first crack at it, I opened the floodgates of his automotive knowledge. I was trying to find out if he would be successful if he went out to try to fix my car (not even I knew what was broken in it). Perhaps if I had been dressed differently a different stream of car-related information might have sprung from his mouth, but since I was wearing a spotless white marshmallow coat with a fur trim hood, Prada sunglasses in my hair, and carrying a humongous designer bag on my lap, he couldn’t stop talking about Lamborghinis. I acted impressed no matter what he said.

When he paused for breath, I got him back on target by telling him about the car I was using for this farce. “I’ve got a 2012 Camaro. Do you know much about those?”

“That’s the vehicle you have outside?” he gawked.

“Yeah.”

He glanced around for a second like he didn’t know what to do. Then he asked, “Hey, are you warm yet?”

“I’m frozen. Really, really… frozen,” I said in slow, serious tones. Things were going better than I imagined.

“Would you mind giving me your keys, so I can go have a look?” he asked with big puppy-dog eyes.

I hesitated, but only because I thought Rogan would want me to. He told me that I had to act cocky and protective about the vehicle, but there was no way they would be able to start it.

“Just give me a few more minutes,” I begged.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” he offered.

I shook my head, refusing because it was ready. I needed to make everything take as long as possible. “Do you have any idea how bad that stuff is for you? Besides, if I drink that, I won’t be able to sleep until next week.”

“But it’s warm,” Skull Boy Steve argued, lifting the pot.

I declined again and he started rooting around the cupboards to see if he had anything else he could feed me that would get me outside quicker. Actually, Christian warned me against sleeping, and he had given me a pack of stimulants to keep me awake if I should even think of losing consciousness. I had work to do.

A minute later, a package of ancient herbal tea was found and Skull Boy was boiling water in a kettle they never used.

“Are you from Edmonton?” he began.

“Yes.”

“Going to school there?”

“U-huh.”

“What are you taking?”

“I’m trying for my commercial pilot license at the inner-city airport.”

“You’ve flown a plane?” he asked, staring at me.

I laughed at him. “Not yet. I’m starting the course this summer. It’s all set up.”

I tossed my super blonde locks over my shoulder. Rogan knew everything about men. That was what he told me to say and Skull Boy had stopped what he was doing and was practically salivating on the linoleum.

Finally, he said, “And you drive a Camaro? Will you marry me?”

I smiled a little flirty smile—again one that Rogan coached me on—and said bravely, “Get my car out of the ditch first. Then, we’ll talk.”

He popped his coat on and said cheerfully, “I’m on it.” With that, he dashed out the door.

I couldn’t guess what he was going to do. I still had the keys to the car in my coat pocket. This would be the perfect time to snoop, but I decided to wait. Undoubtedly, Skull Boy would be back once he realized he had forgotten to take the car keys and I didn’t know who else was in the building.

A couple of minutes later, Skull Boy Steve was back. “I started my truck. The seats warm up. Soon it will be toastier in there than in here.”

“Great,” I said, acting pleased.

He finished making my tea and gave it to me in a travel cup since they had a ton of them. We went out the door and got into his humongous black Silverado truck. He had to give me a boost to get me in.

As his tires crunched down the packed snow, I showed him the way back to the car.

“Wow, you walked a long way,” he commented as we pulled up behind the backend of my car.

“Yeah, I’m still cold,” I said as I handed him the keys.

Skull Boy left the engine running and got out to assess the damage. From the comfort of his truck, I watched him get in the driver’s seat, try a few things, get out, and go to the front to open the hood. It wouldn’t open. He came back to the truck, got a brush and scraper. He was very enthusiastic.

“I think the hood might be frozen shut,” he said before he went back over.

I watched him mess with the hood for twenty minutes. It wouldn’t open and we were a two-hour drive from anywhere. By that point, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Rogan had welded it shut.

But I was really warming up to Skull Boy Steve. I never imagined a guy would go to so much trouble for me in such cold weather. It was the end of March, but that didn’t stop it from being unbearably cold at night in the Canadian Rockies.

He came back in and apologized. He was deeply embarrassed, offered to take me back to the compound and he’d come back with something to help get the ice off. “We should have headed back out here as soon as you showed up. Then it wouldn’t have had the chance to ice over.”

“Sorry,” I apologized in a whiny voice.

“Not your fault,” he replied lightly.

Back at the compound, there was another guy in the break room. His reaction to seeing me was almost as brilliant as Skull Boy Steve's had been. He was another dark-haired dude, except he was way shorter. He welcomed us by saying, “Is this your sister, Steve?”

“You wish! Her car broke down on the road. She came here for help.”

“Hi, I’m Jill,” I said with a wave.

“He’s Conroy,” Skull Boy said.

I sat back down at the break room table while Skull Boy explained the situation. I tried to think up a nickname for Conroy, but everything about him was too plain. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. He had no piercings or visible tattoos and it looked like he’d shaved that morning.

“You should call a tow-truck,” Conroy suggested tightly.

“She tried before she came here,” Skull Boy gloated.

“Whatever. You should try again now, especially since you can’t get the hood open.”

“Nah, I can do this. It’s probably something stupid like the wire disconnected from the battery. I can fix that.”

Conroy frowned. “I guess that would be faster than having them drive all the way out here.”

They talked for another minute about what to do and finally, they decided to tow it with the Silverado to the garage at the compound to have a better look. The Camaro aspect didn’t do anything for Conroy. He was more interested in me. He kept glancing at me like a starved dog who smelled a fresh piece of meat. I never got treated like that. Men sucked if dolling up had such a strong effect on them.

“You should come with me in case I need a hand,” Skull Boy was saying to Conroy.

“Fine, but…” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “We shouldn’t leave her alone here.”

“Call Chuck to watch her,” Skull Boy hissed back.

“Chuck? Are you sure you want to leave him alone with her?”

“What? She won’t like him. Have you seen Chuck lately? He looks like crap. She’s probably got pepper spray in her purse and we’ll be finished in like half an hour.”

“Kay. I’ll call him.”

Conroy disappeared through one of the inner doors and Skull Boy came back toward me. “We’re just going to get one of our buddies to keep you company while we tow your car.”

I nodded.

My brain wanted to be annoyed that they weren’t leaving me alone. I wanted to snoop, find the missing body parts and get out of there as soon as possible, but Christian warned me about being anxious. He said all I had to do was bide my time. They were going to be cautious of a stranger, but the more time I spent there (as long as I didn’t blow it by jumping the gun), the more likely I was to succeed. I just needed to be cool.

I was cool. Cool enough to leave my winter coat on until the guy they called Chuck came in. As soon as I set eyes on him, I averted them and looked at safer-than-safe Skull Boy instead. I had to look like the appearance of Charles Lewis didn’t faze me at all.