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Saeed immediately changed hotels. As he drove, he kept an eye on the rearview mirror. He didn't see anyone following him. He scanned the outside of his vehicle and his suitcase for tracking devices but saw nothing.

He thought about it a long while before making the call, wondering what he was getting into. He had never done business with Raymond. It would go against all his ethical principles. The men who did business with Raymond were the ones who valued climbing to the top above all else and would do anything to get there.

He called probably for the same reason that Raoul had agreed to speak to Saeed, a perfect stranger holding a gun in a vacant building. It was a possible path to Christine. Saeed had no other evidence to follow. He made the call at 9PM. Raymond probably wasn't someone who went to bed early, whatever time zone he was currently in.

Saeed's stomach turned as he waited. He kept the gun close by. He would be recording the phone conversation, and he suspected that Raymond would be doing the same on his end.

"Hello?" greeted a fairly cheerful voice.

Saeed had no time for pleasantries. "One of your employees was in my room."

A pause. "Is this Mr. Norouzi? Glad you called. I'm guessing you have changed rooms?"

"That's not your business. And if I run into any more of them, I will call the police. What do you want?"

"We don't even know each other, and you're being very rude."

"I know all about you," Saeed stated. "Why the hell are you bothering me?"

"All right then." Raymond's voice lowered. "I have a small problem. One of my employees, an old friend of yours, I think, has taken off. It's possible that he has someone whom you want in his possession. So I think we have a common interest here. In getting both of them back."

Taken off? "What do you want from me?"

"You knew him long ago, didn't you? Maybe you know where he might be?"

"Why would I know?! I haven't seen him for years. After he tried to kill me! On your command, I wonder?"

"No. I never ordered him to kill you. Maybe you accidentally got in his way back when Erik wasn't quite as…focused. It took time to make him the perfect employee."

Well, that was creepy. Saeed didn't know if he believed it. It didn't matter now. "Why does he have that girl?"

Raymond clearly knew he was probably being recorded. He replied, "I don't know why he has her. Your guess is as good as mine. But that's not important. What's important is that I don't know where they are. Maybe you do?"

"Again, why would I know?" Saeed snapped. "He's your employee. I don't know him anymore. I don't want to know either of you."

"But you knew him years ago. Where would he have gone back then? Where would he hide, Saeed?"

Saeed did have some of that information, but he was not going to just hand it over to a monster. "What's the deal?" he asked.

"I want Erik back. Alive. Very much alive. If I get him back alive and she's still alive, you can have her." Raymond laughed. "I mean, doesn't this sound pretty Happily Ever After to you?"

"Why do you insist Erik stay alive?" Saeed asked, curiously, maybe a little hopefully. "It kind of sounds like he's betrayed you."

"Betrayed?" Raymond chuckled. "No. That's far too dramatic of a description for the situation. I think Erik is having a…I don't know. Midlife crisis? It's sad actually. If you do run into him, know that he's losing his mind. He'll tell you all kinds of crazy things. Outlandish stories – you'll see what I mean. But he's a fantastic worker, and I don't want to lose him. And honestly, Saeed, someone that unstable and with those kinds of capabilities is a danger to society. You'd rather have him under my control – trust me."

"That is something I will never do." Saeed let it all settle in. "So you want me to find him, bring him to you alive, and I get the girl? That's it?"

"You bring no one else into this, or there is no deal. And you don't have to go find him. Just tell me."

"Why should I believe you? How do I know you won't hurt her?"

"I haven't gotten this far by breaking promises. Many people work for me and are loyal to me because I keep my word. Ask around. The profit of liars is short-term."

Saeed again asked, "Why did he take off with her?"

"Heh. Again, I don't know why he has her. Why does any man take off with a beautiful girl? Beyond that, as I said, Erik is losing his mind. His actions are not rational. We can only hope that the girl is still alive."

"If she's not, then that kills your half of the deal. If I happen to find him, Erik dies or goes to jail. You don't get him back."

"I understand that," Raymond calmly responded. "I'll be prepared to deal with that situation if it happens. Are you going to help?"

"I'm thinking about it. You may be asking the impossible anyway. I don't know him anymore. And that is the truth."

"I understand," said Raymond with false compassion. "It's a lot to think about. You take care. I hope this arrangement can be beneficial to both of us. I look forward to hearing from you again."

Saeed hung up and felt like he had wasted his time. Why did Raymond assume he would know anything about Erik now? It was bizarre.

During the conversation, Raoul had left him a brief message, so Saeed called the boy back. Raoul said, "I went to search that place she was last seen. Didn't find anything."

Saeed tensed. "I told you not to do these things by yourself!"

"It didn't seem dangerous. It was daytime. Lots of people were around."

"Raoul…" Was it riskier to involve Chagny or not involve him? Saeed worried that the boy was going to get himself killed. At least Saeed could supervise. "Look, let's meet again. But don't do anything else like this! Your parents won't pay for Christine. But they sure as hell will pay for you! So be careful, dammit!"

"Okay, okay. Sorry! I just really want to find her."

Saeed tried to calm down. The call with Raymond had upset him. "Stop until I am there with you. We will find her. We."

Thankfully, Raoul agreed to that.

But hell. This could all become a horrific mess.

A horrific, heartbreaking mess.

The next morning, as she was again slipping on jeans and a t-shirt, Erik knocked on her door. "I have brought you things," he said.

She opened the door and took the bags. "Thanks."

She received everything she asked for and more. There were seven pairs of jeans and blouses with various designs and colors. A skirt. Checkered flannel pajamas. Socks. Tennis shoes. Toiletries of all kinds. A sky-blue soft fuzzy blanket - she had told Erik she was a little cold at night.

On the one hand, she was happy to see these items. On the other, they were all a sign that she wasn't leaving anytime soon.

Two months.

Outside of the voice lessons, though, the next few days were fairly calm and restful. She was allowed to watch movies, anything she wanted, but not allowed online without him staring over her shoulder. He explained that they were protected in that no one could detect their network use, but he obviously didn't want her contacting anyone. She glanced at the news while he quietly watched. The police were still investigating her disappearance, but they had pretty much hit a dead end. No one was coming to rescue her.

He had some books, mostly non-fiction. One about the history of the French Revolution. She didn't know much about that – except when her dad had become uncharacteristically enraged at a bill collector and screamed – "This is why you people end up guillotined!" Being eight years old, she had approached and asked what that meant. Then regretted asking.

A book on horticulture. She missed having a garden. She really didn't think the Chagnys wanted her to dig up their perfectly landscaped yard to create one. Well, Raoul would have been into it but…

A book on Euclidian geometry. Okay, maybe she'd skip that one.

"Do you have fiction?" she asked him.

Erik had been working on repairs to his home, changing lightbulbs and attending to plumbing issues. He worked with this strange franticness that made her nervous, darting from place to place without pause. For the first time, she saw him without his hat. He had short, thinning dark hair, and she was unable to discern his age. His head was pale. She wondered briefly if he was healthy.

He replied, "At another home, assuming that it has not been demolished. Perhaps I will take you there someday. Would you like that?"

"How many homes do you have?"

"It depends on what you are counting as a home. Does a garage count?"

"…Is it furnished?"

"It has carpet and a bed."

"Then yes, I guess."

"Five, then. Six, maybe?" He shrugged and returned to whatever he was doing beneath the sink that involved a wrench.

She supposed that someone who worked as a human trafficker might have to hide a lot and move from place to place. But then her two Guards seemed to live normal lives outside of their evil work. So why didn't Erik?

Her room became her main safe haven. When the situation felt too bizarre and she wanted to be alone, Christine went in there. Although Erik could probably still get inside, the room represented the most privacy that she'd had in a while.

She figured that anything in there, in an unlocked drawer, was fair game. Who knew? Maybe he had left a cell phone somewhere. Instead Christine found some drawings that looked haphazardly stuffed inside. They were designs of buildings. Professionally drawn with measurements and different perspectives. Was he an architect-turned-trafficker too? Or was this a hobby? Weird.

She could not deny that they were very, very good.

That was all she really found, outside of some office supplies like pens and a ruler. No phones.

The days were okay, not unpleasant necessarily, still strange. Erik was always the most animated during their lessons, gesticulating when he wanted her to sing with more force or volume or enthusiasm. She could hear the excitement in his voice when she did especially well – "Yes! Excellent. You hear it? I know you do. You are smiling. See?"

And the disappointment when she just wasn't feeling it. She was always improving, though.

Maybe she would make a new video someday. If anyone offered to send her money over the Internet again, though, she would promptly report them to the FBI. Or whomever she was supposed to call for Internet law violations.

When they weren't in the middle of a lesson, Erik was quieter. Not unkind or impatient as he had been on that first horrible night. Just sort of…soft-spoken, occasionally asking her questions about what she wanted and then nodding at her answers.

He would play his violin for her, usually a more somber but relaxing tune unless she gave him a specific request. (She got a laugh of disdain out of him when she asked him if he knew the "Titanic" song. He was less hostile about the Beatles.) As she lay there listening, calm but cautious, she wondered if this would be her life for the next fifty-something days? It was certainly much better than what she had been facing. And there was an end date to this…arrangement. She had to believe he was telling the truth about that.

Because if he were lying, then the only choice was to fight him again. And she doubted that she would be lucky enough to find another hammer lying around.

After finishing the song, he said, "So perhaps this evening we will take a nighttime walk around the university. I have some things to show you."

She looked up from the sofa. "Really? Yeah, that'd be nice. I miss the outdoors."

"You spent a great deal of time outside?"

"Yeah. My dad and I…" She tapered off, not sure how open she wanted to be. "Well, we did a lot of camping and hiking. Sometimes we lived outdoors."

"I found his obituary. You lived with an affluent family because you did not have resources after your father passed away?"

"Yes, the Chagnys were nice enough to take me in when they didn't have to. I'm sure they love me right now. I was so dumb. I can't stand thinking about it. I was so dumb." She shook her head in disgust.

"You will be just fine."

She looked closely at him, hoping he was telling the truth.

He said - "Tell me more about yourself."

"Why?"

"You are interesting." He looked down. "You have a pleasant speaking voice. I like listening to you."

"Heh." She hesitated, feeling her face turn a little red, uncomfortable and unsure. She certainly wouldn't stay on his good side if she told him to mind his own business. And she thought it was probably in her best interest to stay on his good side. What did it hurt to tell him a few things? "I moved around a lot with my dad. We didn't have much money. Um, he was a musician, too. A guitarist. I think he also played drums, but it's harder to drag those around. Heh. I learned to sing with him. We would do entertainment at carnivals and fairs and that kind of thing sometimes." She told him a few other stories about life on the road. Some good ones – like the little farm they had stayed on for a while. She had gotten to feed the baby goats with a bottle. And bad ones. Like when their apartment complex had bedbugs. They had thrown away half their possessions.

They were more shallow stories, in that she didn't get into the personal depth of her situation. She didn't tell him how awful it was when the power got cut off. Or about the nights her father didn't come home, and she was left wondering if he was even alive. Or when his friend came over, and she had accidentally wandered in on him shooting up drugs in their bathroom. At least her father had immediately kicked him out but…

She was not going to share the most vulnerable parts of herself with a man who had been one hammer's throw away from sending her off to be some creep's sex slave.

Still, she enjoyed talking about her life, the memories it brought back. Eventually, Christine wondered if she were rambling and glanced up at Erik to see if he appeared bored or if he was even still listening. She flinched at how intensely he was staring at her. He had sat down at the kitchen table and stopped doing anything else. Wanting to get away from the topic of herself before those yellow eyes burned a hole into her, she quickly said, "Your turn."

He blinked. "What?"

"Tell me about you. That's fair, right?" Maybe he wouldn't get angry as long as she didn't ask about that weird night. And sparks.

"I am much less interesting than you, my dear."

She highly, highly doubted that. Surely someone who lived in multiple "homes" and was in his line of "work" had to have a very interesting, frightening background.

"Do you have parents?" she pressed.

"Not really. I never knew my mother. She's long dead. My father was an alcoholic. He is also dead now, of liver cancer."

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm not. His brother, my uncle, made sure I was educated. He procured me a tutor."

"Oh, that's good. Did you have an aunt or cousins?"

"They existed. I was never allowed around them."

Her heart jumped. Why? Was it because he was a psychopath? Was he one of those kids that tried to kill everyone while they were sleeping? Is that why he had a tutor instead of going to school? She had seen that on the news once, a little girl who tried to burn the house down and kill her whole family.

She hesitantly continued, "What was your uncle like?"

"Very intelligent. A genius. A programmer with some background in both electrical engineering and neuroscience. He hated my father for being a useless drunk. He did not want me to become useless. And so he intervened."

"Was he nice?"

"Nice? What does that matter?" A pause. "He let me see some of his groundbreaking work, knowing I would have the intelligence to appreciate it. He let me be a part of his research."

"What kind of research?"

"It was…" Erik stopped talking and stood suddenly. "Actually, I think that is a topic for another day. I have found you a coat that will keep you warm when we go aboveground." He disappeared for a moment and then produced a black and white checkered trench coat with a black tie around the waist. "Do you like it?"

"It's…pretty," she said, still startled by the abrupt end to their conversation.

She stood and slowly walked over to him, taking the coat and slipping it on. It was fashionable, something Lily might wear.

Just as she had started to think about possible options once they were outside again, he said – "There is a modification to our agreement that I think you should know."

"What?" she asked with warning in her voice.

He tucked his hands behind his back and stared down at her. "I will never let you run. I implied that I might earlier. I said that I would let you find your own way back home and see how long you lasted. That has changed."

"Why?"

"Because…I cannot let you die."

"That's not. You c-can't-," she stuttered, unable to respond. The best she could come up with was, "That's not your business!"

"I'm afraid it is now. I cannot let you or that lovely voice die. So, if you try to run, I will stop you. Do you still want to go?"

Her first impulse was to run to the bedroom and slam the door in his face. She managed to keep her feet planted and asked, in an even-toned voice, "Two months, right?"

"Exactly." He glanced away and said, "You only have to tolerate my company for two months. Is that really so terrible?" She said nothing, caught in fear and frustration and anger. "Is it really so terrible that I want to keep you alive?"

That was not so terrible. What was terrible was never having any control. Not when it came to her father and weird childhood. Not when it came to the Chagnys. Not when it came to all the bad guys who had handed her off to each other. And, now, not when it came to Erik.

She didn't know whether to yell at him or argue or just give up for the moment.

"Or maybe they won't kill you," he softly added. "Maybe they still have use for you, and they will only shoot you in the leg, to bring you down, immobilize you. Maybe you will get lucky, as I did." At that, he slowly lifted his left pants leg. His skin was very pale, stretched tightly over the bone. He was so skinny. But what stood out was a harsh, jagged, pinkish scar across his calf.

She stared too long and felt queasy, not because the sight was gross but because she could suddenly imagine it happening to her. She remembered the bullet ripping through that man's head. And imagined a bullet tearing through her leg, the pain radiating throughout her calf. She grabbed onto the back of the nearest kitchen chair to steady herself, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply.

"Do you still want to go?" he asked, softly. "Or did you only want to go because you thought you would be escaping?"

She opened her eyes. Jaw clenched, she replied, "I still want to go."