Blood. There was blood everywhere. It had soaked into the carpet, even by the time I'd gotten to the living room. The dishtowel that Nadir was holding around Raoul's throat was already soaked in the sickly sweet stuff. I took one look at him and felt like I was going to throw up, right there. I hated blood.

I dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the phone off the hook, wondering briefly what number to call. Did 911 work in Europe too? Nadir called some numbers to me and I dialed them, barely hearing the voice on the other end of the phone telling me to be calm and tell him where I was. In the end, I managed, but I was verging steadily closer to hysteria, and when Nadir called me to bring him another towel and to help him hold the convulsing body down, I only controlled myself by remembering that it could very well mean Raoul's life if I didn't.

The two of us labored over the body—for life was rapidly ebbing away from him—in breathless silence. Even Raoul's stubborn and heartrending groans were beginning to subside, and though my ears had rung with them before, the loss of them was absolutely terrifying.

Suddenly, the sound of a siren outside the door. Suddenly, Nadir was gone, the body was gone, and I was left, knees soaked in blood, kneeling on the same place as I had been before. I put my face in my hands, even though they too were soaking wet, and sobbed. I was sure he was dead.

Sleep was impossible after that, but so was everything else. I looked at the hopeless stains on the carpet, and I wanted to clean them up, but I couldn't bring myself to go near them. And yet, I couldn't go out of the room. I paced between living room and kitchen, watching the phone and waiting for it to ring. The minutes slid by, the seconds measured by my frantic footfalls, and I still couldn't do anything. I remembered Nadir's cell phone number, but I was afraid to use the line. What would happen if he called me at the same time?

The blood dried on my hands and my face, and flakes of it chipped away and fluttered to the ground, littering the carpet and the tile. I felt disgusting, so I finally forced myself into the bathroom to scrub it off. The moment my hands and face were clean, the phone rang.

I must have launched myself across the rooms, because the first ring hadn't stopped before I caught the phone.

"Nadir?" I gasped, fingers turning white from the pressure of my fingers.

"Meg," Nadir's voice inflected no questions, no comforts, no emotions. Nausea twisted my stomach. "He's dead."

I think I must have screamed. I know I must have cried. But I couldn't remember. I didn't want to. I was too afraid.

I remember the police, or Surete, as they are called in Paris, coming to investigate the murder. Unfortunately, there were absolutely no traces of the assailant left to be found. He had come and gone like a malevolent shadow, or like the Grim Reaper himself. I answered questions when they were put to me, and I know I must not have made any sense whatsoever. But there was no sense to be made. Eventually, the police left, unable to convict either of us, but also unable to find the man who had committed the crime.

Nadir made me cup after cup of scalding hot tea. After the third one, the roof of my mouth and my tongue had ceased to have any kind of feeling. That was good. Anything that made me numb, that seared the inside of my head, in order to stop me thinking, was good.

"Why didn't you tell them?" It was the one thing I could think to ask.

"About Erik?" He sighed, shaking his head, "Erik will be long gone, by this point."

I choked on the tea. "Gone?" The word and its horrible implications echoed in my mind. "Gone! With Christine?"

He nodded gravely. "No hunted animal stays in a shallow burrow when it can dig deeper to save itself. There are holdings of his that are unknown to me, and to those he will take Christine."

The somber tone in his voice filled me with unimaginable dread. "Is there nothing we can do? Are we just going to sit here?" The idea was unthinkable. I had crossed an ocean, seen death and destruction, and the very man who had murdered, in this house, was taking my best friend away?

The desperation in my voice must have amused him, for he gave a dry little chuckle. "I did not say we were going to give up. The hunt shall merely become more difficult now. First we must take care of…"

He seemed unable to go on. "We have to bury Raoul." I concluded, as if I were reading a part in a soap opera season finale.

Nadir nodded again. "His parents are dead, his brother was murdered…"

I was shocked when I realized that there might be no close relatives at the funeral. I shook my head numbly and took another swallow of tea, my eyes tearing up when the scorching liquid slid down my throat. I really didn't want to go to the funeral. I didn't want to see Raoul lying in an open coffin, or put into the ground like a doddering old man who had lived a full life and was surrounded with crying grandchildren. As it was, he was taken in the best years of his life, and…why? The question didn't bear thinking about.

As it was, the funeral was well attended, everyone lamenting the end of the de Chagny line. It was a solemn affair, and I don't think that my eyes were dry at any part of it. Eventually, the tears were coming down so steadily that I didn't even bother wiping them away. At least I was spared the necessity of talking to anyone. I hardly knew the first word of French, so Nadir, after several choice words, hustled us both out of the church and away from the stone cold reception after the burial.

Once outside in the warm evening air, I took one deep breath and finally swiped all the tears away from my face. Nadir offered me a moist cloth, and I scrubbed away the salt tracks that had accumulated.

We sat in the silent car for several minutes, while I composed myself, and he made a few phone calls. As he had divulged to me earlier, he had several men in Erik's employ willing to talk for the right price. I understood that the only way that Nadir could afford that kind of leverage was by drawing from the stipend that he received as chief of police in Iran. That left his resources rather strapped, but at least it gave us a good lead as to where to try next.

Nadir got off the phone next to me and heaved the most despairing sigh that I had ever heard from him. I was instantly concerned. When Nadir knew that something was wrong, something was definitely wrong.

"What is it?"

He looked at me, his expression almost unreadable. "I had hoped he would take her to Russia or Yugoslavia. He has many ties there. But, unfortunately, fortune led him differently."

"Where," I whispered, "where?"

"Iran."

At first, my heart leaped for joy. Iran would make things easier! After all, Nadir was Iranian! And his family was old, well-respected, and surely his connections in the police force there would help him. I didn't understand how this could be a drawback.

My face showed the question, so he clarified.

"I have been banished from my country. My wife, my son…they would suffer if I were to return."

For a moment, I was only horrified by the terrible chance that had put Nadir in this situation. But then I realized the truth.

"Erik," I said, shaking my head, "he did this on purpose."

Nadir nodded. "When Erik plays a game, he plays to win."

I wanted to scream. "This isn't a game!" I cried, punching the dashboard with all the strength I could muster. "This is my friend's life!" My rage boiled off, leaving grief behind again. "What are we going to do now?"

He looked at me as if he didn't understand what I was saying. "Do? We are going to do exactly what we intended to do. We are going to rescue your friend."

I looked at him. "Why are you doing this? You could lose everything, and you don't even know Christine."

"I don't know Christine," he agreed, "but I do know Erik. And I should have helped him years ago. I should have stopped him from becoming what he did. I should have done more for him. And now," he said, regretfully, "he has gone too far. I cannot let him do this. Murder, kidnapping…Christine is now entirely at his mercy."

I shuddered. What would he do to her…?

We sat in silence, for a while longer. I was trying to process this whole thing, this whole horrible day. It suddenly seemed like too much. When I had come, I had not expected it to be anything like this. One person was dead. And now, Christine seemed likely to be out of our reach.

As if reading my mind, Nadir asked the fatal question. "Meg, I can send you home. This is more than you should have to bear. Would you like to return?"

In my current state of mind, one part of me wanted to scream 'yes!'. The other berated this weaker side for chickening out. Truth be told, I had been warned about the dangers. But also, I had never really believed them. I had thought…what had I thought? That we would just show up at Christine's doorstep, take her back, and that Erik would let her go without a fight? Her whom he had fought so hard to have in the first place?

I felt sick, and I couldn't answer. I shook my head, and Nadir started the car, but I was assailed by doubts as we drove along the road, back to his apartment, and the two voices in my head raged against each other, and by the time we had reached the house again, I was no closer to a solution than I had been when we started.

Nadir promptly retired to a small study when we got in the house, using his cell phone exclusively, and though I was curious, I was so tired, I didn't bother to try to eavesdrop on the conversation.

I wanted to go home. For the first time, I was afraid, and I doubted that what I was doing was right. What happened if my mother and my father never saw me again? I was afraid that I might actually die doing this. It seemed odd, feeling like that. I had never been so scared before. Technically, I could think of a reason for it. I was now face-to-face with my own mortality. Seeing Raoul die was something that I had never expected. If this Erik could kill him, what was to stop him from killing me?

But, more importantly, was I going to abandon Christine to him? My best friend? And only because I was scared of what might happen to me? Christine would never, ever do that! I could imagine her now, alone and scared, thinking herself cast off from everyone and everything. I wondered if she knew about her father or Raoul.

One thing that all these reflections allowed me to determine; I would not leave Christine alone to this man. If he thought she was alone and friendless, then he had another thing coming. I wouldn't go home until she was safe, and we were going back to our little dreamy pocket of New England together.

Everything was put into motion very quickly. Once Nadir realized that I would not be dissuaded from my plan to accompany him to the very end, we set out for Iran almost immediately. More specifically, I should say, we headed for Tehran. Apparently that was not only where Erik had a house, but it was also where there would be most danger for Nadir. His family was also located in Tehran, and naturally, it being the capital city would make it the most patrolled and monitored by the police. Once again I was forced to admire the tenacity with which Nadir adhered to his determination. If the lives of my family were at stake…I was not sure how willing I would be to help a total stranger.

The plane ride there was long and uneventful. Neither he nor I were in moods to be in conversation, so I spent most of the time alone with my thoughts. Most of them were despairing, and I tried everything that I could think of to turn my mind away from them, but the situation demanded my attention.

So far, I had been told by Nadir that we were neck-and-neck with Erik and Christine. We knew that his destination was fixed as Tehran, and other than that, we had been told that he intended to leave as soon as possible, but Nadir's informants told him that we had the advantage of a day. Which meant that Erik and Christine would not be departing until tomorrow. I stared out the dark window. We were on the red eye flight, nonstop from Paris to Tehran.

Unfortunately, no one in Paris could tell us where exactly the house in Tehran would be. Erik guarded some of his secrets extraordinarily well, and though Nadir knew of many of his haunts in Iran, it was less than likely—so he told me—that we would be able to find him there. Tehran was a big city—some 12 million residents—and the chance that we would find them at all before—or after—they arrived was slim.

Nadir's cell was ringing again, and he answered it, but this time he spoke in Farsi, and I couldn't understand a word. I hoped that some of his friends left in Tehran would be willing to help him, but at this point, the feeling was faint. I felt numb, and the crushing exhaustion of this past day was almost too much to bear. I wanted my eyes to slide shut, so I could sleep and forget, but it seemed impossible. My brain was active, thinking, worrying, planning, and my body was forced to be active along with it.

Nadir had only been willing to take me along on this stage of the journey because he said I would be helpful if Christine was unwilling to leave Erik. This line troubled me, since I had heard it once before, from Raoul. It seemed so strange…I knew my friend, and I knew that she would have been trying to escape all this time. The idea that Christine would hesitate, when given the chance, was laughable. So why did it trouble me so?

Stockholm Syndrome. I researched what I knew of it in my head, which was painfully little. But I knew—or assumed—that it couldn't happen to someone who knew better, who had strength of mind and character. I knew that Christine definitely had that strength. So why did both Nadir and Raoul consider it such a threat?

I found my thoughts drawn back one more time to Erik. They must assume, then, that he had the power to make her forget herself. To mentally purge away her identity. I shivered. I didn't think that anyone had that power. Once again, I felt my stomach roil over the thought of my best friend being in such a horrible situation. I burned with anxiety…I had to help get her away from him!

Nadir shut his phone with a satisfied click, to punctuate my thought. I saw the hope in his face and felt my heart leap. My eyes begged him to tell me what he had discovered, and he did so, with barely repressed enthusiasm.

"Allah favors us, Meg," he said, with the jovial expression that I had known before, "there are some among my friends who will help us. They have been tracking Erik for a long time, and they believe they have found several houses that belong to him under different names. One of these houses is being opened up, in preparation for residents."

I let a smile come to my face. "So he might be going there?"

"Might," Nadir emphasized, "but a very likely 'might'."

I settled back and felt my eyes crash closed as my thoughts were finally laid to rest.

Tehran was a big, busy city. And I disliked it at first sight. Maybe it was because I saw it through the eyes of a jet-lagged visitor who had just come from Paris. Perhaps it was because we arrived there just at the start of a new day. I think, however, it was because Tehran was a discomfiting mix of the modern and the ancient, and because it was so very, very far from home.

Nadir hurried me into a cab and paid someone to run back and fetch our bags. Being as it was now early July (we had been in Paris for longer than I had thought) the heat, even in the early hours of the day, was oppressive. Even in the shade of the cab, I felt the weight of the atmosphere pressing down on me, pushing all the moisture out of my body in the form of disgusting droplets of sweat.

After about ten minutes of uncomfortable waiting, he slid into the seat next to me and barked orders to the wizened cabbie in the front seat.

"We will arrive at my home in twenty minutes, Meg," he assured me, ever the solicitous gentleman. He handed me a bottle of something ice-cold, in a bottle with red-and-white labeling.

I lifted my head off the seatback. "What's this?" I asked, feeling obstinate and mulish.

"Coke."

I stared at the bottle, with its strange labeling, and suddenly burst out laughing. I cracked open the bottle and took a long drink. The carbonated iciness slid down my throat and I sighed with contentment.

"It's good."

"I am glad."

We drove in silence from then on, and I didn't notice the tension that was steadily building up in him until he ordered—I assume he ordered it—the driver to pull around the back of the house instead of parking in front.

His eyes looked hunted as they darted from left to right, and he pulled all our luggage from the trunk of the car with one hand as he gave me the money to pay the driver with. I sensed his anxiety, and almost flung the unfamiliar bills at the leering driver before fleeing with him into the basement of the house.

He left our bags in a heap in the basement and flicked on the lights. A sparse underground space opened up to us, and I saw that two cots had been placed there. I wondered if we were ever going to be able to use the aboveground area when the basement door above us slid open.

Gentle steps descended, and I found myself looking into the eyes of a beautiful Muslim woman, who smiled gently at me and ran directly for Nadir. He caught her up in his arms and twirled her around, and it was only when he kissed her—and I turned my head away in embarrassment—that I realized that this must be his wife.

Horror gripped my chest. He'd come back to his home, then? He was putting his own wife and son in danger? From now on, I promised myself, whatever Nadir wanted me to do, was already done.

We had dinner in that dark little cellar, Nadir, his wife, his son, and I. Mashid, his wife, assured me that whatever risks they ran were more than welcome, but I could tell that she only said that because she was thrilled for whatever reason had brought her husband back to her. Reza, the little thing, was too happy to see his father to even consider anything else. Of course, we said nothing too pointed around him.

I felt strangely comfortable, sitting in that basement, on beautiful embroidered cushions, eating fragrant rice and chicken cooked in lemon sauce. Whatever bad introduction I had had to Tehran now seemed done away with. Of course, I had a full stomach now, and that probably did wonders for my state of mind, but maybe I had also soaked up some of Nadir's boundless enthusiasm. I could believe now that rescuing Christine was not going to be as difficult as I thought. And though I wouldn't make the mistake of thinking it was going to be easy, I also refused to allow myself to worry about all the things that could go wrong.

In order to give Nadir and his wife some time alone together, I took Reza up to his room and played with him for several hours before his parents came to tuck him in. The boy was very docile and we played with his enormous collection of Matchbox cars, and I showed him how to make a downhill slide with his blocks, so he could race his cars down, without needing to exchange one word. Which was good, considering that I didn't know the first word of Farsi, and he was still in awe over my very pale skin.

I went to sleep still tired and very sad, but my heart was lighter than it had any reason to be. Nadir assured me that tomorrow, we would do what could