Katja's body screamed in agony. Garridan had tied her so that her toes barely brushed the floor, forcing her wrists to support her full weight. The rope had cut her wrists when she was in labor and now it was digging deeply into her wounds. All of this was in addition to the fact she had just given birth, which was painful enough. Her head hung limply as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

Garridan sat near the fireplace, tracing patterns in the ash. Katja hated him, hated him with a fiery passion, hated him with every fiber of her being, hated him more than words could ever express. He had taken everything from her: her dignity, her friend, her husband, and now her child. She wanted him to rot in hell for all eternity for what he had done.

She didn't want to do this anymore. She had already spent five years in a cage, forced to be a sex slave, and she refused to go through that again. Katja would willingly die before she went through that again.

Was anyone ever happy here? she wondered. Katja could tell the room was once beautiful. Faded tapestries decorated the walls, and a dusty but still ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling. The rope that held the chandelier up was next to her, cleverly hidden behind a moth eaten curtain. What little furniture remained was broken, probably from looters, but definitely had been high class when it was purchased. She could imagine a grand ball here; it was such a shame it had been ruined.

The gypsy looked up and glanced over at her. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting bored. What do you say we have a little fun?"

"Go to hell," she replied weakly.

Instantly she regretted her words. Garridan marched over and grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I think you're forgetting something," he snarled. "I'm in control, I hold your life in my hands, I own you!" He backhanded her hard across the face, the force from his blow causing her whole body to twist and the rope to dig further into wrists. Katja screamed in sheer agony, in too much pain to even cry anymore.

The door burst open. Garridan whirled around and pulled the knife from his belt. Katja used the last of her strength to look up to see what was happening. Her heart leaped when she saw who was standing in the doorway, before she fainted.

Erik and Fredrick stopped in front of the old building. "Are you sure this is it?" Fredrick asked.

"Do you see any other abandoned cabins?" Erik snapped. "This has to be it."

"It doesn't look like a cabin. It's more of a mansion."

"The size doesn't matter," Erik snapped. "She's in there, she has to be."

"And what if she's not? We can't just break into someone's home! What if there is someone in there? Then what do we do? Is that girl even a reliable source of information? Just because she had the baby and gave her back doesn't mean we can trust her. She's one of them!"

A male voice echoing out of the building cut off Erik's reply. "I own you!" the voice roared. It was quickly followed by the sound of a slap and a feminine scream. Erik recognized it instantly as Katja. All thoughts of evaluating the situation or finding out what exactly he was up against vanished. They were hurting her and he had to stop them.

Erik threw the door open, leaving it wide open behind him, and was horrified by the sight within. Katja was hanging by her wrists, the tips of her toes just barely brushing against the floor, like a macabre ballerina en pointe. She was unconscious, her head hanging limply. Her body was bruised and her dress was bloodstained. Beside her was the gypsy from the lake with a knife in his hand.

Without thinking, Erik lunged at the gypsy with the intent to kill. The gypsy swung the knife, but Erik grabbed his hand and crushed it until he was forced to let go. While in Persia, Erik not only had spent time as an architect, but also as an assassin and learned quite a bit of hand-to-hand combat. Acting only on instinct, Erik punched the gypsy with every ounce of strength he had. Using the gypsy's pain to his advantage, Erik moved behind him and snapped his neck with a single, fluid motion.

While Erik had been fighting the gypsy, Fredrick had snatched the abandoned knife and cut Katja down. Fredrick had his sister cradled in his arms and was staring at Erik with wide eyes. "You…you killed him."

"It was either us or him," Erik replied. "And I'd rather it be him."

"You were too good at it though. You've killed before haven't you?" Erik didn't reply and instead knelt next to Katja. He tried to take her, but Fredrick wouldn't let her go. "Does Katja know what you've done? Does she know you're a murderer?"

"There are no secrets between us," Erik snapped, before turning his attention to his wife.

He caressed Katja's cheek as her eyes fluttered open. "Erik?" she whispered in disbelief as her gaze settled on him.

"I'm here," he replied softly. "I'm right here."

"They…they said you were dead."

Erik pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "They lied to you Katja. I'm right here Fredrick and I are going to take you home now."

"The baby...they….they…the baby…" she said weakly.

"Rest now," Erik told her. "And we'll have you home in no time." She nodded and her eyes closed again. He held out his arms for her, but still her brother refused. Erik let it be for now. They needed to get Katja to safety. They could fight about this later. "Come on," he said to Fredrick. "Let's get out of here."

"Wait, didn't she say they were brothers?" Fredrick asked. The two exchanged glances. "Well, that was one, where is the other?"

There was a sudden crash. They turned around and saw a gypsy standing with a large pile of firewood at his feet, presumably dropped. He rushed to his dead brother, checking for a heartbeat. "No!" he screamed in anguish. The gypsy spun around, a gun drawn, pointed directly at Erik, who grabbed the abandoned knife and sprung to his feet. "You killed him you bastard!"

Erik locked eyes with Fredrick and sent him a look, urging him to run and to take Katja away from here, to take her to safety. Fredrick had taken no more than two steps when the gypsy whirled around and aimed the weapon at Katja's head. "It's her fault," the gypsy muttered to himself. "If we hadn't found her in the woods, then Javert wouldn't have found her, then she wouldn't have escaped, then Garridan wouldn't have wanted to find her, then he'd still be alive. IT'S ALL HER FAULT!"

There was no way Erik could get to him before he pulled the trigger. All he had was a knife. He needed to come up with another plan, and he needed to come up with it now. Erik looked around wildly, trying to find some way to disarm the gypsy.

A curtain hiding a fraying rope caught his eye. Erik followed the rope until it reached a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, hanging directly over the gypsy. He lunged at the rope, using the blade to sever it. The chandelier began to hurtle towards the ground as the gypsy moved to fire the gun. A loud bang echoed throughout the room and they were consumed in a cloud of dust as the chandelier crashed to the floor.