And then it came again, still faint, but Alainn heard it.
Immediately, she knew it was no animal.
Alainn was no stranger to bloodcurdling screams. Years on search-and-rescue teams had trained her to listen for them—no matter how faint. When she’d been allowed on backcountry ski patrol rescues, if someone screamed like that even in zero visibility, it meant a possibility of loading them on a stretcher and skiing them out in time to be saved. She knew this sound.
It was the scream of a man in agony.
9
December 6, 2026
Alainn stood at the door, her hand on the handle. The handle felt smooth, and though it looked like wood, it didn’t quite feel like real wood to her fingers somehow.
“You are now one minute late to meet Mr. Garbhan,” Voice said.
“Come on; you can do this,” Alainn whispered.
A robot wouldn’t be standing here. Even if a robot had heard the screaming, it would just walk out there, unbothered, and take the tour.
As far as Alainn saw it, there were two possibilities: either Mr. Garbhan had been the one screaming, or someone else was in the tower.
She didn’t know Mr. Garbhan’s voice well, but as Alainn had listened to the screaming come again and again, it had sounded like him. Yet, even if it had been him screaming, she still wasn’t sure that lessened her unease.
What could make him scream like that?
Then there was the fact that she might, for the first time, see what he looked like. Every time Alainn considered this, her heart rate quickened.
“You are two minutes late for Mr. Garbhan; please open the door now,” Voice said.
Alainn closed her eyes.
She could climb up a hundred-foot ice cliff with picks and rappel down laughing. But, open this door?
Nope.
Obviously, Voice’s patience was at an end, because she said, “I will open the door in three, two, one . . .”
The knob turned in Alainn’s fingers, and the door slowly swung open, taking her arm with it. As she stepped out of the room, the door slid closed behind her. The lock clicked.
“You’re late,” came Mr. Garbhan’s voice.
Alainn spun, but the hallway stood empty.
“Do you enjoy being late, Rose 76GF?” he snapped.
Again she turned toward his voice, but only found an empty hallway.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I am in my office, but I can see you.” His voice sounded no less annoyed as he answered.
Her shaking hands pressed into her sides. “Can you always see me? Can you see me when I am in my room?”
“Of course not. What kind of person do you think I am?” He sounded shocked.
Alainn closed her eyes. “I am sorry for being late and if what I said offended you. I know very little of human behavior, and I meant nothing by my question.”
“Walk down the hallway to your left,” he said.
Alainn turned, following the hallway until it emptied out into the entertainment room she passed daily.
“This area is for your private use. Cross to the coffee table.”
She walked around the white plush couches and stopped beside the coffee table. “Here?”
“Now pick up that remote.”
Alainn reached down, grabbing a long, thin remote. There was only one button on the remote, so she pressed it.
The room went black.
“What did you do? Not that remote!” he snapped.
Neon lights flashed across the room as some sort of disco ball lowered from the ceiling. Alainn jumped as music blared to life—some oldies disco song she didn’t know.
“Can you turn that off?” he said in a loud voice.
Before Alainn managed to press the button, the lights flashed on and music fell silent. Maybe it was the tension, or just the absurdity of there being a disco-party button in her own personal entertainment room, but a laugh burst from her lips. Her hand flew up to cover her lips as she tried to force the laugh back inside, but another laugh forced its way through her fingers.
“I did not know you could laugh.” His voice had lost all trace of anger, but his words made all mirth dissipate in her.
Alainn cleared her throat. “I have—learned to laugh.”
He paused before saying, “Good. Pick up the third remote to your left, the one with many buttons.”
She rushed to obey. This remote did have quite a few buttons, more buttons than Alainn had ever seen on a remote before. She pressed one of the buttons that seemed likely to be the power button.
“If you like movies, you can watch any one that you like. You can simply say the words, or if you prefer the traditional experience, you need only to press the—” He was interrupted by a loud beeping. “Rose 76GF, please stop pressing buttons I don’t tell you to press.”
“Oops, sorry,” she said, pressing the same button again. The beeping stopped.
He sighed. “It’s fine. Just speak the commands or . . . press the green rectangular button.”
It lit up a huge screen that spanned the wall. Mr. Garbhan walked Alainn through how to find movies. He had access to every movie she could think of. He wasn’t even streaming it. He taught her the different entertainment functions of the room, including how to release the balls to the pool table, which on closer inspection, Alainn found wasn’t actually a true table, but rather a holographic one.
She was pushing the holographic balls around with her hand when Mr. Garbhan cleared his throat. “We need to move on now. I have very little time to squander watching you play with balls.”
Another laugh burst out of her. The humor was horribly inappropriate—middle school at best—but Alainn’s insides were wound so tight she literally couldn’t control herself. Her hand clapped over her mouth again.
“You do not need to cover your mouth when you laugh. It is not like a cough,” Mr. Garbhan said.
As she lowered her hand, Alainn couldn’t help noticing that Mr. Garbhan explaining that to a robot was strangely kind in a way. “Okay, I won’t cover my mouth.”
“Please walk to the elevator now, the same one you take to dinner.”
“I . . . take the stairs; I prefer the stairs.” Obviously, there was a lot Voice wasn’t reporting to Mr. Garbhan.
“Why?” he asked.
That was a very good question, one that Alainn had no idea how to answer.
Why would a robot ever prefer the stairs? Absolutely not one good reason in the world.
“I do not know why—but I prefer the stairs.”
“There are a lot of stairs.” He sounded like he was thinking about it. “Yes, fine. But be as quick about it as you can. I want you to go down three flights.”
She relished going down the three flights, even at a jog in a satin dress. Fancy-ass satin dresses were all she could choose—that was all her closet seemed to contain. The clothing she came in with had never been returned. Thankfully, this didn’t cause her to be out of breath—yet. If she continued not exercising much daily, any physical effort would wind her soon.
At the bottom of the stairs, she came out onto an open gallery. Romanesque pillars lined a banister that separated the balcony from a great, open space. Underneath, the room was dark—she couldn’t see the details.
“Go to your right, Rose 76GF.”
Alainn looked toward his voice. “Could we come up with another name for me?” Unease ran through her body at hearing the name, every single time.
“What would you like to be called?”
What she would like to be called was her own name, but obviously that was out. Alainn considered her middle name, Ciarra, but if he’d done any research on her family, it might tip him off. So that was out, too. Finally, she just said, “What name would you pick for me?”
“I wouldn’t know.” He paused. “Go to the right, please; we are running low on time.”
Following the path he directed, Alainn walked under an archway and through French doors.
>
She gasped as she stepped onto a large stone balcony. The view was high above the city, looking down on towers and churches. From this direction, Alainn could see the fog feeding through the bridges over the bay. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.
“You like the view?”
She nodded.
“You can use this room as often as you like. Any room below your floor is for your use.”
“Thank you.”
Her feet moved to the edge as the breeze pressed against her cheeks. It was a light breeze, a gentle brush of air. Something about it wasn’t quite right, though. Alainn reached forward off the balcony, and her fingers touched something solid. Breathing in sharply, she pulled her hand back, using all her concentration to keep the disappointment off her face.
He did say “room” . . .
“We must go if . . . Jade?”
She looked back, brow furrowing. “Sorry?”
“Jade. That is a name I have always liked—but you don’t need to take it.”
“Jade is very nice.”
And Jade wasn’t Rose 76GF, so it was definitely an improvement to Alainn.
“You don’t need to take that name,” he said, gruffly. “I need to stop the tour now. I have things to do—important things.”
“Oh—okay.” She nodded.
He was silent for almost a minute. “I’ll see you at dinner. Do not be late.”
“Okay,” she repeated, feeling a little like a robot.
“Would you like me to finish your tour, Rose 76GF?” Voice asked.
“Can Mr. Garbhan still hear me?”
“No, Rose 7—”
“Can you call me Jade, please?”
“Yes . . . Jade. Would you like me to give you verbal directions from here, Jade?”
“No.”
“Would you like me to direct you back to your room?”
“No, I’d like to pretend I’m alone.”
Voice didn’t return, and Alainn pretended she actually was gone.
Now that she had left her rooms, she couldn’t force herself to return. Yet the appeal of this room had lessened drastically the moment her fingers had connected with the screen.
As Alainn walked through the halls, following her path back, she noticed something she hadn’t on the way down. Every few feet, large paintings looked out from heavy gilded frames.
Alainn wondered how she could have walked by so obliviously—or did they just pop onto the wall?
Slowly, she reached toward a giant canvas of a woman sitting at a small table. Her golden hair spilled to the side as she smiled at a little girl who was climbing into her lap. Lifting a hand, Alainn reached for the frame, but paused before touching it. She knew what would meet her fingers—a smooth, hard screen. Her hand dropped.
“I can change the art if you would like . . . Jade.”
“That’s okay,” she said.
“A tablet for reading books has been delivered to your room with access to all books that have been digitized.”
Alainn nodded. “Is there anything real in here?”
“Real?”
“I don’t know—a plant, a table made of wood, a deck of cards?”
“The food is real. The bedding and couches are real. Your clothing and toiletries are real. Mr. Garbhan is . . . real. The—”
“I’m sorry; it’s fine.” Alainn knew she shouldn’t be asking such questions. Her sentence here might only last two more days, and then Mr. Garbhan could really be surrounded with nothing but robots and television screens.
Her regular afternoon headache pounded between her ears. Two more days with only one meal a day would have to be her limit. If Alainn was here any longer, she would either need to make up some really far-fetched excuse for wanting three square meals—or risk discovery by stealing food from wherever it came from.
10
December 9, 2026
The candle had almost snuck halfway between them by the seventh day.
Alainn sat across from Mr. Garbhan at dinner again. This time, they ate a steak dinner almost large enough to satisfy her hunger. All through dinner, Alainn had tried in vain to squint enough to see him across the table, but it had not worked. He was still too deep in the shadows.
The seventh day had come and now was almost gone. She had spent most of the day wandering the tower, the disc wedged in her bra, hoping that she was accessible enough for Rose to get her out.
Alainn needed to get out.
The screaming came almost every night. Horrid, ragged screams. They diminished to faint echoes by the time they traveled through the vents to her ear, but they were only more haunting that way. After two more nights of waking up and listening to the screaming, Alainn was almost positive it had to be Mr. Garbhan.
Why did he scream like that? Why would anyone scream like that every single night? She just couldn’t understand it. Was he completely insane? Was he torturing himself physically?
Alainn needed to escape.
The screaming and the near-constant headaches from only having three to five hundred calories a day . . . she wanted today to be her last day. But dinner was coming to an end, and Alainn knew that, in minutes, Mr. Garbhan would order that she be locked in her room again.
“You seem to be taking to eating,” Mr. Garbhan said. “You actually seemed to be enjoying that steak.”
Shit.
Alainn was so hungry and anxious she’d probably drooled all over the plate.
It was official.
Rose needed to get her out of there or she was going to blow her cover in a big way, much likely sooner than later. “I find . . . that I enjoy eating quite a bit,” Alainn said, carefully. “I’d like to be more like a human.”
“You are already very like a human,” he said in a quiet voice. His shadow began to move, something that Alainn noticed he did every time he was about to dismiss her.
“Could we stay awhile?” she asked.
He straightened up. “Stay?”
Alainn took a deep inhale but it didn’t manage to steady her. “Could we—play a game?”
He paused, but then said, “No.”
They sat there, staring across the table at each other—him seeing her, Alainn seeing only a vague outline.
“All right.” She nodded.
“I-I have a standing appointment after our dinners,” he said, slowly. “Perhaps . . . perhaps we could play a game before dinner tomorrow. What games do you know?”
Alainn shook her head and lied, “Not many.”
“I will teach you some. We will meet at five o’clock instead for dinner so that we may play after dinner.”
Great . . .
Alainn had somehow arranged for them to extend these awkward encounters.
He continued, “But for tonight, I must ask that you return to your room.”
As she couldn’t think of a single excuse to further extend the evening, Alainn stood and whispered, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight . . . Jade,” he said.
The sun set as she descended the stairs toward where the lights of the city blinked up. Alainn wished that the corridor would never end. Yet, all too soon, she was back on her floor.
Strangely, Alainn found the usual passageway blocked. She pressed on the wall that usually slid open for her, but it felt like a solid, wooden wall.
“Voice?” she whispered.
There was no response.
“Voice!”
Nothing.
Slowly, Alainn took in the stairwell, finding that the sunset and twinkling lights were still her only company. Her hand came up to the small, hard disc that pressed into her right breast. Feet making a soft swish-swish, Alainn treaded as softly as she could around the next landing—only to find another solid wall.
Her hands came forward, tracing the inlaid surface. It was as smooth and solid as any wall she had found in this tower. It seemed like it had always been there, blocking one stairwell from the next, but she knew it hadn’t. She felt to its edge, and then
back along the wall to the still-solid space where the doorway to her floor usually stood open.
Alainn’s hand felt around, but found no break in the smooth surface. “Where am I supposed to go?”
Suddenly, light filled the stairwell, casting a severe shadow of her on the wall. Alainn spun around, finding the ceiling now had lines of inset lights where a few seconds ago smooth wood had stretched unbroken.
“I guess it’s that way,” she answered herself.
Slowly, Alainn retook the path up the stairs. Beside her, her semitransparent reflection climbed along. At each landing, she found a closed wall—until she reached the dining room she had just left. To one side, the stairwell ended abruptly, to the other, the dark entrance to the dining room waited.
The lights behind Alainn vanished, leaving her in darkness.
“Rose?” she whispered.
But if Rose was somehow orchestrating this, she didn’t see fit to respond.
Adrenaline pumped through Alainn’s veins—the same adrenaline that led her to fly down mountains in a snowstorm in a rescue, that kept her going when she led twelve teenagers through a dangerous pass. Both those seemed easy in comparison to the task of climbing up these stairs, here and now.
Her breaths came short and quick as she took one more step fully into the dining room.
The darkness was absolute, a heavy blanket on all her senses. All Alainn had was the sound of her breath—a terrified, even rhythm. Alainn was wrong. Rose wasn’t saving her; she was playing a game. Alainn wouldn’t be her mouse.
She began to spin back to the hallway.
Alainn decided that if she had to spend the night in the hallway, then so be it. As she turned, a long line of light broke the darkness on the far side of the dining room.
Stilling, she glued her eyes to that line of light.
Nope. The answer to that was a big fat nope.
She turned once more to the stairwell and found . . . nothing. It was gone. The stairwell was gone.
Alainn took the few steps back toward it, outstretching her hand. She hit a smooth, solid surface again.
Once more, Alainn spun back to see that the line of light had stayed.
At least Rose was being loud and clear about where to go.
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