Ensnared

by Rita Stradling

  The second drawer snapped open.

  Glancing in, Alainn found her same piles of clothing, neatly folded.

  “Please dress yourself.”

  Alainn didn’t need any prompting.

  The clothing felt warm against her skin, as if it had just come out of the dryer. As she stepped back into her shoes, the white room began gliding upward. Her every pore tingled, yet not in an uncomfortable way. It felt like she had bathed in a vat of champagne.

  After a few long seconds of ascending, the door slid open to reveal yet another featureless, white-screen hallway.

  “Please enter the area and take a seat.”

  The hallway abruptly ended in a great room. It, too, had screens for walls and floors, and Alainn almost could not find anything to sit on—until she realized the long, stretching couches were the same gleaming white as the walls.

  As she sat, the voice said, “Please wait here.”

  Alainn waited. And she waited. She waited until her breathing became even and her heart slowed to a familiar rhythm. All too soon, she became bored.

  The room had absolutely nothing to look at. The only color in the space was her own clothing, and looking at her own lap wasn’t very interesting. The furniture that spread out before her had absolutely nothing on it—it was all just white, open space.

  And then, suddenly, a table turned to wood. It became beautiful, hand-crafted mahogany with long strips of lighter inlaid wood.

  The floor under it transformed as well, into long gleaming lines of mahogany. She looked up and through windows that looked out over the city.

  She resisted the urge to walk to the windows, though from here she could see the familiar towers jutting into the air. The bay lounged behind it all, white sails playing across its waters.

  The sun was perched fully in the sky now, though somehow it felt more distant than at sunrise. The tapping of feet yanked her attention away. A man entered the room, though he did not enter exactly. He halted in the doorway—a doorway devoid of that white light. He remained mostly in shadow.

  Alainn squinted at him, trying to see past the shadows, but she couldn’t. He stayed where he was, quiet. She felt his gaze on her.

  Her body begged to fidget, but she forced it not to. What would Rose do in this situation?

  Rose would probably go back to her computations. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t work here either.

  “You are very humanlike.” His voice was immediately recognizable as the same one Alainn had spoken to the day before.

  Because the man she assumed must be Mr. Garbhan seemed like he might be waiting for a response, Alainn asked, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Yes.” His voice came out low. Still, he didn’t move forward.

  This was getting awkward.

  Well, it started out awkward and it was already becoming more so.

  Alainn had no idea if she was supposed to say or do anything, so she just continued to sit and look at his shadowy figure.

  Eventually, Alainn couldn’t do it anymore and she turned her head back to the windows. Mist slipped by, streaming around the tower.

  Alainn glanced back to the man. “May I stand?” she asked. Her legs were tingling with the need to move.

  “Do whatever you’d like,” he said.

  Alainn’s eyebrows rose; she couldn’t help it.

  His words sounded almost courteous, which was the last thing that she’d thought would happen.

  To hide her surprise, Alainn stood and crossed over to the window.

  The thin white blanket of sea air continued to pass over the window, obscuring the view of the bay.

  “Do you . . . can you appreciate a view like this?” he asked from behind.

  Alainn hesitated. “I do appreciate it. It’s pleasing.”

  The man did not respond or come any closer.

  Somehow, with her back to him and the view to her front, Alainn had the confidence to ask, “What functions do you want me to do here? I can cook, clean, help with business—”

  “No,” he said.

  She looked back to his shadow, trying to hide the alarm from her expression. She needed to see if there was anything in him she could read.

  There wasn’t.

  “No. I don’t want you to do any of that,” he reiterated.

  “What is it that you do want me to do?” Saliva filled her mouth as she waited for his response.

  “You will have dinner with me.”

  “Dinner?” Alainn wasn’t able to hide all the surprise from her voice. Rose couldn’t eat food. This was a detail that Rose and Alainn hadn’t addressed in her mad rush to push Alainn into this. Rose didn’t eat or go to the bathroom. She recharged her biological system on a wireless charging station built into her bed.

  How was Alainn supposed to explain when he heard the toilet flushing?

  For the first time, Alainn heard the tone of the cold, unyielding man she’d spoken to yesterday. “You will come to the dining room every day at six exactly. If I am not in there, you will wait for me until I am. If I do not come, you will leave the dining room at seven.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You will not call me sir. You will call me Lorccan, or Lor.”

  “Yes, Lorccan.”

  “And you will never come out of your room at night. Ever.” This he almost yelled.

  “Yes, Lorccan,” she repeated.

  His breathing came hard from the shadows, inflating the room with an electric tension. When the room had entirely filled with it, he said, “That is all. I cannot spend any more time with you today. The first dinner will be tomorrow.” He stepped entirely out of view, moving his imposing presence away with him.

  Taking a steadying breath, Alainn called after him, “What should I do with the rest of my time?”

  “I don’t care. Just stay off the floors above this one before dinner time.” His footsteps echoed as his figure retreated, then quieted to nothing.

  6

  December 2, 2026

  Alainn walked along the glass wall, looking down to the street about two hundred feet below. The clarity of the windows at this height was almost disconcerting, but she had always enjoyed a good cliff—especially when she had a rope tied to her.

  She didn’t have a rope, and the windows didn’t have openings.

  It might’ve been a good thing.

  If she had them, she’d be rappelling down right about now.

  She didn’t know where she was going—except away from Mr. Garbhan. The hallway’s wooden floors led out in long lines, framing the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  The moment Mr. Garbhan had left her, he had taken a huge weight with him. While sitting at a table for an hour every day and not eating did sound rather annoying, worse ideas had flooded her brain in the few hours she’d spent ruminating on the worst possibilities.

  “Sex robot” was definitely perched at the top of that list. Thankfully, that looked unlikely. Unfortunately, housekeeper robot—an occupation that might have come in handy so she could sneak food—seemed to be out as well.

  “Your room is this way, Rose 76GF,” the voice said from up ahead. Another elevator door opened as she approached.

  Alainn paused. “Could I take the stairs—are there any stairs?”

  The voice spoke directly beside her, saying, “This way.”

  Farther down, another section of the wall slid away to reveal a staircase. Inlaid mahogany continued down the staircase and up the walls, ending in another floor-to-ceiling window at the landing.

  When she touched the wood, a smooth surface met her fingers. “Is this an illusion?”

  The voice made no reply.

  Alainn looked up. “Are you still there?”

  “I am always here, Rose 76GF.”

  Alainn nodded, hiding the shiver that traveled through her. Turning back to the staircase, she descended carefully.

  “Exit the staircase,” the voice told her.

  The staircase emptied out into another larg
e room. They were still probably more than twenty floors up, she and the voice. The room was cavernous—it seemed to Alainn to be some sort of entertaining room with a large television and a pool table. A gleaming bar stood to one side.

  Could she be some sort of novelty item at parties?

  “Look at the robot chick!”

  Was she a living, breathing toy Mr. Garbhan could show off to his buddies?

  The idea wasn’t as insidious as some she’d considered, but she hoped that if Mr. Garbhan planned any big parties, it would be well after she was gone.

  “Your room is this way,” the voice said, leading her from the great room into a hallway with only one door.

  It had only one door because the bedroom it led to was as big as the great room beside it. The same wood-patterned floors crisscrossed the length of the room, ending at two walls of windows. A four-poster bed big enough to fit ten of her swallowed nearly a quarter of the space. Another room was off to one side. When she entered it, unease filled her again. The entire room was a closet bustling with every color of dress. The tags cried out names of designers that even her wealthy high-school friends had only dreamed about.

  The whole situation terrified her. What was she, some life-size doll for his strange, fancy dollhouse? What was she here to play, wife or daughter? A domestic-labor robot made sense to her, but this?

  This didn’t make any sense.

  Turning to step out of the creepy closet, she found another door that led to yet another room. This room was—thank goodness—a bathroom. To her delight, it held an actual working toilet.

  That was by far the best news she had all day.

  The thought that maybe the closet, room, and bathroom had been designed for someone else comforted her.

  She could simply be inheriting it.

  Having the disembodied voice with Alainn while she used said bathroom might be a problem, however. A problem, unfortunately, for right now.

  Her bladder was at that moment jumping up to remind her that she was very much a human.

  “Your capacitive charging station is built into your bed,” said the voice.

  “Okay, thanks . . . Um, could I be alone?” Alainn cringed a little as she said the words. Rose had never once asked to be alone or for privacy. They’d had to teach Rose to seek it—and to remind her to continue to change in private.

  “Of course,” said the voice.

  After a second of silence, Alainn asked, “Are you still there?”

  Nothing.

  “If you can hear me, please say something.”

  The voice said nothing.

  Alainn waited for a full minute fighting the need to go pee, but when no response came, she went quickly and then hurried out of the bathroom. Slowly, she meandered through the room, finding a makeup vanity stocked with every possible beauty product, all European name brands. There was almost nothing else in her room but clothes and beauty products. She added one point on the “creepy” side of the tally.

  After she had thoroughly explored her room, she sat cross-legged next to the window. Mr. Garbhan hadn’t prohibited her from leaving the room or wandering through the rest of the lower floors, but she had a feeling the voice would be there if she left. So right there, right then, Alainn pretended she truly was alone.

  What would her father’s reaction be upon finding her gone? She hoped Rose would explain the situation to him in a sensitive way.

  Alainn knew, though, that whatever sensitivity programming they had written into Rose had been long since overwritten.

  Colby would probably blame their father for Alainn taking his place. Or maybe Colby wouldn’t even notice—as long as he got to keep Rose’s calculations.

  Rose might have chosen this life, if she’d known what it really had meant. She would have been able to spend all day doing her computations, only engaged for an hour a day.

  Alainn sat up straight.

  With this new information, it was possible that Rose would be willing to switch back. Mr. Garbhan had resources Rose could only dream of, and she probably wouldn’t care about creepy robot wife-or-daughter play.

  Alainn didn’t know how to contact Rose to ask her, though. It would be risky to try. But if she saw the opportunity, she’d definitely make the offer.

  She sat in the corner where the two windows met, at the edge of the world, until the building’s shadows all pointed in long lines toward the bay.

  “I have returned, Rose 76GF, to tell you that Mr. Garbhan has changed his mind about having you at dinner. Please dress and make your way to the dining room immediately.”

  “What?” Her voice came out a little shrill as Alainn turned to the source of the disembodied voice.

  “You should dress formally, wear your hair up, and put makeup on your face.”

  All right, ten more points on the “creepy” tally.

  Another ten points were tallied in when Alainn realized that all the dresses were exactly her size.

  Most were—Thank all that was holy!—rather conservative. She chose one of the most conservative among them.

  At the vanity, however, she was completely stumped. Freaked-out factor aside, she had been good in the closet. The closet was something she could handle. Doing her hair and makeup was completely something else. Her friends had nicknamed Alainn “the hippie” in high school, and since her idea of a good time was scaling a mountain, up-dos, fancy-dos—whatever they were called—weren’t even close to her specialty. Makeup was something she only put on when forced. For about six months a year, even hot water was a luxury.

  There were probably a hundred bottles. Bottles of colorful powders and creams that only someone with an MA in makeup artistry would be able to understand.

  “Please proceed with preparing your appearance and make your way to the dining room. Mr. Garbhan is waiting for you.”

  Crap on a stick.

  Alainn had no clue what to do.

  Among the beauty paraphernalia, she saw one tool she knew how to use: a hair stick. Twisting her dark hair back, she stabbed through it, trying to pin the mass to her head. As the only two pieces of makeup she ever wore were lipstick and mascara, that’s what she put on.

  She stood.

  “Please hurry. Mr. Garbhan requests your company immediately. He is growing very impatient and wishes you to make haste to the dining room.”

  The words made Alainn want to do anything but that.

  Seriously?

  He just changed his mind and decided that he wanted his robot-doll to get all dressed up and eat with him ten minutes ago. Freaky didn’t even begin to explain this.

  Quieting the voice in her head that told her to run the hell away while she still could, Alainn walked out of the room. The voice was wrong anyway. If she wanted to keep her dad out of prison, there was no possible way Alainn could run away. According to Rose, if Mr. Garbhan caught Alainn, she’d probably end up in prison as well. Objectively, it would look a lot like Alainn was faking being a robot so her father could squeeze another $1.5 million out of Mr. Garbhan. At least, that would be how the court of law would look at it.

  Alainn rushed to follow the voice, which was leading her back the way they came earlier.

  “Please run.”

  For a soothing disembodied voice, she sure managed to convey impatience.

  The route Alainn took hadn’t changed its gleaming wood design. After the voice urged her up the stairway and Alainn headed toward the landing, the voice corrected, “Please ascend one more flight of stairs.”

  Alainn did, as quickly as she could in the little heels that had been provided for her. The door to the next floor had already slid open. When she rushed out, Alainn immediately found herself in the dining room.

  Blinking in the low light, she considered that it might be the wrong dining room. One half of the room was completely dark, making it impossible for her to see. On the other half of the table, a candle sat beside a plate of food. The candle flickered gently in its holder, though no breeze moved t
hrough the room that she could tell.

  “Please sit. I have been waiting for you, and I’m hungry.” His voice came out of the darkness. Perhaps he had that disorder that made him cranky when he was hungry.

  Alainn lifted the sides of her purple satin dress and sat in a large, white throne-chair at the head of the long table. She could see just two feet up the table before the darkness transformed everything into the faintest of outlines. Perhaps ten feet into the darkness, at the end, a man sat cloaked in shadows.

  Averting her gaze, Alainn looked down to her plate. She hadn’t eaten today, not once. Yet, for some reason, perhaps the stress, she hadn’t noticed her hunger.

  She noticed it now.

  Chicken glazed with some sort of sweet sauce wafted its aromas up at her. The chicken breast squished a pile of potatoes soaking in the juices.

  “Eat,” the man said.

  Alainn glanced across into the darkness.

  Eat?

  Was this some sort of trick?

  She forced her breathing to even out.

  Did he know already? Did the voice hear the toilet flush and report it to him?

  “I cannot digest food,” Alainn told him.

  “I was assured that you could eat. That you could ingest it, then clean it out of your system by bringing the food back up.” He sounded almost angry as he said it.

  Suddenly, the working toilet in her room made a whole lot more sense.

  Maybe this was true. Alainn had never seen Rose eat, though.

  Mr. Garbhan wanting his robot to eat and then throw up the food was beyond weird. However, Alainn was smart enough to catch this big, fat, juicy bone if he was throwing it at her.

  She nodded. “That is correct.”

  “Then eat,” he said.

  Alainn lifted the fork and knife, cutting into the chicken. The tender meat burst flavors into her mouth as soon as she bit it—sweet chili, cumin, even a trace of cinnamon.

  “You like chicken?” he asked.

  Could Rose actually taste things? She had no idea. Alainn hesitated in answering, not wanting him to think she didn’t like to eat or that she appreciated something she shouldn’t be able to taste.