A own door led to a staircase and up to her room. In her room was a bed, a wash basin, a toilet and a computer. She loved her time in the fresh air. Short as it was, it gave her the chance to feel the sun cover and caress her skin, to look at clouds in their ever-changing shapes and at the deep blue of the sky. Sometimes, in the summer months, she lay on the grass staring at that blue and losing herself in something like a memory. 

Heat. Even in winter this strange place in her mind felt warm and pleasant. The ground was dust and gravel, and the grass was scorched yellow, but the scent was magical. Here she was not yet a woman of sixteen, she was a little girl. She sat beneath an old oak, its arms reaching out for metres over dozens of children like a protective roof. They ate tangerines and heard an old man from the village tell stories and sing songs. They danced. They laughed. In this place Celeste remained, sleepy. A contented sigh came singing from her soul, but fifteen minutes is not long enough for true contentment and so, as the work bell rang, she rose from the ground, leaving the memory behind.

Celeste didn’t resent the computer. It was neither friend nor foe. It was a tool. With this tool she did what she was born to do; she saved the world. 

For as long as she could remember she sat each day typing numbers from a code sheet. She wasn’t sure exactly how her number work saved the world, but Mother assured her it did. Mother also promised Celeste that one day, when her work was done, the world would be a safe place for her to visit. She received a pile of new code sheets every morning when Mother brought breakfast. Usually there were around one hundred, sometimes more, sometimes less. If she managed to complete her work she was rewarded with an extra fifteen minutes outside, in the evening. Then she could experience the magic of sunset. Every day of her life, as far as she remembered, was the same. She wasn’t unhappy, she didn’t long for anything beyond it. She didn’t know anything beyond it. She had her time in the garden, she had her memory world, and she felt safe in her life. Secure and protected by the walls around her, but one word changed everything.

Hello.

Celeste didn’t write it, and yet there it was, on the screen. She stared at it for a few heartbeats. She was confused but accepted its sudden appearance as explainable. Perhaps she had written it after all. She often did things she forgot about, like the violent outbursts she subjected Mother to. She never remembered these episodes, but Mother assured her they happened.

Are you there?

This time the words appeared, letter by letter, as she stared at the screen, her hands firmly on her knees. She pushed with her feet and the chair wheeled backwards towards her bed. She knew something must be wrong with the computer; it was a machine; it couldn’t communicate on its own. Still, as she got up from the chair and walked back to the desk it appeared to be doing just that.

I can see you.

She shivered. Her heart beating harder and faster; she felt as though there was a bird trapped in her ribcage, trying to find a way out. The feeling overwhelmed her and the urge to scream fluttered, faster and faster inside her until it reached the point of no return. This scream brought Mother rushing into the room.

‘What is going on?’ She asked, her white face like chalk against the blackness of her veil and gown. She was alarmed as Celeste dived towards her for an embrace.

‘Mother! Thank you, thank you for coming. I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, dear Celeste. There is no reason to be afraid,’ replied Mother, placing her hands gently under Celeste’s chin, ‘come, sit on the bed. Now, dear, I cannot stay long, I must go out for a little while.’

‘No! Please don’t leave. It’s the computer. It’s talking to me.’

‘Yes, yes darling. The computer. Hush now,’ Mother replied. ‘Lay down, you need a little rest, you can continue with your codes tomorrow.’ It was at this moment Celeste felt the bird in her ribcage again and she began to scream.

‘Mother. Listen to me, please. It is the computer.’ She could feel her body entering a state of panic; her arms were waving, and her legs were kicking up and down. Suddenly she remembered being in this state before. She also remembered what came next. Mother’s grip tightened around her arm. Then the sharp burn as the needle pierced the skin. She felt her body slump onto the bed. Her eyelids performed a series of prolonged blinks through which she saw Mother leave the room. Then, blackness.

When she woke, she realised two things. First, there was more text on the screen. Second, that she’d remembered to look at the computer at all. And then she remembered more; Mother’s hand, the needle, the sleep. She looked down at her arm and saw only one needle mark. She’d been given one injection, for sleep. At the moment of injection, as with every other time it had happened, Celeste remembered all the other times it had happened, but whenever she woke previously the memories had gone. Not this time. In her haste to leave, Mother must have forgotten to give the second injection, the one that made her forget. The meaning of all of this was dawning on Celeste so powerfully she almost forgot about the computer. More text appeared.

Will you talk with me? I have an important message for you.

Celeste ran over, pulling her chair back to the workstation. She sat, back straight, head forward, her fingers moving towards the keys.

‘Who are you?’ she typed.

I am Albrecht.

‘Are you in the computer?’

I am not. How many girls are in the building?

‘In which building?’

In your tower. How many girls besides you are in there?

‘There are no other girls.’ Celeste was confused by this strange new questioner and yet she felt compelled to respond. ‘It’s just me and Mother. We live alone.’

How long have you been in the tower? Is Mother present now?

‘Mother has gone out. She…’ Celeste was about to say Mother would be back soon. She was about to say they should wait to speak to her, but she thought about what Mother had done to her, what she had been doing for years. ‘She will be back soon. Please get me out.’ No sooner had she said this than she was caught by a gasp of realisation that life in the outside world could be even worse than the one she lived here. Did she truly want to be rescued? She didn’t even know who Albrecht was. Her mind ran away with a thousand questions and possibilities, and she let it all move around in her heart until she realised, she knew just as little about Mother.

What is your name?

‘My name is Celeste. Is the outside as evil as Mother said?’

Celeste, we can help you get out but you must listen to everything I say.

‘Please, answer me. Is the world outside evil? Will I be safe?’

I will not lie to you. This world is cold, dark and yes, evil. You would not survive a single day out here. Nor would I. Not alone. But there are more worlds.  My team and I are not from here, and neither are you. We can get you home.

‘Home?’ Celeste asked, ‘what does that mean?’

What is the earliest thing you remember?

‘I’ve always been here. I don’t remember anything else. All I remember is sitting here, typing numbers. I remember my breaks in the garden. I remember my imaginings.’ She froze, staring at the keyboard, suddenly overtaken by a deep realisation. ‘I remember my memories, the tree, the tangerines, the warm sun. I remember being a little girl.’

Listen very carefully, Celeste. I can see one line of windows coming down the outside of the tower. Do you know where in the building those windows are?

‘Yes, they are near the staircase, there’s one on each level.’

Are you able to leave your room? Is your door unlocked?

‘Yes, the door is never locked, but I am not allowed to leave until my break.’

These rules do not apply anymore. We are getting you out. I need you to cut off a length of your hair. Then go to the nearest window and drop the hair out. With this hair I can get you out.

‘But how? When? What if Mother comes back?’

The building is surrounded. She will not enter, but time is limited. My team can only stay for a short period. Please. Can you do it?

‘Yes,’ Celeste used her dinner knife to cut through a length of her long plait and did exactly what Albrecht instructed. She ran back to her room. ‘I did it. Did you get the hair?’

Yes, we got it. Give us a moment and we will have you out of there. Our machine will use the hair to isolate your essence and then we can connect our signal to you, and you will be transported. It won’t hurt. The signal will connect more easily if you stand close to the window again, which means our conversation will be finished. Safe journey.

‘Thank you,’ Celeste typed and then walked out to the staircase. She didn’t really expect it to be the end of the conversation though. She didn’t really expect to be transported anywhere. What she expected was Mother to return. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs towards her. She was terrified. Mother would be furious. But as she looked down at her hands she saw they were starting to fade from view, her whole body slowly and patchily becoming transparent, blending with the air. The footsteps were getting closer, so close now, she longed for whatever was happening to her to finish happening. To be transported. Then, in front of her on the staircase, appeared a girl; a girl about her age, a girl who looked terrified, shaking and pale. Celeste was in the sunshine, on the dusty ground beneath the tree. The old man was telling stories and singing songs. Suddenly the songs stopped, and everyone turned to look at her. An old woman came charging towards her, arms open wide.

‘My darling girl, you are home, my baby!’ She threw her arms around Celeste and the entire village erupted with joy; their lost girl was returned. But, despite the singing and the dancing and the banging of drums all Celeste could hear was the soft, frightened voice of the other girl in the tower.

‘Help me. I want to escape. Mother will be back soon.’