Chapter 5: Hear The Jazz Go Down

 

Sierra sipped her tea, looking intently at Sammaël over the rim of the mug. It held its own mug in its hands, glancing up at her occasionally, unsure about what to do, an experience it was getting uncomfortably familiar with. 

“Genuinely, Sammaël, I’m impressed,” she finally said when she put the mug down. “I hadn’t expected you to come to your conclusion about being trans without having encountered it before. Almost as impressed with you of all people not knowing about and having an opinion about trans people.”

Sammaël looked through Abraham’s memories, but there was no real mention of the word saved in there, other than the occasional muttering from an unobserved television. “It seems the feeling was too… present to ignore,” it finally said. “Even if I didn’t have the words to describe it.” Sierra walked forward and put a hand on its shoulder.

“Well, I can’t say you’re, like, forgiven for all the shit you pulled,” she continued, “but I feel like I can trust you when it comes to this. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m just… inclined to believe you, Sam— Actually, can I call you Sam? Sammaël is a bit of a mouthful, and it has a kind of… biblical feel to it.”

“Thank you,” Sammaël said, “and… yes, of course. Sam.” It rolled the name over in its mouth like a dissolving pill. “Sam. I like that, I think.”

“Nice. Alright, Sam, do you know what to do next?” Sierra asked as she walked around the room, tapping something into her phone. “Because I only have a tangential idea.”

“I can not say I do,” Sammaël said. “Although I presume altering the state of my body is something that should be within my capabilities.” It thought back to the changes it had made to its eyes. It should be possible to do something like that to the rest of the body, shouldn’t it? It just had to figure out how.

“Not on your own, you’re not,” Sierra said to Sammaël’s surprise. “I’m not letting you self-medicate without supervision. You’ve gone down that road before and we know what lies at the end of it.” She gave it a sideways glance, then held up her phone. “Anyway, this thread on Reddit says that experimenting with pronouns and gender expression is a good way to get started. What do you think?”

Tempted as it was to respond “More than you could possibly imagine,” Sammaël felt like that wasn’t going meaningfully advance the conversation. “Pronouns sound interesting,” it said. “Can you elaborate?”

“Well, right now, I used male pronouns for you, right?” Sierra said. “When people talk about you, they say, like ‘Oh, Douglas, he’s an insufferable prick,’ or ‘Oh, yeah, that’s not his bottle of wine, he just took that from our liquor cabinet.’ You know, stuff like—”

“I see,” Sammaël interrupted, and it became acutely aware of a new physical sensation. Its chest felt tight, and there was a strange heat permeating throughout its upper body, spreading to its cheeks. “That isn’t how I think about myself,” it said. “Definitely not with those pronouns.” 

It thought for a minute. Gendered pronouns were a novel concept. On the one hand, it had been happy to think of itself as a being beyond personhood, beyond space, time, conception and as a result, beyond gender. But it was being drawn inexplicably towards one of them, at least. 

“Well,” Sierra said, “how do you think about yourself? What pronouns would you like me and others to use when we’re talking about you?” She looked back down at her phone. “Jesus, there’s loads. I don’t even know how to pronounce some of these. But yeah, what are you thinking? Girl? Girl-adjacent? Neither boy nor girl?” 

“I am… unsure,” Sammaël said, mulling the idea over in its head. “Can we come back to that later? I need to think. What about the other thing? Gender expression?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Sierra said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you. Anyway, uh, gender expression is changing your appearance in some way or another to be more in line with the gender you feel you might be. I think. Hold on.” She scrolled a bit more, frowning.

“Such as shaving?” Sammaël offered. Sierra looked up and pointed. 

“Exactly. Like shaving. You can do that, if you like. There’s shaving supplies in the bathroom if you like.” Sammaël looked over at the bathroom door and frowned. On the one hand, it wanted quite strongly to be rid of the facial hair, but on the other hand, that hadn’t gone very well last time. 

“I… Yes,” it said, “although perhaps you should take a shower first.” Sierra looked at it with a mixture of shock, confusion, and annoyance.

“Wow, okay, you spent the night in the hospital after passing out in an alley, I’m not sure you should be the one to tell me to take a shower, buddy,” she said. 

“No, no,” Sammaël said quickly, realizing how what it had said would come off without context. It was going to have to do something it was rapidly gaining experience with: lie. “It is only that I’ve seen you look at the bathroom door a few times, and with all the stress associated with Ab— with me, I understand that a hot shower could be a good way to wash some of that off.”

“Oh… Well, you’re not wrong,” Sierra said, “I had been thinking about it. Alright, fine, I’ll see you in just a little bit.” She took a few steps to the bathroom. “This isn’t a ploy to get me out of the room, is it, Sam?” She leaned on the back of the sofa. “I really want to believe you, here, but if this turns out to be one of your…”

“It isn’t,” Sammaël said, enjoying the way she said its name, even when she wasn’t trusting it.  “Could I turn the radio on?” Sierra smiled slightly. 

“Yeah,” she said, “you can. I’ll see you in just a bit.” After a minute, the sound of running water came from behind the closed bathroom door, and Sammaël sat down on the sofa again, looking at its reflection in the dormant television. 

Gender expression. What a concept. What would this body look like with feminine gender expression? Without Sammaël’s help, would it even be worth trying? It knew what Abraham Douglas’ face looked like without facial hair, but it still looked… wrong, somehow. It imagined the body in the reflection wearing Sierra’s clothing, and immediately it recoiled, without knowing why. It felt almost… profane to think about that way. But the thought of seeing someone like Sierra in the reflection on the other hand, made it feel that heat on its face again. This time without the tightness in the chest. 

“Sam,” it said to itself, mulling it over. “Abraham. He. Sammaël. It. Sam. She.” It frowned. Why was this hard? Why did it even care? It was supposed to be an all-powerful dimensionless entity beyond human comprehension, it shouldn’t be having trouble with grammar. Also, it needed to find a way to explain to Sierra what it was, because pretending it was just Abraham Douglas with some self-reflection wasn’t sustainable. It considered doing the eye-thing again, but thought better of it. 

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Perhaps there was another way. Its ability to change the color of its eyes proved that it was able to affect reality on a local level, and there was also its ability to alter the flow of time, even if its grasp thereof was a little tenuous at the moment. There had to be something, right?

As it pondered, it started to pace around the room, and realized it had barely been listening to the music, and that was frustrating it, too. It was here to listen to music. Music was the whole point of this experiment, and now its confusion about its identity and desire to make Sierra less uncomfortable with it was taking up so much mental real estate it wasn’t even able to get that done. 

“Hrmf,” it said and shoved its hands in its pockets. That seemed to make it feel a little better, even if it couldn’t put its finger on why that was. Looking out the window, it ignored the faint outline of its own reflection in the glass. This whole human thing was proving to be a lot more complicated than it was anticipating. 

“You okay?” Sierra asked, drying her hair. Sammaël nodded as it turned around. “You can use the bathroom if you want,” she continued, already dressed. 

One unpleasant shaving experience later, and Sammaël stepped out of the bathroom, running its hand across its throat, and jawline, continuously finding imperfections, a signature rasping feeling that made it want to peel off its face entirely and start over from scratch. If it had been in its full form and ability, that would have been a piece of cake.

But that was neither here nor there at the moment. Doing its best not to focus on that particular feeling anymore, it approached Sierra, who was swiping away on her phone in the recliner. “Sierra,” it said. She opened her mouth in response, but it took her a second to respond. Sammaël assumed it was because she was still getting used to the new name. The pause was short, and would have meant nothing in any other context, but it could tell what was happening. 

“Sam,” she said, “what’s up? What’s next? Have you had some time to think?”

“I have,” Sammaël said. “But first I think there is something we… that I need to get out of the way.” It sat down on the sofa across from her, and looked around to see if her purse was nearby. Just in case. “I am aware I’ll be asking a lot of you, but please, bear with me and keep an open mind. You have already shown a great capacity to do so, but I am asking for just a bit more.”

Sierra put her phone down and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and nodded. “Okay. I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but let’s hear it.”

Sammaël felt anxious. It was apprehensive about having to go through this again, sure, and ideally it would like to avoid being stabbed again, but it also wanted to do right by Sierra. It wanted to be honest with her, and maybe help her move on from what was done by Abraham. Not to think that it was the same person as the man she had once loved. 

But to get that right, it had to tread carefully. Sierra was an open-minded person, but of all the people in the world, the one she was most mistrustful and skeptical towards now sat across from her. Or at least, someone who looked exactly like him. 

“We… There was a conversation, a year ago,” Sammaël said, picking its words carefully, “about extraterrestrial life and concepts like god.” Sierra took a moment but clearly remembered it, nodding. “Do you remember what you said?”

She mulled it over in her head for a second, and then responded with a smile. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy. I remember you being pretty skeptical. Why?”

“Well…” Sammaël said, “what if there was proof? How would you respond to the existence of something… higher?” It frowned. Sure, its intellect was vast, larger than the combined intelligence of every other creature in the universe, but it didn’t like thinking of itself as higher. “Or other, rather.”

“Well… I’d have a lot of questions, that’s for sure. Where are you going with this, Sam? Are you saying you’ve had some kind of… supernatural experience?” She frowned again. The skepticism was seeping in. 

“Something like that,” Sammaël said. “What if I did? What if I had proof? What if I asked you to trust me, so that I can show you?”

“Well, I’d ask you what you did to the real Abraham,” she said with a laugh, and then caught herself. “Or Sam, sorry.” 

“That’s alright,” Sammaël said, but there seemed to be something stuck in the back of its throat. “You see… I didn’t do anything to Abraham. But I was… understating when I said I wasn’t Abraham anymore.” It looked her in the eyes. “If I could present proof to you, right now, what would you say? What would you do?”

“I’d… have to take a moment to process that. What kind of proof? Much as I want to believe you, I’d like to get an idea beforehand, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Understanding,” Sammaël said. “I am not, and have never been Abraham Douglas. When I say these next few words, I need you to believe me, and I will show you.” It reached out a hand and held it open, then nodded at Sierra, who very hesitantly put hers in it. “I chose the name Sammaël, not because I didn’t want to be Abraham, but because a name was something that I have never had a need for before. I am not the person you think I am. Until recently, I may not have been a person at all.” 

If Sammaël had been anything, it had been a consciousness, maybe even the consciousness, given form. Power. Hunger. It had been a singular entity of Identity. Consciousness and perception were the foundational blocks of its entire existence. Creating an identity to live in a human body had been as easy as creating any other kind of life. 

So passing just a little bit of it on to Sierra, even in this greatly diminished form, was not nearly beyond its ability. It shared, across the physical connection of their hands, a fraction of a fraction of its identity, and braced. There was the possibility that she’d take it badly, that she’d scream or go mad, or that her brain would dribble unceremoniously out of her ears. It hoped it hadn’t overdone i—

“Oh!” Sierra said, “I felt something! How did you do that?”

Okay. It was going to have to turn it up just a little bit. Turning up the proverbial dial, Sammaël opened its identity to Sierra.

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