Chapter 2: Try To Make Some Sense Of It All

“What the fuck does that mean, Abe? If you’re trying to tell me that you’re turning over a new leaf just because you saw god or something—”

“I mean to say that Abraham Douglas died in an alley approximately…” It looked at the car’s clock. “Five hours ago. I’m just here in his place.”

“That’s not…” Sierra rubbed her face. “I swear to god…” 

“That isn’t necessary,” Sammaël said. “It is within the realm of the reasonable for you to be suspicious of any radical changes in the behavior of someone you know. It seems Abraham was duplicitous, at times?”

“Yeah, ‘Abe was duplicitous,’ all right. Pretending you’re not him doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence either.” She parked the car and looked at the person sitting next to her with the skepticism one usually reserves for food found in the back of the fridge. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened enough for her knuckles to go white. “So you’re not Abe. Who are you, then? And this had better not be you trying some new shit.”

“I have had many names before,” it said, then looked at her for a moment. “I suspect that this answer is insufficient.” Sierra just scoffed in response. “I am as old as time itself, and have seen what exists beyond the stars. I’ve swallowed stars whole, and have seen the rise and fall of civilizations so large and ancient they would make your entire species seem like a fleck of dust in a blizzard.” It cocked its head. “You may call me Sammaël.”

“This is the second worst attempt at pretending you’re having a psychotic break I’ve seen out of you yet, Abe. You can do better than that.” Sierra sighed, shook her head and opened her door. “Look, if you’re going to stick to that story for a while, ‘Sammaël’, you’re coming upstairs with me, and you’re making yourself useful.”

“If that pleases you,” Sammaël said, but made no motions to open the door yet. “Can I listen to music?” Sierra gave him a look of utter confusion, then rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Yes. Yes, you can listen to music.” She slammed the door shut, and finally Sammaël stepped out of the car too. “Come on.” Sammaël followed dutifully as she led it up the steps to the apartment, and up to the third floor. The apartment was pretty small. Sammaël found, in Abraham Douglas’ memories, some explanations and reasons. A hasty break-up, a lease signed as quickly as possible, for her to get away from him. It looked around. Disregarding some boxes in a corner, the room was pretty well-furnished. The living room, kitchen and dining room were all a single space, but with enough room to not feel claustrophobic.

 Once inside, she tossed her purse and jacket onto the sofa. “Alright, suppose I humor you for a moment, and you’re some ancient star-thing, what can you do?” She shoved her hands in her pockets and leaned against her kitchen counter. “Any magic tricks? Maybe you can show me ‘your true form’ or something?”

“I could,” Sammaël said, standing in the middle of the room with its arms by its side, “but it would likely drive you mad. My full form exists in more dimensions than most sapient minds are capable of conceptualizing. And it’s currently on the far side of the moon; I’m a construct thereof. Can I listen to music?”

“I… Yes,” Sierra said, and turned the radio on. “Listen… I don’t know what’s going on with you. You’re clearly going through something. So you’re going to prove to me that this isn’t just you trying another scam or whatever. So here’s what we’re going to do. I’ve taken the day off from work to come pick your sorry ass up from the hospital, so a couple of things: One, you’re going to call insurance and get that taken care of. Two, you’re going to pay back the money you’ve taken from my wallet when you thought I wasn’t looking — I wrote it all down, don’t worry. You can do it in installments. Three, you’re going to call my parents, right here, in front of me, on speaker, and you’re apologizing to them. Are you crying?”

“Yes,” Sammaël said. “It’s the music. It… stirs something inside me.”

“Nobody cries listening to the Vengaboys!”

“It seems,” it said, wiping the tears out of its eyes, “that I do. And your demands seem reasonable. Would you prefer I introduce myself as Abraham Douglas when I speak to your parents?”

“I… Yes. Drop the ‘Douglas’.” She spun around and started the electric kettle, and grabbed a box of tea bags from the cupboard. “Still take coffee?”

“I don’t know,” Sammaël said. “I have never experienced liquid food myself.” 

“Well, ‘Abe’ was addicted to the stuff. Since I’m making tea, and you’re not Abe, you might as well have a cup of tea then, right?” She took out two cups. It pretended not to notice her looking at it out of the corner of her eye.

“That would be amenable. I’ll take whatever you think is appropriate.” It turned around the room a few times. “Do you have a phone I could use? I believe Abraham Douglas’ phone is broken.”

“Yeah, of course it is. Let’s start with my parents,” Sierra said sweetly, putting her phone on the counter, then putting it on speaker. She poured two cups of tea as the dial tone bounced off the walls of the apartment. Sammaël was content to stand in front of it patiently, though it was slightly disappointed to see her turning the radio down. 

“Hello?” a voice on the other side said. Abraham’s memory revealed it to be Sierra’s mother. “Sierra? Hello, is that you? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Sierra said, “hi, Mom. No, everything’s fine. I’m just calling because… well, you’ll never believe who I ran into today. And he has something to say to you! Is Dad there? This is for him, too.”

“Yes, of course, sweetie. Dan! Come here for a second!” There was an unintelligible second voice in the distance that gave Sammaël the distinct impression of a small animal trapped in a tin can. It kept that observation to itself. “He’s here. Well, who is it, dear?”

“Hello,” Sammaël said. “This is Abraham.” It looked at Sierra, who raised her eyebrows. “Abe,” it added. 

“What do you want?” the other voice on the line growled. Sierra’s father. He sounded upset, which Sammaël couldn’t blame him for. “If you’re looking for help with something—”

Sierra interrupted him. “No, he just wants to say something, Dad. You’ll want to hear him out.” She stepped back, one hand on her hip, and gestured at the phone. “All yours,” she said quietly.

“I am calling to apologize to you. What… I did to your daughter, both in the recent past and throughout my relationship with her, was not acceptable. I understand that this also reflects negatively on you as parents, and has, obviously, hurt you as well as hurt her.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Douglas? If you’re looking for forgiveness, you’re not getting it here.” 

“I’m not looking for forgiveness, Mister Guthrie,” Sammaël said, looking directly at Sierra. “It is my honest and sincere belief that, while an apology here will not solve any problems created by past actions, it is nonetheless necessary and something you — all of you — have a right to.”

The other side of the line was quiet for a while. “I appreciate your candor. Now, never call here again and put my daughter back on the phone. If I ever see you I’ll kick y—” There was some noise as Mrs Guthrie wrested the phone out of Mr Guthrie’s hand. 

“Yes, Mister Guthrie. The best to you and your wife.” It stepped back and looked expectantly at Sierra, who looked genuinely surprised. She stepped forward and picked up the phone. 

“Yeah. No, yeah, that was really him. I know. No, don’t worry, I won’t.” She grabbed one of the cups and handed it to Sammaël, then waved it away. 

It slowly walked around the room, trying to stay within range of the radio well enough to keep listening. Abe’s memories recognized the song currently playing, but to Sammaël, the experience was still new. And Bonnie Tyler’s Holding Out For A Hero was quickly making it feel overwhelmed, which was a completely new experience on its own.

Sammaël stepped over to the sofa and sat down. It briefly closed its eyes to listen to the music, but found it actually easier to keep them open. If its eyes were closed, there was only the music, and that was just… too much. It needed some reality to dilute the music, or it risked becoming emotional again.

In front of it was a giant television. Abraham’s memories told it that Sierra had taken it in the breakup, but that was… background information. Unimportant. What was interesting to Sammaël at that exact moment was the television’s black, reflective surface. For the first time, it saw Abraham Douglas’ face. It was not impressed. 

Sammaël cocked its head. The figure in the reflection did too. Abraham Douglas had been cultivating the feel, if not the exact look, of a used car salesman. Hair slicked back. Bags under his eyes. His handlebar mustache didn’t so much stop as it tapered off in the vague direction of his sideburns, and now that it was on Sammaël’s face, it was very much no longer desired. 

It ran its fingers across its face, feeling the tough bristles of its facial hair against the palm of its hand. The feeling was uncomfortable. It stood up and turned around. “Sierra.” She looked up from her phone just as she hung up.

“What?”

“Do you have shaving supplies I might use? This facial hair makes me uncomfortable.” Sierra stared at him for a couple of seconds. Her mouth fell open. 

“All right,” she said, standing up. “Either you’re fucking with me, or you’re genuinely really serious about being someone else, because Abe would never shave off that rat on his upper lip. I’ve got a trimmer in my bathroom, and I’ve got to see this.” 

Several minutes later, Sammaël was looking into the bathroom mirror, shaving off the offending facial hair. It fell in wads into the sink. Sierra stood in the door behind him, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe. The little radio was on the toilet, currently blaring Killer Queen, Freddie Mercury giving it his all. 

“No fucking way,” Sierra said. “I thought you’d chicken out or just… trim the sides. But you’re really just… getting rid of all of it, huh?”

“It’s physically unpleasant,” Sammaël said. “Abraham found it amenable — though I can’t say why — but I will not.” It looked at Sierra. “Should have found myself a body like yours.”

Sierra raised an eyebrow like that. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean to say that the form you are in has fewer anatomical quirks that keep it from enjoying music the way this one does. The facial hair, for example, is… distracting. It feels wrong, and I do not know why Abraham put up with it.” 

“You’re… really different, aren’t you?” 

“I would hope so,” Sammaël said. “Abraham Douglas seems like he was a thoroughly unpleasant individual who got in his own way as much as he did other people. If I’m to… be here a while, I would like to find a way to undo some of that damage.” It didn’t mention that it wished to do so because not doing so would mean people getting into the way of it listening to music. 

“Well… As long as none of this manages to blow up in your face in a way that fucks me over… Abe owes me. Or… owed me, I guess. So I’m going to — tentatively — be around to observe what you do next.” 

Sammaël washed the hair down the drain, put the trimmer aside, then turned around. It ran a hand across its jaw. “This is still too rough. Deeply unpleasant. Do you have a razor?” For the first time in her life, Sierra guffawed.

Elamimax

God I love writing this lil weirdo