13 — The Attempt
Daelus sat on the bed while I sank into my corner seat. We were in my apartment. I rarely brought Daelus here — this space was mine and his presence felt off — but tonight I felt like I needed him close by.
There was a window near me. The view remained nothing to speak of — just a sea of bricks. I normally kept it closed to block out the sounds and smells of the city, but it was raining tonight. I liked the sound and smell of rain.
How long had I been doing this? Time was growing blurry for me. It had been late summer that first day at the museum, and now the long winter was being washed away by endless rainy days. Before that had been many long months of practice and preparation. So, it had been a bit over a year, in total. Why did it feel like a lifetime?
It had been a time of surprising joy. I would lose myself into just being
Sheam
for days at a time. As her, I was constantly surprised by my comfort — my
confidence
. I realized how much I had been holding back for my entire life. My posture, my gestures, my facial expressions, tone of voice, my choice of words — it was all suddenly
unrestrained
. I didn’t need to constantly monitor my behavior anymore. I could just
be
.
There were things I could now
admit
to liking, like the way the sunlight broke into a prism when shining through glass, and things I could
proudly
profess to liking, like the sight of someone picking a wildflower and putting it into their hair. Why had I kept those thoughts so bottled up before? Why did I suddenly feel so free to express them now, to anyone who would listen?
I also felt unburdened by the yolk of the delegation. I wasn't Daelus Thresh, delegate. I was Sheam, an ordinary woman, living an ordinary life. I played by their rules as a means of survival, but no longer felt like I owed them my allegiance or respect. I felt free to give them neither.
I had begun to feel like I only made sense when I was Sheam. My tastes, what made me happy, what made me anxious or uncomfortable, what made me excited or proud, all felt genuine as Sheam. My life as Daelus had begun to feel like one never–ending charade. Everything was measured. Everything was calculated. All aspects of my being were meted out to myself in closely observed moderation.
I didn’t want to live that way anymore. I wanted to live with
abandon
.
And yet, I was exhausted. Living as two people at once was taking a toll on my body and mind — one I didn’t know how to survive. There had been times when I had collapsed, unaware of how far beyond my limit I had pushed myself. I would then need to find a secluded place, and de-manifest.
I’d have to become
him
again. My personality would need to go back into its little box. But, it wouldn’t fit anymore. I’d need to shove it, cram it, carve away parts of it, hack it down to size — I needed to
make
it fit. Each time I did that, I was terrified. Could it all grow back? The next time I was Sheam, would I feel it all again?
It always would, and it always did.
I was thumbing through the worn, dog-eared and torn notebook that had once belonged to Randall. It was a detailed recounting of his process with Jaegré. My
banned
book. I had devoured it — memorized it. All of the techniques developed over years were second nature to me now.
But the book was
empty
. It was clinical. As much as it taught me, there was nothing here about how Randall felt about Jaegré. What was their actual relationship? Maybe he felt it was too private? Maybe he didn't know? Maybe he didn't
care
?
And yet, Jaegré continued to exist after the death — the murder — of his delegate. Had the entourage somehow emergently manifested a consciousness and will of his own? Did something else happen that I couldn't yet conceive?
I knew what I wanted to believe. I wanted Randall to have transferred himself completely into Jaegré. Then he made it seem like a murder, and ran away to start a new life.
There was no evidence of that in the journal. Much to my disappointment, Jaegré seemed to be merely an expertly designed entourage. He was a machine gone haywire.
I remembered so clearly the second time I had slipped into this body. I had practiced for weeks simply in its projection by then. Thanks to the journal, it had become so detailed — so flush with nuance. I had obsessed in its perfection.
But I knew I had been hesitating. The first time, on my first night in this world, inhabiting the body had terrified me. I had been using my desire for it to be perfect as a way to avoid facing that terror.
It had haunted me. Ever since that first time I had never been able to stop thinking about it. I had tried to lie to myself a few times, saying I was going to use the journal to become an expert at the ability and use it the intended way. Yet, I had never believed those lies for an instant. I knew what I had always intended to do.
On realizing that, I steeled myself, and
went
for it.
I remembered looking out through these eyes, at my old self. I remembered seeing my new body with my old eyes. In a moment the sensation became no different from staring into a mirror. My sense of self in the old body melted away and all I was left with was the overwhelming joy of seeing
myself
in
these
eyes.
My heart had raced. I felt my body flush with warmth. I trembled. I touched my face, surprised to feel the sensation in both my fingertips and my cheeks, all while
watching
myself doing it. It had startled me so.
The startle hadn't come from any aspect of the entourage projection or inhabitant process. It was simply how
natural
it all felt.
A year, to live like this — so close to being able to exist as myself, and yet trapped as someone else.
I tossed the book back into my single uneven, wooden table. It was probably going to collapse at any moment from the stacks of binders I brought home with me from the museum. I
often
brought my work home.
I looked at Daelus. As him, I looked back at myself. Our eyes met, locked together. It was just like it had been during that second try, only we now both looked like we had the weight of the entire world pushing down on us.
I wondered what would happen if that body died while I was being Sheam. Jaegré lived on. Would I? Could I?
I could find out. It would be so easy. There were pillows. Did I have the strength to go through with it?
The thought then quickly turned my stomach. As much revulsion as I progressively felt for that form, I knew I couldn't bring myself to harm it.
Still, I wondered how it would feel to fully pull myself away — to empty that body of everything that made myself
me
.
What if I just…
tried
it. What if it had never been done before, but it
could
be.
The idea was so simple in my head. It was crystal clear. I knew exactly how to
un-be
myself, and fully transfer my consciousness back into Daelus. It was an effort as simple as closing my eyes. Why not, then, the
other
direction?
He'd pop out of existence just as I would when he turned me off. Then there'd just be me.
Only
me. Only
Sheam
.
I got out of my chair and sat down on the bed close beside him. As him, I leaned close to me. I put an arm around him, and as him I put an arm around me. Our heads touched. I held myself close, and I held myself closer still.
I thought. I willed it. I focused on the
intention
. At any moment he'd just disappear and I'd be left, alone on my bed, in my flat,
just
me.
I was afraid.
What if in the moment he vanished, whatever it was that made me
real
vanished with him? What if in wishing for this, I unmade myself? What if it was impossible?
What if I was
okay
with being unmade? What if I’d prefer
not
existing, over not being able to be
Sheam
?
No. I pushed the thought away. I was losing my mind. It was just a foolish dream.
We ended our embrace. I had him get up.
I pushed myself back into that little space, contained entirely within him, that was now far too small for all of me. It felt like an act of violence.
Daelus looked back at Sheam, sitting there on the bed. The two of them could no longer make eye contact. He wouldn't let himself.
He couldn't bear to see her dead, empty eyes.
It wasn't just her eyes. The entire world seemed somehow dull and lifeless when viewed from Daelus' body. The color of everything was muted. Music felt thin and hollow. Food was merely sustenance. Scents stirred no feelings within.
Something inside him ached. It was a feeling that filled his entire self. His skin tingled with it. His head turned. He was dizzy. It was
unbearable
.
With a thought, she de-manifested. The impression her weight had left on the bed took an instant to fill back in. Then it was like she had never been there at all.
Daelus locked up, and began the journey back to his estate.
He'd be her again tomorrow.