Chapter Text
Falling into place. That’s what it was like. Like a Tetris piece slamming into position at the bottom of the game board. Unsettling and a bit of a shock and Steven hadn’t been overcome with the feeling in weeks, not since Marc finally revealed himself and their whole delicate lifelong order had been turned upside down.
His stomach flipped at the shock. Steven was about to yell into the headspace at Marc for the sudden shift, but he blinked at the presence beside him – not expecting to see anything at all, let alone the man he shared the headspace with.
“What in bloody hell is going on?”
Marc, eyes sharp but bewildered, peered at Steven. “I don’t know.”
Steven leaned closer to his counterpart who was very much separate from him. “Marc, are we…” he swallowed hard, “are we dead again?”
Marc looked past Steven, taking in the elaborate surroundings that were drastically different from the asylum of their previous experience. “Why would we be dead in the damn museum you worked at, Steven?”
Steven clicked his tongue. “I don’t know!” He covered his face in his hand, his head reeling. The urge to accuse Marc of doing something reckless -- like getting them bloody killed again! – boiled up in him. He almost grabbed at that accusation and flung it out, but it halted on his tongue before it could go anywhere.
They’d made major progress in the weeks following the defeat of Harrow. They still had a long way to go working through their issues and being open with one another. Whatever this was, they had to figure it out together and arguing wouldn’t help matters.
Marc seemed to be channeling the same thought process. He patted Steven on the shoulder. “Let’s look around. See if we can figure this out.”
“Yeah.” Steven nodded, his nerves calmer now. “Let’s go take a look about.”
The museum appeared exactly how Steven remembered it. Every display…every exhibit…he could spill with a load of information. It gave him comfort seeing all the familiar surroundings, like visiting old friends that you didn’t realize you missed so dearly. He would have given his all for this museum. Been the most dedicated employee there – maybe even earn the position of curator one day -- if he’d been given a chance. Like the rest of his life – and Marc’s – things didn’t work out as planned for every single moment they’d resided on Earth.
They journeyed through the Ancient Egyptian exhibits. The dim lighting gave off a spooky atmosphere, and Steven involuntarily twitched as a shiver ran up his spine. The last time he’d set foot in the exhibit a ridiculously huge and muscular jackal had rampaged through trying to catch him and tear him to bits. He glanced at Marc, who was being ever vigilant. Marc carried memories of that night too, and Steven wondered if he was quietly having flashbacks.
As they made their way passed the exhibit, drawing closer to the museum’s entrance, Steven spotted something. “Oi, Marc.” Marc glanced at him, questioningly. Steven pointed to the restrooms. “Want another go at the loo?”
Marc’s eyebrows knitted together. He threw Steven a withering look. “Not now, Steven.”
Steven cracked a little smile. “I’m sure the toilets appreciate your pass.”
A disgruntled noise rumbled in Marc’s throat, and he stalked away. Steven trotted to catch up as they headed toward the front entrance of the museum. The bright night sky greeted them through the glass. The sliding glass doors stood still, refusing to allow exit. Marc assessed the doors before finally wedging his fingers between the split.
Steven watched, wide-eyed, as Marc strained, but the sliding doors refused to budge. He inched closer. “Need a hand?”
Marc glanced up at him, already exasperated by the task. He nodded and shifted to one side of the door. Steven moved into position on the other side. He counted off and on three, they pulled to the point of strain, but the doors remained locked shut. The glass rattled as Marc kicked it, letting loose a few choice words that echoed through the lobby.
“Guess we’re stuck,” Steven commented, rather gloomily.
“You think?” Marc growled. He didn’t waste any time scanning the surroundings once more.
“Hello?” They both froze at the voice that echoed through the lobby. “Boys? Can you hear me?”
It’d been several weeks since they’d heard that voice, but Steven recognized it instantly. “That sounds like…Taweret.” The voice called out again. Steven eyed the gift shop. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be Taweret. “It’s coming from there.”
“Steven, hold up!” Marc called as Steven took off. “You don’t know—”
Steven was on a mission now with Marc having to keep up. He reached the gift shop, the place he’d spent hours of his life in selling junk to tourists and dreaming of sharing all his knowledge of Ancient Egypt.
He peered around the shop, expecting the massive hippo lady to be there. “Taweret? Are you here?”
“Yes!” Tawaret’s excitement elevated. “Steven, I’m over here!”
Her voice was so close and yet she was nowhere to be found. He walked a few more steps. “Where?”
“Down here.”
Steven jumped at the proximity of her voice then looked down. He tilted his head, confused. Marc appeared by his side, following his gaze.
“Oh good! You boys found me!” the mouth of a Tawaret plushie exclaimed.
Marc heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes furiously. He began to pace. “It’s official. We’re even crazy in our dreams.”
“Oh, this is no dream, Marc,” Tawaret confirmed. “Although, you boys are unconscious, which was the only way I could get you here. But this is not a dream.”
“And, why exactly are we here?” Steven asked, taking to the talking plushie way better than Marc.
“It’s a bit of a grave reason, actually.” Tawaret’s enthusiasm waned, and an image of her hanging her head crossed Steven’s imagination, since the plushie couldn’t physically do it. “Layla is missing.”
That got Marc’s attention. Instantly, he returned to the plushie bin where Tawaret resided, concern etched deeply on his features and his posture ready to jump into action. “What do you mean Layla is missing?”
“My connection to her has been broken. Her body seems to be…dormant. I finally tracked her mind to this place, but something is keeping me from entering here to bring her back out. This toy was the only vessel I could inhabit in this realm.”
“What is this place?” Steven asked, glancing around nervously, as if it would randomly morph into a different scape. “We’re not back in the Duat, are we?”
“Oh, heaven’s no. No one is dead this time. I would have known right away if Layla had entered the Duat. No, this place is a dreamscape.”
Marc stood straight up again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re in a dreamscape but we aren’t dreaming?”
“Correct!”
“Layla is here, somewhere?” Steven asked, pointing at the floor.
“Yes.”
“How do we find her?” he continued questioning. “Why is she even here?”
“I’m not sure who, but someone brought her mind here. I suspect her body is somewhere in your world unconscious. I have great confidence that you boys can find her and bring her back. I must go now. I cannot inhabit this object for long.” Tawaret’s disappointment in leaving was evident. “Wishing you boys the best of luck!”
With that, the plushie’s mouth went still.
Steven straightened up. His mind milled over all what Tawaret had said. His concern for Layla’s safety was beginning to sink in. Someone had abducted her. Someone had sent her mind here to this manufactured scape of the very museum Steven had worked at. This wasn’t just some a random incident. Someone that was aware of he and Marc and their affiliation with Khonshu had done this.
Steven pulled away from his thoughts to find Marc pacing again, lost in his own thoughts. “Marc, who do you thinks behind this?”
Marc slowed his steps, his eyes meeting Steven’s in that sharp, eagle-like way. “I gained a lot of enemies over the years, buddy.”
The room in the Duat filled with dead people flashed into Steven’s mind. All those lives, even the worst of the worst, had people who possibly cared about them and some may seek revenge for their fallen comrade. But why or how would any of those use a dreamscape? This dreamscape was more along the lines of the supernatural. This place, this scenario, was more like something an Egyptian god would use.
“What’re you thinking, Steven?” Marc appeared in Steven’s line of sight that had drifted as he filed through his thoughts.
“I’m thinking we pissed off another one of those Egyptian gods -- maybe someone who sympathized with Ammit, and now they’re luring us into a trap by using Layla as bait.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. Most of them are dicks. I wouldn’t put exacting revenge passed some of them.”
Steven frowned, his chest tightening. “I hope Layla is alright.”
Marc laid a hand on Steven’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. “We’re going to find her, buddy. Layla can hold her own. We know that better than anyone.”
“Yeah.” Steven nodded, letting the reminder sink in. Layla was the strongest person they knew. Even being abducted wouldn’t make her lay down and accept her fate. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go find our girl.” We’re coming, Layla. Help is on the way.
***
As a girl, Layla learned early on that if she desired to be an archeologist like her father, she couldn’t be afraid of small spaces. You encounter narrow passages or small crawlspaces inside tombs. You venture into dark places where ancient ghosts were lurking. There was no room in those places for fear.
Waking up in a sarcophagus was a whole other story.
The first thing Layla was aware of was the darkness. Pure darkness as if she’d fallen into the deepest abyss. She half panicked that maybe she’d been blinded. As her mind caught up with the rest of her body, she realized she was lying down on a hard wooden surface. Her heavy breathing hit her face as soon as it left her. She felt above her discovering a wooden surface. She rapped her knuckled against it then examined the grain with her fingertips. This wasn’t just any wood. The texture and sound were that of a sycamore fig – the very wood used to construct sarcophaguses.
Layla could barely hear her own thoughts over the throbbing of her rapid heartbeat. She quickly checked her breathing, realizing she was taking shallow breaths almost to the point of hyperventilating. She shut her eyes tightly in more of an effort to calm herself as she slowed her rapid breathing to slow, deep breaths. If she was trapped in a sarcophagus, she’d need to preserve her oxygen.
She scanned her memory of what she last remembered, but her last memory was of going to sleep. She’d stayed with Marc and Steven for a couple weeks in London until she was confident the boys were stable, then she travelled back to Cairo. Now that she was under the powers and protection of Taweret (she’d agreed to be the goddess’ temporary avatar for an extended period), she could settle some matters that would otherwise be too dangerous without it. Steven had expressed interest in accompanying her, and Marc had flat out refused to let her go alone. In the end, Layla convinced them both that it was something she needed to do on her own. She had Taweret looking after her, what could go wrong?
What would Marc have done if he’d been kidnapped and trapped in a sarcophagus idly crossed her mind. He would have called on the suit and—
Layla gasped. She could call on her own suit, the powers that Taweret had bestowed upon her when needed. Being in a service of a goddess took some getting used to.
“Suit?” Layla murmured into the darkness. Nothing happened. “Activate?” Still nothing. “Taweret?” she called a little louder. “Are you there? I could use some of your power right now.”
All that answered back was her own voice reverberating off the wooden prison. Layla clinched her fists. Whatever had taken her had cut her link to Taweret as well. She could wait for whoever kidnapped her to come or suffocate in the meantime. Layla El-Faouly wasn’t one to lay there and give up. She would fight until her last breath.
Laying her hands flat and pushing her knees into lid of the sarcophagus, she pushed with all the strength she could muster in such a tight space. A frustrated growl let loose when the lid did not budge. She drew in a deep breath, braced her limbs again, and pushed to the point of almost straining her back and legs. The tiny sound of movement froze her progress as she debated whether she imagined it or not. With renewed strength, she pushed again – her arm and thigh muscles screaming under the odd position she was in.
The lid decompressed and pushed up. A little sliver of light peeked in. Layla let out a relieved sound, akin to a laugh. She moved the lid over just enough to have room to place her feet flat on the lid. With one last burst of energy, she moved it enough to have enough room to squeeze out.
She’d never been so relieved for her feet to touch the floor. She bolted away from the sarcophagus, chill bumps causing her whole body to shiver. She stared at the sarcophagus for a moment as her nerves calmed. Her eyes trailed off and focused on what surrounded her. She expected a tomb, but instead, a museum laid out around her.
Utter confusion flooded her mind. Who had trapped her in a sarcophagus at a museum? Who would even think of doing that?
Layla turned slowly to take in more of her surroundings. Her insides froze at the sight of a man standing several yards away. His back was turned to her. Anger began to boil up in her. She’d take this kidnapper out or die trying. Her gaze burned holes into the man’s back as she silently approached him. The closer she came she realized she recognized this person. She knew that body better than anyone.
Layla’s heart picked up pace and her skin tingled as relief began to wash over her. “Marc?” she whispered to not startle him.
The man roused by the sound of her voice. He hesitated before turning ever-so-slowly to face her. Layla’s brow furrowed as she took in the man. A flat cap sat on his head that she had not noticed before. He sported a mustache, and his stance was more relaxed than she’d ever seen from Marc. He wore Marc’s face, but realization sunk in and she knew this was not her husband.
The man smirked in a ‘you got me’ sort of way. “Not Marc.” He stepped closer to her, tipping his cap. “We meet finally. Jake Lockley.”