CHAPTER 2

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THE BLACKENED HOUR!

*:･ﾟ✧

"Layla says hi." Corbin is standing in utter silence, gathering himself, the smell of cigarette smoke wrapped around him. He draws a breath in. Hospitals used to creep him out when he was younger, but now they've become so familiar that it's almost scary. The unpleasant scent of chemicals hang in the air. There's a haunting tune present, a sickening melody. "I know you don't prefer flowers, but she bought these for you as a gift. She means well. Trust me." Corbin ventures over to the nightstand next to the hospital bed. The bouquet of flowers in the glass vase are dead, withered to expiry. He replaces the bundle, and a sad smile is smeared across his face once the healthy petals of Layla's kindness flourishes by the wall.

Corbin gives the dead flowers a once-over, bidding them farewell as he discards them.

The man drags a chair to the brink of the hospital bed, afterwards. "I wish I had some type of news to share with you, but nothing's changed," Corbin admits slowly. He has grasped his mother's lax hand caringly and hugged it to his knee, and although no one can hear him, he still feels ridiculous to some extent for conversing with someone in a coma. He never knew if she could register what he's been relaying to her, though, he meant it was important that she was confided with regardless — whether it reaches her or not.

Corbin never stopped hoping. He's always had faith in her regaining consciousness someday, that the incident all those years ago would be unearthed to him and Layla. To find either closure or a chance for some sort of justice to be exacted. Ever since that archeological dig site was shot up, Corbin's mother, escorting Abdallah El-Faouly on a private and exclusive expedition, was confined to this very hospital bed. Unlike Layla's father, Corbin's mother is here with him — sort of, yet that wouldn't stop it from being difficult for him. She isn't exactly living, per se, she's bedridden and stuck in a never-ending slumber, or so it appears.

I just wish you would wake up.

"My Insomnia and dreams are the same: Eldread hasn't changed one bit. Stupid octopus," Corbin mocks, chuckling dismissively at that. The lines of his pensive face flattens. "Marc is still missing, though. Layla and I can't get a hold of him... I wonder if it's just Marc being Marc or if Khonshu is involved somehow, issued some type of order which led him away from us... It doesn't make any sense. I can't understand why he would distance himself from us like that. Do you think he could've landed himself into some kind of trouble or something?"

Silence.

Corbin's eyes are downcast, his lips pursed. "I am scared. I do wonder if Marc's feelings changed for any of us and that's all there is to it. Everything was fine before he left, but he is human and sometimes... Or maybe we're to blame. Either me or Layla could very well be the issue...?"

The maintained beeps of the heart monitor is filling the gaps of Corbin's one-sided talk. He would imagine that's his mother's way of telling him she's listening in, that she isn't totally gone just yet. He continues: "I wish you could've seen them both. I know I've told you that a million times already, but Marc is...well, he's been through a lot, I can tell, and he may be rough around the edges but he does care. He's lovingly protective when you get to know him and his heart is in the right place, even when it doesn't seem like it."

Corbin gives his mother's hand a squeeze. He's slumped against the terrible structure of the chair he's sitting in, sensing Marc's rare smile and Layla's detailed touch on the back of his eyelids, like portraits nailed to the wall of a museum; his personal collection. "Layla is divine," he hums with a grin. "She has her priorities set straight and a good head on her shoulders, but you know that already. The two of us met because of you... And who could've foreseen that Layla and I would stick together through everything."

Reminiscing, Corbin's bare heart is in collision course with a blaring ringtone. He has a right to feel interrupted, but the annoyance quickly subsides once he manages to retrieve his phone from his coat pocket.

'Layla 🦦', the screen reads.

Corbin picks up.

"Babe—"

"You need to come home. Now."

Corbin shakes his head at Layla's raised voice, attempting to regain his own composure, for her sake. "Why? Did something happen? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm not hurt," her modulated voice confesses, "but... Please, will you just come home? It's about Marc."

"Marc?—"

Corbin is already up and moving. As soon as Layla had replied back, initially, he'd nearly shot out of his chair and departed from the hospital room right then and there. With how upset his girlfriend sounded, he deems it too meaningless to verbally say goodbye to his one parent, unlike his usual way of habit he's been conditioned into. Hence, what he can only offer in return — in the moment he's scurrying out of the door, is a prolonged glance over his shoulder. There's no change in his mother's condition in spite of how amplified the suspension is, merely the disillusioned noise of the heart monitor continuously hovering above the walls.

"He just... Corbin, I don't know." Layla remains on the line with her partner whilst he's jogging out of the building, evidently determined to reunite with her at home.

"It's okay, honey. Walk me through it."

"Well," Layla starts, sounding uncertain — as if she can't shake herself free from whatever had occurred while he's been gone, "I was going about my evening as I usually do, making us dinner, when I decided...I decided to call Marc's phone. And I—I know it's stupid how I've been calling and texting him relentlessly these past few months, but I called and then he just... He finally picked up."

Corbin's brow has buckled as he glares directly ahead. The traffic of France isn't even fazing him as he listens to Layla retelling her experience through the speaker of his phone, which just so happens to have been frantically stuffed into one of the cupholders of his car. "He picked up?" Corbin repeats, his chest constricting with an aspect of relief he had yet to realize. "What did he say? Layla, is he all right?"

"Yeah, I think so...? I mean, he—he sounded just fine but he spoke with this strange British accent I've never heard before, and then he claimed he didn't know who 'Marc' was. Or me for that matter, like I was some kind of stranger to him," Layla notes in a profound state of bewilderment, and it's not hard for Corbin to sense the offence through her tone of voice. "I think it's a message."

"A what? W...Why would you think that?"

"A coded one," Layla clarifies this time, either ignoring or overlooking Corbin's scepticism. "It felt like he was in character; a fake identity. Something's clearly off."

"You believe someone might be following him."

"I wouldn't put it past Marc if that was the case." Despite the disbelief of the situation, a dry laugh of nostalgia has wiggled its way through the speaker of Corbin's phone. "I can't count how many times we've had to loop our way around the cheeky dealings back in Cairo, you know. Just us three."

The good ol' days, is what an elderly Corbin would've remarked with a hint of mystery. The same may have been true now, but the matter at hand is too close at heart in order for him to be sentimental about it, as any veteran of life would be. Layla agrees to it without pinning a needle in it, silently, and she is therefore jumping right back to the ongoing topic with newfound ease — effort, and states, "We should go."

"Go where? To Marc, you mean...?"

No doubt there's a frown clutched on Layla's brow, confusion immediately betraying her established cool. "What's with the lack of conviction? Of course we should, Corbin! We haven't heard from him in months. We need to see for ourselves what it was we missed, what exactly made him leave."

"Layla," Corbin sighs after a while, already fearing the words that have yet to be said. His ongoing 'pessimism', as his girlfriend had pointed out, is far from well-placed but rightfully so. There's a rush of adrenaline and emotions clung to him. It's a dangerous concoction of impulse which is effective in blinding a person entirely, and while Corbin is not actively trying to be someone who's critical of every little thing, some caution has always done good. Somebody has to be the voice of reason. "Okay, I hear you. I'm—... While I'm not opposed to the idea, Layla, then we do have to consider the possible fallout it may cause. And— hey, not in the sense that we're abandoning Marc but more so about endangering whatever ruse he's got going on. I don't want us getting caught up in something we can't get ourselves out of."

"But if he meant to imply that we weren't going to be safe, why would he leave his phone turned on? He didn't before at all, so why now, if he's not in need of our help?"

"Did it sound like that might be the case, though?"

Layla pauses to give it some proper thought. It's a gamble in itself, with them weighing their options and opportunities out; the risks and chances at play if Marc truly is operating an assignment on his own. However, even that isn't enough to block Layla El-Faouly out of his life because as stubborn as she is, she wanted and needed answers right now. With Corbin, at that. "If it's pushed him to create a whole new identity, Corbin...yes."

An exasperated sigh floods the expanse of the vehicle Corbin is maneuvering throughout the street. Not admiring Layla's firmness would be a crime, and with how much he cherishes her day-to-day, there wasn't all that much of a challenge to begin with. "Layla," he shakes his head with a smile, longing to be face to face with his girlfriend and watch the joy enhance her beautiful eyes, "sometimes you're just too damn convincing... Where are we off to, darling?"

✧ ✦ ✧

Corbin is abundantly tired yet his body simply refuses to permit him any sleep whatsoever. Layla, on the other hand, is cushioned up against him as if he were a stuffed animal. The neck-pillow made it a bit easier for her to find sleep since she had been quite hyper and impatient during dinner; the trip to the airport, plane-boarding, and previously here wherein the altitude outside is barely tolerable. Due to all the procedures, night time had come around much faster than expected and to the point where Layla insisted on staying awake. If Corbin hadn't managed to talk her down, who knows what could've potentially awaited them tomorrow morning.

A nap sounds great. Even just a short one.

Corbin can barely remember a time wherein he wasn't plagued by Insomnia. Like most kids, he was dealt a sleep-induced childhood and was even a heavy sleeper at that. The symptoms and such came much later in his life for unknown reasons, and although he's visited several specialists, doctors, and even tried out a hypnotic endeavour, none of them worked all that well for him. The prescribed medication does ease him into a particular drowse at times which would then transition into sleep, but otherwise it doesn't really affect him, not as often nor like it should.

Eldread's presence hasn't gone unnoticed in the slightest by Corbin. He's thought long and hard about it before in the past, if the interstellar creature had a hand in his uneasiness. It may appear like it, given how Corbin's dreams are about nothing save for the tentacled entity, or rather it dropping by from time to time. However, he has a strong gut feeling that they're both to blame; it's him and Eldread combined. Corbin's life must've run out of luck somewhere whilst the alien resumed being tethered to him, hence, it's all just horrible coincidences and qualities of life keeping him up at night.

This sucks ass, bewails Corbin.

"Fuck. Not now..." As soon as the overt sensation had disrupted his nostril, a small burst of internal panic latched at the insomniac. Corbin swaps at his nose with a fingertip, and he reacts immediately upon seeing blood mingling with his skin as if it were a simple watered-down version of paint. Procuring some napkins isn't a problem and he's still left to his own devices after a while, pincering the bridge of his nose in the hopes of sealing the wound. Only when the nosebleed receded did Corbin relax again. He's cleaning the tissues out when he flinches back against his seat with minimum noise, instead sporting a wide-eyed look.

The blood is black.

Charcoal black.

Clenching his eyes shut and then re-opening them, Corbin is horrified to be met with the same sight as earlier. There's no sign of the regular color of blood anywhere: red; crimson; scarlet. It's all very much black. Corbin, alarmed, slowly grabs one of the spent tissues between his curious fingers and is intently staring at it. It's saturated all the same as any napkin would be after a decent nosebleed, however, the color is all wrong. Very wrong.

Oh, you're most definitely hallucinating, Corbin attempts to reason with himself. Releasing the tissue, he has gone on to discard the pile as if nothing was out of the ordinary, albeit with an involuntary tremble of his hands. You haven't slept for a while so there's your answer. It's fine. You're not sick, Corbin. You're not dying.

"Is everything okay? You seem tense."

Corbin rears to the side. Layla is stretching in her seat, blinked awake. "Yeah, everything's good." Corbin nods haltingly and his hand shuts tighter around the black-stained napkins. He looks to the aisle, prepared to conceal the peculiar fluid that was just disposed of by his own body. "I have to use the restroom," he excuses. "I'll be back in a minute."

Corbin vacates his seat and wanders away from Layla as calmly as he can muster. Thankfully, the journey to the toilet isn't awfully long and he swiftly locks the door behind him once he's within the small compartment. The napkins are tossed into the toilet bowl, flushed out at the first opportunity shown. A sigh of relief flees from Corbin. Hands clamped down on each side of the sink, he's utterly drained. Layla can't possibly know anything about this lest she be all over him during the whole trip, and right now they just need to worry about one thing at a time. Besides, it was just one trivial nosebleed with a need for some color correction. Fatigue aside, Corbin is in no way, shape or form, sick; nausea, headache, a sore stomach, body pains — nothing.

The man takes a deep breath, raising his head.

Corbin wanted to shriek the minute his back hit the wall of the restroom, yet he can only grasp at his head between his hands. There is a dull throb near his neck thanks to his own startlement, but as soon as he examines the mirror above the sink, he stops up. His eyes have returned to normal unlike a second ago where they'd been enclosed in a sea of complete red, as if they were bleeding.

"Would you just stop it!?" Corbin is scowling upwards, toward the ceiling as if that would magically make his fussing be heard. Not an ounce of something like this has ever occurred to him before, yet the unnerving signs hold a trademark touch to it of a certain cosmic creature, and Corbin's fear has a need of being rationalized somewhere because of it. "Eldread, I have no idea if you can hear me, but leave me alone. You're scaring the shit out of me and I seriously don't need whatever" — he flails his arms wildly about — "this is right now! Shit..."

Truth be told, Corbin has no clue if the massive entity is even capable of listening in, but if it is, it's then bearing witness to Corbin resting himself against the wall. He has a distinct desire to just pass out right then and there, close his eyes and allow himself a break from reality. It's driving him crazy with how everything is swarming about him so quickly: Layla's concern, Marc's re-emergence, Eldread's supposed "pranks" on him or whatever sick joke that was. It's all too much for him, but even though he wished to lie down in the dark for a bit, he wouldn't be able to find peace. That is a concept far too unusual for someone like Corbin.

author's note!
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corbin doesn't understand what's going on and neither do i 🥹 i'm just running with it tbh. it's so much fun though, and the storyline will fully merge with the plot of the series in the next chapter, finally !! guess who's gonna make his awkward but wholesome appearance then 🥰 i can't wait for the three of them to officially meet <3

corbin: the fck are you doing 😡🗯

eldread: i'm just vibing here bro wdym 🐙