Page 12 of The Flesh Remembers
Eleanor slipped out of her gown, the cool air brushing against her bare skin. She felt the weight of their gazes —Dr. Fairfax’s discomfort, Blackwood’s predatory approval— but she pushed the shame aside.
Climbing onto the dais, she lowered herself beside James, her body trembling as she felt the chill of his decayed flesh against her own. She swallowed back the revulsion she felt at the touch of the dead flesh and pictured in her mind the warmth of James’s touch, the softness of his lips on hers. If she could focus on what she wanted him to become and not what he was, she could make it through this process.
When Blackwood activated the apparatus, the room seemed to awaken with an unsettling sentience. The crackling hum filled the space like a living breath, its vibrations crawling along the walls as if the structure absorbed the energy. The galvanic rods flared to life, sparking in wild bursts that felt less mechanical and more like deliberate flickers of intent. Their essence seeped into the air, encircling Eleanor with an invisible tether that seemed less a bond and more a calculated grip, an awareness that pulsed, probed, and held her within its grasp.
“Touch him,”
Blackwood commanded, his voice sharp.
Eleanor obeyed, her hands fluttering like small white birds as she brushed against James’s chest. His skin was cold and stiff, but she felt a faint pulse beneath her touch, a reminder that he was not entirely gone.
The machine responded instantly, amplifying her emotions and feeding them into the galvanic field. She gasped as the energy coursed through her, igniting a fire in her veins that blurred the line between pleasure and pain.
James’s eyes began to glow faintly in the dim light. His lips parted, and a raspy groan escaped him as his body arched against hers.
“Eleanor,”
he whispered, his voice still his, though thick with need and rough with disuse and decay.
Her heart raced as he turned to her, his gaze locking onto hers. There was lust in his eyes, a lust that went beyond love, beyond desire. It was primal, all-consuming, sending her an icy ripple of fear and anticipation.
“Give yourself to him,”
Blackwood urged, his voice filled with dark delight.
Eleanor leaned down, pressing her lips to James’s in a desperate, grotesque kiss. His mouth was cold and tasted of decay, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she deepened the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair as the machine roared.
James’s hands found her waist, gripping her with bruising force. His touch was rough, almost violent, as he pulled her closer. She cried out, the sound muffled against his lips, but the pain only heightened her desire.
The galvanic rods flared, and Eleanor felt the machine pulling at her, drawing out every ounce of her energy. Her body trembled as the pleasure built, her back arching as James’s grip tightened.
“More,”
he whispered, his voice guttural.
“I need more, please, El.”
She gave herself to him completely, her body moving in sync with his as the machine amplified their connection. The room blurred into a haze of light and sound, the boundaries between them dissolving until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.
As their connection deepened, James’s body began to change. His features twisted into something almost unrecognizable. His eyes burned with an unnatural light, and his smile widened into a perverse grin.
“You’ve made me strong,”
he whispered, his voice grotesquely wrong.
“But it’s not enough.”
His grip on her waist tightened, his nails digging into her flesh until she cried out. He rolled her onto her back, pinning her to the dais as his lips trailed down her neck.
“James,”
she gasped, her voice filled with fear. “Please”
He silenced her with a kiss, his teeth biting into the tender flesh of her lower lip and drawing blood. The metallic tang filled her mouth, and she shuddered as his tongue swept across the wound.
The machine surged again, and Eleanor felt her strength draining, her vision blurring as James’s presence consumed her. His hands roamed her body, exploring her with a feral intensity that left her gasping for breath.
Suddenly, Eleanor felt a new presence close to her. Blackwood had moved closer, his shadow falling over them.
“You’ve done well, Dr. Ashcroft,”
he said, his voice low and amused.
“But the ritual is not yet complete.”
Eleanor’s heart clenched painfully as Blackwood reached for her, his fingers brushing against her arm.
“What are you doing?”
she demanded, her voice panicked.
“Ensuring the bond is unbreakable,”
he replied smoothly.
“It requires all of us.”
Before she could protest, Blackwood’s hands joined James’s, their combined touch overwhelming her senses. She cried out, her body writhing as the energy in the room intensified, the machine pulling her deeper into its web.
The line between pleasure and pain blurred until it disappeared entirely, and Eleanor realized too late that she had become more than a vessel; she was the sacrifice.
Excerpt from the Diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
James lives. Against all reason, against nature itself, he is here. Breathing, speaking, moving. But the triumph I thought I’d feel eludes me.
The cost of his resurrection is a weight I can’t ignore. The blood, the lies, the horrors I embraced to bring him back, what have they turned me into? I told myself it was love, but now it feels like obsession, a hunger that no longer feels entirely my own.
James is here, but he is not whole. At times, he is as I remember, but then his silence stretches, his eyes darken, and I see something else, a shadow of what he was, or perhaps something worse.
In resurrecting James, I’ve lost something in myself. The enormity of what I’ve done won’t let me forget. He is alive, but what have I unleashed, and what have I become?
Haze of Ecstacy and Torment
Throughout the night, the storm outside raged, rattling the clinic’s walls with a relentless fury that seemed to seep into its foundations. Rain pounded against the windows like a heartbeat, desperate and unyielding, as though the world itself protested the ritual about to unfold within.
The lab was no longer a space for science; it had transformed into something primal, almost alive. The walls now hidden behind thick crimson drapes, their folds shimmering like fresh blood in the flickering candlelight. Chains hung from the ceiling, glinting as they swayed slightly in the air, while the dais at the centre stood as a grotesque altar.
The carvings adorning its surface were no longer just symbols; they were faces and bodies, intertwined in expressions of rapture and agony, their features shifting with the flicker of the flames. Above all, the galvanic apparatus loomed, its rods crackling faintly with anticipation.
Eleanor stepped into the room, and she felt the eyes of the hooded figures lining the walls follow her as she made her way inside. Their gazes bore into her, hungry and unrelenting, stripping her bare before she even shed her gown.
“Dr. Ashcroft,”
Lord Blackwood intoned, his voice deep and resonant, “tonight, you become the vessel, the key. Through you, we will bind James’s soul to this world. Are you ready to give everything?”
Her throat tightened, but she put on as bold a look as she could manage and lifted her chin.
“I thought the last ritual was me giving everything? Isn’t that what you said the other night? It seems you push the finish line further each time I give.”
Blackwood smiled coolly.
“What we are doing here is hard, Eleanor. It requires multiple sacrifices. Yes, you will be required to give of yourself often and completely. But, of course, if you no longer wish to bring James back, I’m sure we can find someone else to benefit from our work.”
Eleanor doubted that they would throw away all the efforts they had already made with James, but she also knew she couldn’t say no. She didn’t like to give in to Blackwood as she didn’t trust him in the slightest, but if it were the only way to achieve her goal of getting James back, she would have to deal with him as best she could.
“Fine,”
Eleanor said coldly, “I will do what is required. But know this, Blackwood, I debase myself not for you or your perverse pleasure. It is only for James that I suffer these indignations.”
Blackwood’s lips curved into a predatory smile. “Strip.”
She willed her hands to be steady as she untied her gown, the fabric sliding from her shoulders to pool at her feet. The cool air kissed her skin, making her shiver as she stepped forward, vulnerable under the weight of their stares.
Blackwood guided her onto the dais, his hands firm but reverent as he secured the leather straps around her wrists and ankles. Each buckle clicked with a finality that sent a shiver of both fear and anticipation through her.
“You are the bridge between worlds,”
he murmured, his fingers brushing the silver disk at her throat.
“Your body, your pain, your pleasure, they will feed the apparatus, forging the link that will bring him back.”
The first participant approached: Marian Collins. Her hands shook as she climbed onto the dais, her face pale and her eyes filled with conflict. Eleanor met her gaze, seeing the war raging within her: guilt, desire, and a desperate need for absolution.
“I… I don’t know if I can do this,”
Marian whispered, her voice barely audible.
“You must,”
Blackwood said sharply.
“Her grief alone is not enough. Your longing, your shame, they are essential. Let them consume you.”
Marian hesitated a moment longer before shedding her robe and lowering herself beside Eleanor. Her fingers brushed against Eleanor’s arm, tentative but growing bolder with each stroke.
Eleanor shivered under her touch, her body reacting instinctively as Marian’s hands roamed across her skin. The galvanic rods flared faintly, their glow pulsing in time with Eleanor’s racing heart.
“Feel her pain,”
Blackwood commanded.
“Amplify it. Let it flow through you both.”
Marian’s touch became more insistent, her fingers pressing into Eleanor’s flesh with a desperation mirrored by her own. Eleanor gasped, her back arching as the first wave of galvanic energy surged through her, igniting every nerve ending.
Eleanor moaned softly as the other woman’s mouth found her breasts and she began to lick and suck at Eleanor’s hardened nipples. Each wave of pleasure she felt brought an equally intense wave of burning pain as the energy of the mechanism around her surged with each moan and cry. But Eleanor did not care. That primal, uncontrollable desire returned to her, and she had no choice this time but to give in to it. If she wanted the process to work, she would have to allow herself to fall into that abyss of unending pleasure and torment.
“More,”
Eleanor whispered as Marian pulled back from her.
“Don’t stop, please!”
The nurse seemed unsure but glanced at Blackwood, who watched them intently. His dark eyes were filled with lust and something yet darker. Blackwood nodded to her.
Marian bent her head again and began to kiss Eleanor deeply. Her tongue slipping into Eleanor’s mouth. As their tongues entwined, Marian moved her hands lower down Eleanor’s soft, white abdomen and then lower still till she reached the apex of her thighs.
Her fingers slipped down into the wet depths between Eleanor’s legs until she found that swollen spot that begged for her attention. Marian began to rub her there in small, firm circles, their kiss still not yet broken. Any hesitation Marian had up to that point slipped away as she, too, was now lost on that sea of dark pleasure, unable to stop even if she still desired to do so.
Eleanor arched up against her as Marian rubbed her harder and faster. Since her arms and legs were chained down to the platform, Eleanor could do nothing but lie there and drown in the sensations of her body. Marian slipped a finger inside of her then and Eleanor let out a loud cry, her hips thrusting up against the fingers that now penetrated her.
“Yes, yes, please!”
Eleanor tossed her head from side to side as the pleasure and exquisite reciprocating pain flowed through her body in wave after wave.
Marian then shifted herself down between Eleanor’s spread legs. The nurse seemed to have fully committed herself to this dark path, as there was no hesitation. She lovingly spread Eleanor’s pink folds open with her hands and gazed at the swollen, wet flesh. At the sight, a lustful smile played upon her lips, and she fell upon Eleanor, almost like a wolf falling upon its prey.
With her fingers still buried deeply inside Eleanor, she bent her head and began to use her tongue on that swollen center of pleasure above her opening, lapping up Eleanor’s arousal eagerly. She moaned against the other woman’s flesh, her lips and tongue working frantically, sucking, licking then even biting, bringing Eleanor to greater and greater heights of both intense pain and pleasure.
When Eleanor thought she could take no more of either pleasure or pain, and she felt the inevitable crescendo building, Marian abruptly stopped her onslaught. Eleanor cried out in dismay.
“Please!”
she begged, her eyes on Blackwood as he approached the platform.
“Please, I need release.”
“And you shall have it, my dear Dr. Ashcroft, but not quite yet.”
Blackwood smiled at her, his cool hand stroking Eleanor’s flushed cheek.
As he pulled back from her, Blackwood allowed his hand to trail down Eleanor’s neck and then her breast, his fingers lingering on her hard nipple. He gave it a light pinch, chuckling at the moan it elicited from her.
Frye stepped forward next, his muscular body taunt and tense as he looked down on her. A mixture of shame and desire seemed at war within him, his large hands clenched into fists as he approached the platform.
“You think you’ve got control," Frye growled, his breath hot against her ear. "But you’re just a vessel, his damn vessel. This process won’t end well.”
He paused, a pained guttural sound coming from his throat, “You still have a way out.”
Eleanor turned her head, her voice soft but defiant.
“And yet you’re here, feeding the same machine.”
His lips twisted into a humourless smile as he reached out and grasped her arms. The galvanic rods flared brighter, their energy crackling in the charged air. Frye’s touch was rough, almost punishing, each movement designed to elicit a reaction that fed the machine.
Frye brought his face close to Eleanor, his dark beard tickling her cheek as he hovered above her, staring down but not moving further. Blackwood ordered him to continue, but Frye ignored him. His eyelids squeezed shut, and his breath was ragged.
Eleanor then shocked them by lifting her head and kissing Frye, her lips opening like the petals of a pink flower. Frye gasped in surprise, his eyes opening. He did not move for a moment as Eleanor continued to kiss him. Her tongue slipped between her plump lips and pushed gently against Frye’s closed ones. It seemed that was all he could handle, for just then, Frye seized Eleanor’s arms and fully reciprocated that kiss. He kissed her hard now, his tongue pushing into her mouth, almost choking her, but Eleanor moaned at the rush of arousal she felt from his roughness towards her.
Finally, Frye pulled back and looked down at Eleanor, who was so close to the edge of release but consistently being denied prolonging the ceremony. Her hair was a messy cloud of black silk around her flushed face, her lips swollen and red from the forcefulness of the kisses they had shared.
“You should’ve left when you had the chance, Eleanor,”
Frye whispered to her before he began to suck and nip his way down her throat to her chest.
“You can’t get away now. You’ve doomed us all.”
Frye bit down hard on her nipple, and Eleanor cried out with the exquisite pain it caused within her.
More of Blackwood’s robed acolytes joined, their hands and voices weaving a symphony of sensation and sound. Each caress, each whispered word pushed Eleanor further, her body and mind unravelling under the onslaught. The silver disk at her throat glowed brighter, its hum merging with the crackle of the apparatus.
The air grew heavy, charged with a primal energy that seemed to vibrate through Eleanor’s bones. Hands roamed her body, their touch both reverent and demanding, each movement igniting sparks that rippled through her like fire.
Eleanor cried out, her body arching against the restraints as the sensations overwhelmed her. The galvanic energy surged, each wave building upon the last, pulling her closer to the edge.
“More,”
Blackwood commanded, his voice low and commanding.
“Push her further.”
The participants obeyed, their movements becoming more fervent, their voices rising in a chant that echoed through the room. Eleanor’s vision blurred, her mind dissolving into a haze of ecstasy and torment.
Mouths kissed her, tongues moved urgently against her own. Her head turned again and again to another open and waiting mouth. Like water to a man in the desert, Eleanor desperately sought the next and the next, her tongue sliding over all that was offered to her.
She felt fingers seeking out every intimate place on her body. There was nowhere to hide from the onslaught of hands, mouths, teeth, and tongues. Eleanor struggled against her bonds as she shook from both ecstasy and torment. She felt cool fingers enter her, slipping into her easily as her juices dripped from her and coated her thighs with the evidence of her desire. Tongues lapped at her centre of pleasure, and even lubricated fingers found their way behind her into the soft white globes of her backside and then inside her most secret area. Eleanor wanted to withdraw and say no to this intrusion but could not. Her body only knew one animal instinct now, and she would not be freed from it until she had experienced her release.
The silver disk flared with a blinding light, its energy exploding through her in a wave that left her trembling. Her body convulsed, her muscles tensing as the release overtook her, a flood of pleasure and anguish so intense it left her gasping for air.
She sobbed as the sensations rippled through her, her tears streaming down her face as her cries filled the room. Her body burned with the energy of the ritual, her soul laid bare for all to see.
After a few hours of rest for Eleanor, the reanimation process continued later that night. She clung to the desperate hope that by the night's end, she would again have James in her arms. The galvanic rods crackled as James’s body convulsed on the platform beside her. His chest heaved, his fingers twitching as his eyes snapped open.
“Eleanor…”
His voice was a guttural rasp, filled with hunger and longing.
Her heart leapt as she turned to him, her vision blurred with tears.
“James, it’s me. I’m here.”
For an instant, she saw him there within those cloudy blue eyes—the James she knew and loved. He smiled at her tenderly and sweetly, and Eleanor knew it was all worth it to see that smile again. But then the warmth she had loved was gone, replaced by something darker, more feral.
“You’ve given me so much,”
he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear.
“But it’s not enough.”
His hands reached for her, his grip unrelenting as his nails dug into her skin. His touch was cold, yet it burned, searing her with a heat that felt otherworldly.
“You belong to me now,”
he said, his voice laced with malice. “Forever.”
Eleanor lay in the afterglow, breathless, shivering. And in that silence, the disk purred.
Excerpt from the diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
Oh God, the shame burns through me. I endured humiliation orchestrated by Blackwood to bring James back, and I wanted it. I begged for more, even as they watched and participated. But did I truly want it? With its strange symbol, the pendant Blackwood gave me seems to pulse with my heartbeat, burning at my throat. In my mind, I hear whispers: Deditionem, Deditionem, Deditionem. Tradere Carnem, Eleanor. My rusty Latin tells me it means Surrender the flesh, Eleanor.
For the first time, fear grips me. The rituals grow darker and unhinged. God knows what Blackwood will demand next. Yet, it worked. James lives, if you can call it that. He is a rotted corpse smelling of earth but alive enough to see me, hear me, and hunger for me. He frightens me. Worse, my desire for him terrifies me.
I tried to remove the pendant, but the metal burned my fingers. Blackwood’s hold on it remains unyielding. He wants me weak, pliable. But I can’t abandon James. Who knows what they’d do to him? I must find a way out for both of us.
I trust no one here, except perhaps Marian. She might be my only ally. I want to believe she’ll help me. I have to believe it.
He’s Awake…He’s Differen
The clinic had never felt colder, its air thick with tension and the scent of burning ozone. Eleanor’s footsteps echoed as she moved toward the lab, each step weighed down by the anticipation of what awaited her. Eleanor had been exceedingly weak after the last procedure and had left her room to rest. However, not even an hour later, Marian knocked frantically at her door, her voice trembling. Her words laced with fear and a morbid fascination: “He’s awake. He’s… different.”
As Eleanor stepped inside, the sight before her sent a shiver down her spine.
James lay on the dais, his body partially restrained. The galvanic apparatus above him pulsed with chaotic energy, its arcs of light casting shadows that danced across the room. His chest rose and fell with jagged breaths, his skin mottled with faint traces of necrosis.
But his eyes, burning with a feral intensity, stopped her heart. There was hunger in them, raw and unrelenting, and it wasn’t just the hunger for life.
“Eleanor,”
James rasped, his voice rough but disturbingly clear. His head turned toward her, his movements deliberate and too smooth to be natural.
She froze in the doorway, her heart pounding. “James?”
she whispered.
His lips curved into a faint smile, but it lacked the warmth she remembered. Instead, it carried something predatory. He lifted a faltering hand, reaching for her.
“You brought me back,”
he murmured, his voice laced with both awe and something darker.
“I… feel alive. But… incomplete.”
His gaze roamed over her, lingering on her throat, lips, and lower.
Eleanor’s cheeks glowed, the heat tethered to her skin like a lingering ghost, while his eyes mirrored a desire both distant and eerily close. She stepped closer, her heart pounding.
“James, I’m here. I’ll help you.”
He grasped her wrist, his grip cold but unyielding. “Help me,”
he repeated, his voice a low growl.
“Yes… You can help.”
After a long moment, James let out a pained cry, and his head shook wildly from side to side. When he stopped and gazed at her, a softness in his eyes had not been there a moment before. James, it was her James. He was still in there somewhere, fighting to be heard. She could not give up on him.
“James, darling, I know you are there. James, I love you so much,”
Eleanor cried, her head resting against the cold flesh of his chest.
“El, my dear sweet El,”
came the ragged whisper. As quickly as he had come, he was gone again, and the stranger with James’s face once more took ownership of that cold flesh she knew so well.
The staff observed the scene with a mixture of awe and unease.
Dr. Fairfax hovered near the control panel, his hands working nervously as he adjusted the dials.
“This level of cognition is unprecedented,”
he muttered, his voice barely audible.
“But his physiology, his responses, they’re… unstable.”
Fairfax could scarcely suppress his giddy excitement. In all his years at the Campbell Institute and his experiments involving children and the elderly, he had experienced some promising leads, but nothing that had ever been as successful as this process had been. Though he was loath to give any credit to Blackwood and his ritualistic “magic,”
he could not deny that without it, he never would have made it this far. For all his dislike of Blackwood and his ridiculous, sexually depraved group, he was now a believer in whatever dark power he had conjured, and he would tolerate it if it helped him discover the answers, he had been searching for all these years.
Marian stood closer to the dais, her fingers clutching her clipboard tightly. She obediently made her notes, following Fairfax’s orders to the letter. She felt such pride in Dr. Fairfax and the work they had done together, and she wanted him to be pleased with her efforts, so any reluctance she had, she kept to herself. She merely smiled at Fairfax and dutifully nodded when he made his next observation.
Marian's cheeks glowed, her breath quickened, as she followed James's movements with unwavering attention. When her hand brushed his forearm, he flinched, letting out a low, guttural sound that made her step back. Yet, her wide eyes betrayed an unwilling fascination. She had worked with Dr. Fairfax for many years, assisted him with numerous experiments that many had thought immoral, and willingly and happily did it all. It was what ultimately led to their leaving the Campbell Institute in disgrace. But nothing they had done there, none of those morally questionable experiments, had made her feel such cold dread or complete exhilaration.
Assistant Frye stood rigid in the corner, his expression dark.
“This is a mistake,”
he said through clenched teeth.
“He’s not a man anymore. He’s a… thing.”
Frye knew he should leave. He should resign now and walk out while he still has his soul intact. He had never been a religious man, but there was a basic order to the universe, and they were upsetting that order, tipping the balance. Surely, if one existed, whatever god may exist would not be mocked this way. Ultimately, though, Frye did not leave. He held out hope that perhaps he could stop them, possibly there was a way to reach Eleanor and find her to see reason. Frye rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, steeling himself for the fact that he may need to take matters into his own hands.
Lord Blackwood stood apart from the others, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. “Frye,”
he said softly, his tone laced with warning.
“Do not let your fear cloud your judgment. What you see is not a failure, it is evolution.”
Blackwood glared at Frye, his previous annoyance at the assistant’s interference becoming sharper and angrier. Blackwood would not allow this process to be ruined. He had first thought that it was Eleanor who would cause a problem. He figured that she would fall apart and lose her nerve. However, she had proved much more formidable than Blackwood had given her credit for. She had taken part in the sexual rituals with only a brief hesitation and had endured the pain and humiliation. She had taken all of it and seemed determined to take much more. No, he hadn’t counted on that, and he certainly hadn’t figured Frye would be the one to give him problems. Well, it didn't matter. Blackwood would remove the threat of Frye, if needed.
Frye scoffed at Blackwood’s comment but said nothing more, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
James tightened his grip on Eleanor, his other hand reaching for her waist. His breathing grew heavier, each exhale tinged with a faint, sickly scent of decay.
“I need you,”
he whispered, his voice full of emotion and also something darker, something primal.
Eleanor’s heart ached at his plea, but doubt coiled in her chest. His touch, once tender, now felt possessive, almost demanding. Yet the depth of her love for him drowned out her fear.
“Of course, James, whatever it takes,”
she said softly, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her mind.
Lord Blackwood stepped forward, his presence commanding.
“Then you know what must be done,”
he said.
“He is incomplete, tethered to this world, but that tether is fragile. Your body, your essence, is the bridge that will bind him fully. Give yourself to him, Eleanor. Let him claim you.”
Eleanor swallowed hard, her gaze locked on James’s. His eyes burned with hunger, his lips parting as he pulled her closer.
The galvanic coils above them sparked wildly, energy feeding the room's atmosphere. James’s hand slid up Eleanor’s arm, his touch cold yet electric. His other hand gripped her waist, pulling her onto the dais with him.
The staff watched in stunned silence as Eleanor straddled him, her cheeks flushed, and her breath ragged. James’s hands roamed her body with desperation and fervour, his touch leaving trails of cold fire on her skin.
“Eleanor,”
he growled, his voice rough and trembling.
“You feel… so warm. So alive.