Page 2 of The Flesh Remembers
Eleanor felt a tremor ripple through her body, like the first crack in an icy surface, yet she steadied her voice, refusing to shatter.
“Kindly remove your hand,”
she said to him, her tone defiant despite the heat blooming in her cheeks.
“You presume a great deal, sir. Know that I am here to hear what Dr. Fairfax has to say, and that is all. I will decide once I know what is going on here. Now, please, may we continue?”
A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes as he stepped back, releasing her. The tension between them dissipated, and when Frye turned his back to her, Eleanor took a deep, silent breath to steady herself.
Frye’s lips curved into a sly smile. He beckoned her onward, his feral, wild presence still sparking something within her that she could not name. Her pulse still raced, and the place where his hand had touched her burned with the memory of his grip.
They passed by many closed doors as they walked down the narrow corridor. Before they rounded the corner, Eleanor heard what she could only describe as a groan coming from behind the door on her left. It was wet and ragged, but she felt it was undeniably human.
“What was that?”
she asked Frye, stopping next to the door.
Frye eyed the door warily and then looked back at Eleanor. His lips pressed together in a thin line as though he were suppressing something he wanted to say.
“I heard nothing.”
“I-I thought I heard something from behind that door.”
Eleanor was not so positive now. Perhaps it had just been her imagination.
“The building is very old, Doctor. You’ll swear you hear all sorts of things. It’s naught for you to worry about.”
Frye continued down the corridor, and Eleanor had no choice but to follow or risk getting lost in these hallways. She supposed that Frye’s comment settled the matter, though that did little to settle her anxiety.
Frye led Eleanor to a small windowless chamber with a simple wooden bed. The bed lacked ornamentation, but the down-filled mattress and pillows appeared soft and clean. A small wooden nightstand stood next to the bed, on which sat a wash basin and pitcher of clean water.
“Wait here,”
Frye said gruffly.
“Fairfax may be some time yet; you’ll want to rest up for what will come.”
He gave her a knowing look that hinted at something she was sure she would not like.
Eleanor swallowed back the sense of unease growing within her and stepped into the room, only to halt at the threshold. The air inside was humid, heavy with the scent of steam and varnished wood. She crossed it slowly, her boots creaking against floorboards that seemed to moan underfoot.
As she passed the oil lamp on the wall, it flickered, casting a spiral of shadow across her chest, and for the briefest moment, she felt watched. Or wanted.
“Thank you,”
Eleanor said softly, brushing past Frye and walking into the small chamber.
“I do feel a bit tired. Perhaps it would benefit me to lie down for a moment.”
She wanted to appear brave and confident in her decision to go with this strange meeting, but she worried that the quiver in her voice belied her fear.
Frye turned in the doorway to face her, his hulking presence taking up most of the space. The flickering light from the gas lamps on the wall created strange, twisted shadows, giving his bearded face a somewhat sinister appearance.
“We won’t kill you in your sleep, if that’s what you’re worried about,”
Frye said with a laugh.
“But what we do here is not strictly legal, you understand, so we must take certain precautions. I’ll return for you when Fairfax is ready.”
The light glinted in his dark eyes as he added softly, “Pleasant dreams.”
Eleanor sank onto the bed, the hum of machinery whispering through the walls like a mechanical heartbeat. James’s touch haunted her even now–phantom hands that refused to let go. She curled into the memory, just for a moment, before sleep took her.
Several hours later, Eleanor woke reluctantly. She pressed her fingers into the sheets, trembling with the hunger that had haunted her since his passing. The throbbing between her thighs begged for relief, but it was the relentless pull of the machine's hum so eerily alive that drew her forward. Rising, she slipped on her cloak, while the sound beckoned her, promising answers and perhaps other things.
The clamour led her out into the dim corridor and down into a chamber that seemed to pulse with life of its own. She paused at the lab's threshold, and something unknown lurking beyond the doorway exhaled, causing her almost to reconsider and return to her room.
Eleanor forced herself to hurry past the threshold and into the lab, trying not to think of what might lurk in the darkness of the unlit corridor beyond.
Dr. Ambrose Fairfax stood before a towering labyrinth of brass coils and rods, his fingers deftly adjusting valves as sparks of bluish light crackled faintly across the network of wires. At the centre of the room stood a platform adorned with leather straps and gleaming metal cuffs, their purpose both practical and undeniably suggestive. The hum of the apparatus seemed to vibrate through the air, brushing against Eleanor’s skin.
Fairfax turned as she entered, his piercing gaze softening as it swept over her.
“Dr. Ashcroft,”
he greeted, his voice smooth yet weighted with meaning.
“Did you find rest?”
Eleanor smoothed down her hair, feeling a bit uneasy under his scrutiny.
“As much as one can,”
she replied, her voice steadier than expected. Her gaze locked onto the apparatus, its faint glow hypnotic.
“This is the device that can bring back James?”
Fairfax stepped closer, his presence commanding yet strangely intimate.
“Yes, that is…I believe it can bring him back,”
he said, gesturing toward the coils.
“The Excision Coil Array. It is no mere machine. It thrives not just on electromagnetic energy, but on the essence of life itself.”
Her heart galloped wildly, each beat seemingly louder than the last.
“The essence of life?”
she whispered.
“Emotion,”
he clarified, his voice dropping to a murmur.
“Raw, unbridled sensation. Desire. Passion. Grief. These are the forces that fuel it. The more potent the feeling, the greater the energy.”
“See here?”
Fairfax asked her, gesturing to a series of extensive copper induction coils wound tightly around what looked to be an iron core.
“These coils use a steam engine to power them and generate the necessary electromagnetic fields. Once enough energy is generated, it is converted to the transduction chamber here.”
He motioned for her to follow him as he moved around the side of the machine.
Eleanor stared in awe at the size of the machine and the complexity of the various wires and glass tubes. The room was quite warm due to the steam from the engine, thickening the air with a suffocating, furnace-like heat.
“The transduction chamber uses a combination of galvanic electrodes and something we call psychic conductors, which are made of platinum and proven to be an excellent conductor.”
“And how are you able to harness emotions into the machine?”
Eleanor asked with some incredulity. She could see the scientific possibilities with the machine somehow stimulating aspects of a body, the heart, and the brain, perhaps. But harnessing and focusing emotions and feelings into a body? Surely that was the stuff of fiction and nothing more.
“Ah, yes, I forgot you have a scientific mind as well, Dr. Ashcroft,”
Fairfax said with a smile.
“Of course, we are pioneers in this aspect of the process. But I have developed a special system of electrodes that the transmitter, which in this case would be you, would hold onto while they focus on their emotions. The electrodes and their galvanic sensors allow us to channel the emotions into the machine and then into the subject itself. We also have some other…uh, less scientific aspects of the process.”
Fairfax glanced at her sheepishly, clearly not a fan of these other, less scientific processes.
“Intimacy,”
Fairfax stated, “has proven invaluable. We have discovered by trial and error that physical connection, shared passion, and intimacy are catalysts that cannot be replicated by science alone. We hope, Dr. Ashcroft, that because of your intimate connection with the subject, there is a greater chance for success in this case than in any of our other trials.”
The weight of his words pressed against her, leaving her feeling both naked and exposed. Her mind flickered to Frye’s touch the night before, the way his presence had momentarily stirred a hunger she hadn’t felt in months.
“And this… strengthens the process?”
“Immeasurably,”
Fairfax replied, his voice deceptively soft.
“If you are to succeed in your quest, Dr. Ashcroft, you must be prepared to surrender… everything.”
“I see,”
Eleanor said with less conviction than she had hoped, “Of course, I will. But, Dr. Fairfax, I need to know more about what is happening here and what this process entails.”
“Of course, of course,”
Fairfax said to her, rubbing his hands together.
“I relish the chance to discuss my work. I don’t have much chance these days,”
he said with a slight laugh.
“In the early days of my research, of course, I was in high demand from many wealthy benefactors who all wanted access to any scientific secrets that might stop the aging process. It was something I devoted most of my adult life to studying after watching my sweet, dear mother’s mind become more and more addled until she didn’t even know who I was or her name.”
Fairfax stared off into space, as if lost in a memory.
“What caused the change in the focus of your research?”
Eleanor asked.
“One of my benefactors. It was not long after my mother had died, and he had asked me if I had ever contemplated removing death from the equation altogether.”
Eleanor’s eyebrows shot up, and an incredulous look passed over her face, though she tried to hide it.
“Ha, ha, my thoughts exactly! I reminded him that death was an inevitability, and anyone who thought differently was going to spend their life chasing dreams. But he was so firm in his belief, so confident that he could find a solution with the right scientific minds researching the problem. It got me thinking about whether I were to try to stop death, how would I do it? What tools would I need, and what processes could I implement? And with my benefactors' help, I could devote the last ten years exclusively to working on the problem of death.”
“The problem of death,”
Eleanor repeated softly.
“Yes,”
Fairfax said with a smile, “And that is why you are here, is it not? You have a problem of your own that needs to be solved.”
The sound of the door opening broke the spell. Dr. Fairfax’s nurse, Marian Collins, entered, a tray of vials in her hands that shimmered like molten light.
“Dr. Fairfax, Dr. Ashcroft,”
she greeted, her tone soft yet tinged with something unspoken.
“I’ve prepared the serums for tonight’s demonstration.”
Eleanor turned to her, her curiosity burning hotter.
“Demonstration?”
she asked, her voice laced with anticipation.
Marian hesitated, her eyes darting to Fairfax before she replied.
“A partial reanimation,”
she said, her voice measured but her cheeks flushed.
“Using newly acquired tissue.”
Fairfax nodded.
“You will witness the power of the Array firsthand. But it requires a conduit. Someone to channel and amplify the energy.”
Eleanor felt her throat go dry.
“A conduit?”
Marian stepped closer, her hand brushing against Eleanor’s arm, the contact lingering.
“Often, the role is… intimate,”
she said softly, her voice a whisper that sent shivers down Eleanor’s spine.
“The flesh remembers what science cannot, and it is up to the conduit to make it remember.”
The warmth of Marian’s touch ignited a spark in Eleanor that she hadn’t anticipated. Her gaze flickered to the nurse’s lips before she looked away, her heart pounding. The tension between them was palpable, charged with an undercurrent of something dangerous and alluring.
Marian lingered a moment longer, her breath warm against Eleanor’s cheek.
“If you ever feel unsure, I can guide you through it,”
she murmured, her voice trembling with an emotion Eleanor couldn’t quite name. Her fingers brushed down Eleanor’s arm, lingering just long enough to leave her skin tingling.
The door creaked open, and Frye’s imposing presence filled the room, his sharp gaze locking onto Eleanor.
“Learning quick, are you, Doctor?”
he murmured, his voice laced with challenge.
Eleanor straightened, her steady tone cutting through the tension: “I am. And I’m ready to do what’s necessary.”
Frye stepped closer, the oppressive heat of the room amplifying his intensity. “Are you?”
he demanded.
“Let’s see if you have what it takes.”
Excerpt from the Diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
I hesitate even to write it down. Reanimation. Resurrection. Triumph over death. They say it can be done. They say they can bring James back.
I want to believe in it. I am forcing myself to try and believe in it, for James. I keep saying it over and over in my head like a mantra. I do this for him. But yet, even as I write it just now, part of me wonders if I am being selfish. Is it just for myself that I seek their assistance?
This place is so strange, almost as if it were separate from the rest of London, which I know is just on the other side of these doors. But there is something dark here, something that feels…off, out of sync.
I don’t know what I mean. I think I am overly tired. I will rest for a bit before returning to the lab and facing the anticipation again.
The Beating of a Heart
Within the hour, the chamber was alive with anticipation. The Array glowed brighter, its hum vibrating through Eleanor’s body like a lover’s caress. She stood beside the dais, her heart pounding as Fairfax explained the final preparations.
“You will see,”
he said, his voice low and intimate, “how raw emotion can transform science into something transcendent.”
Her eyes met his, the weight of his words pressing against her chest. She nodded, her breath shallow.
“I’m ready to try.”
Fairfax gestured toward the dais.
“Then step forward,”
he said.
“Let us begin.”
The room fell silent as Eleanor approached, the leather straps and gleaming metal cuffs calling to her. She placed her hands on the edge of the dais, her body trembling as she prepared to surrender everything she had, her grief, her desire, her very essence to the pursuit of the impossible.
As she leaned into the room's energy, every nerve in her body screamed in shock, the pulsating hum of the apparatus mirroring the beat of her heart. She closed her eyes, ready to give herself entirely to whatever this forbidden science demanded. The air thickened, charged with unspoken promise, as the lines between desire, grief, and science blurred into an intoxicating haze.
Fairfax, with an almost manic look of excitement in his eyes, removed a small tray from a cabinet next to the machine. The tray was covered with a cloth, so its contents were not visible. Eleanor swallowed hard as she watched him lay the tray on the pedestal.
“What is it?”
Eleanor asked, her eyes widening at the suspicious dark stains that covered the cloth. Whatever was beneath the fabric appeared to have bled at one time.
“This is a simple trial to show you how the process will work. Of course, the process won’t be complete as the emotional component won’t be included, but we can produce a similar effect on a much smaller scale.”
Fairfax gestured for Eleanor to stand beside him as he worked so she would have the best vantage.
“Marian, please ready the rods and prep the specimen.”
Nurse Marian Collins busied herself with the tasks assigned to her, bringing the galvanized rods and electrodes to the platform and laying them gently next to the tray.
“Everything is ready, Ambrose-er…Dr. Fairfax.”
Marian’s cheeks turned scarlet when she noticed her verbal slip, but she did not make eye contact with Eleanor.
The cloth was removed from the tray, and Eleanor stared down at a human heart, still glistening as if it had been freshly ripped from the chest. Fairfax and Marian began attaching the electrodes and rods to the piece of flesh with extreme care and delicacy.
“All right now, we’re ready to begin,”
Fairfax said. The apparatus and its sounds began softly, but soon, the soft whirring became a louder whine and then a hissing and buzzing as the machine reached maximum capacity.
Eleanor watched the heart intently, seeing little blue sparks flicker along the edges of the muscle. The tiny flicker of electricity was the only thing happening to it. After two full minutes of staring at the heart, almost willing something to happen, Eleanor looked over at Fairfax to gauge his reaction. He appeared as focused as ever, however.
And then, just as Eleanor was about to voice her concern, she thought she saw something. A faint, almost imperceptible moment.
“Did it…?”
Eleanor asked, her voice trailing off as she moved in closer.
“It did, indeed, Dr. Ashcroft. You are witnessing a miracle of science right before your eyes!”
Eleanor let out a shuddering breath as she watched in amazement as the heart, devoid of any human body to pump blood through it, began slowly contracting. One pump, two, then three. By all accounts, this disembodied human heart was beating on its own. Eleanor could not resist reaching out her hand and touching the thick, muscled organ as if to confirm for herself that it was all really happening.
Her fingers pressed into the trembling heart, the muscle slick and pulsating beneath her touch. The warmth was overwhelming, the wetness clinging to her skin as blood oozed sluggishly from its chambers, streaking crimson against her fingertips. A faint, metallic tang rose from the fresh spill, sharp, raw, unmistakably alive. She felt it quicken, the rhythm shifting beneath her palms, its flesh quivering in response to her presence. It was real, unquestionably, terrifyingly real.
Eleanor stood at the corridor’s threshold, her pulse thudding a heady staccato. Hours had slipped by since the demonstration at dusk, a macabre spectacle of galvanic currents jolting lifeless muscle to twitching existence.
She’d borne witness in silence, torn between horror and a perverse fascination. In the wake of that display, Dr. Fairfax and Nurse Collins had quietly ushered her to a private salon within the clinic’s numerous halls. They had offered her a seat in a small antechamber, then vanished without explanation.
She clenched the folds of her cloak, acutely aware of the hush enveloping her. There was no hum of apparatus, no footfalls on the floor beyond. Only the faint hiss of candle flames dancing atop silver holders lined along the walls, dimming as she passed by as if they were bowing to her or, perhaps, leering. A swirl of apprehension squeezed her lungs like a vice.
Lord Blackwood, the elusive benefactor behind these unholy experiments, was coming to see her. The wooden floor groaned beneath her boots as Eleanor paced nervously, but the echo that followed wasn’t quite hers. Eleanor listened acutely, certain she must be hearing things, but as she walked back and forth, her footfalls distinctly reached her ears a second or two after she had already taken a step. She felt as if she was just slightly out of sync with the room around her.
A gilded clock on the mantel ticked away in the silence. When the door at the room's far end finally creaked open, Eleanor jolted upright. A figure emerged, tall and lean, dressed in a midnight-blue frock coat that accentuated an elegant frame. His dark hair curled at the temples, and the candlelight caught the sharp planes of his face, illuminating features that might have been sculpted for a decadent portrait. A lazy, charismatic smile curved his mouth.
“Dr. Ashcroft,”
he intoned, his voice rich and resonant as a cello’s lower register. I’ve been quite eager to make your acquaintance.”
Excerpt from the Diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
I am to meet the mysterious Lord Blackwood today. I confess that while I feel some nervous apprehension, a part of me feels a certain excitement at the thought of him. Marian and Fairfax have told me a little about his proclivities for certain activities that proper society would condemn. So why does my heart beat a little faster at the thought of what those activities might be?
I must try to control my thoughts. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like someone might hear every errant thought. It feels almost as if someone is always listening and watching every movement. I am sure it is just my imagination combined with the stress of this situation, yet I cannot shake the feeling.