Page 3 of The Flesh Remembers

Eleanor rose, performing a reflexive half-curtsy. No words emerged immediately; his presence exuded such a potent, almost decadent aura that her breathing grew shallow. She recalled how Nurse Collins and Dr. Fairfax had alluded to his “carnal appetites,”

though they withheld specifics. Now, confronted with his languid grace and keen eyes, she sensed an undercurrent of danger thrumming beneath the refined exterior.

“Lord Blackwood,”

she managed, lowering her gaze in polite respect.

“I appreciate this opportunity, though I confess, everything here is beyond my usual understanding.”

He chuckled, the sound low and knowing, as though he relished her uncertainty.

“I would be disappointed if it weren’t. Usual understanding has no place in these halls.”

Stepping closer, he flicked a glance about the salon. Ornate rugs, tapestries of mythic creatures, and a small table bearing a decanter of crimson wine lent the room a sumptuous air. “Come,”

he gestured, “sit with me. Let us talk about your dear fiancé.”

She followed him to a tufted settee facing a marble fireplace. He settled on one end with casual grace, while she perched stiffly on the other. Lord Blackwood poured two glasses of wine, offering her one with a gloved hand. The flicker of the candlelight caressed the sharp angle of his jaw, emphasizing the half-smile that never quite left his lips.

“I hear you’ve thrown yourself entirely into this endeavour,”

he said, swirling the wine in his glass.

“Dr. Fairfax is most impressed by your, shall we say, fervour.”

Heat prickled at her cheeks. She thought of her reactions to Frye’s provocations, the electric tingle of the galvanic machine, and how each step along this twisted path fuelled a relentless longing for James.

“I am… determined,”

she confessed softly.

“If your clinic truly can bring him back, I will do whatever it takes.”

Lord Blackwood set his glass aside.

“Mm, yes. Whatever it takes. So many have uttered those words. Few truly mean them. You, however, might.”

His eyes lingered on her face, dipping briefly to her throat, before traveling lower, as though appraising every curve hidden beneath her cloak.

“Have they told you the full truth of our methods?”

She hesitated.

“They’ve explained that raw emotion fuels the galvanic currents… that harnessing powerful sensations like grief and desire can spark the boundary between life and death.”

He offered a faint smile, a flicker of approval that felt almost conspiratorial. "They may have whispered of a ritual, one of passion, binding this process together. But I doubt Dr. Fairfax or Nurse Collins dared to reveal its true nature."

He rose, his movements deliberate, and drifted to the fireplace. The shadows stretched and coiled around him, casting him as a figure plucked from the pages of a forbidden tale. "Science alone falters at the threshold of resurrection; what we seek demands... transcendence. A raw, unbridled ecstasy rooted in flesh, yet surging beyond the limits of mortality."

His voice lingered, heavy with unspoken truths. "Fairfax’s work at the Campbell Institute intrigued me. His pursuit of aging, death, and the elusive promise of their undoing." Blackwood paused, his gaze catching hers as he raised the glass to his lips, the faintest smile curling as he drank.

“I know, it seems like a desperate man’s pipe dream, to live forever, but what if it were possible, Dr. Ashcroft? What wouldn’t a man do for that possibility? The thought became quite an obsession for me.

When I was much younger, I was a restless wanderer and travelled much of the world. I discovered many interesting people in my travels and learned many things. Things that would not be readily welcomed into our modern London society.”

Blackwood chuckled at Eleanor’s expression.

“Yes, Dr. Ashcroft, you may well blush. But I suggest you overcome your sense of propriety rather quickly, for it will not serve you where we will be going.”

Eleanor’s heart drummed a wild rhythm in her chest. The phrase “ritual of passion”

evoked images she dared not fully envision, bodies entwined, arcs of electricity dancing over bare flesh, a swirling intensity that cracked open the grave itself. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat.

“And you orchestrate this ritual?”

He shifted to face her, the candlelight illuminating a glint in his eyes.

“Orchestrate might be too strong a word. I merely… facilitate. Ensure the environment is ripe for the participants to unleash themselves. The question, Dr. Ashcroft, is whether you can unleash yourself. Are you prepared to let go of propriety, of the illusions society piles upon us, to reclaim your lost love?”

Though the notion felt perverse, an insidious thrill slid through her veins. She recalled how her body had responded to the clinic’s strange energies. Hadn’t she already glimpsed how carnal desire might interlace with the longing for James? If this was the next step, if this is what might lead to James’s resurrection…

“I am prepared,”

she said. She prayed her voice sounded resolute.

Lord Blackwood smiled fully then, revealing even white teeth.

“Excellent. And so, dear Eleanor,”

he spoke her name as though tasting it, “allow me to show you a glimpse of what that means.”

He crossed to her side with unhurried grace, his polished boots barely sounding on the thick rug. His eyes locked onto hers with such intensity that her breath caught, and for a moment, the space between them seemed charged, a taut thread threatening to snap. Slowly, he extended a hand. His fingers were long and deft, exuding warmth she could feel even before their skin met.

She hesitated, but his gaze held hers, unyielding and full of dark promise. When she finally placed her trembling hand in his, the contact sent a spark shooting through her, sharp and electric, like a jolt from the apparatus but far more intimate. A soft gasp escaped her lips as he tightened his grip, guiding her to her feet with a languid precision that felt almost rehearsed.

“Look around,”

he murmured, his voice low and velvety, each word brushing against her like a caress.

“Every element here is designed to stoke the senses. Sight, scent, touch are the gateways through which raw emotion and power flow.”

The room seemed to shimmer in her peripheral vision as he guided her attention to the tapestry on the wall. It depicted mythic lovers entwined, their bodies a seamless blend of muscle and desire. She felt his breath warm on her neck, closer now than before, as though he had invaded the very air she inhaled.

He slid one hand along the curve of her waist, the pressure light but possessive, as though claiming his place there. Her body betrayed her, leaning into his touch even as her mind screamed caution.

“Do you feel it?”

he asked, his lips brushing against her ear.

“The current between us? It’s no mere chance, Eleanor. This is the essence of what we need to bring him back.”

Her pulse surged like a raging river as his hand wandered lower, resting just above the curve of her hip.

“I… I don’t understand,”

she stammered. She knew precisely what he meant but could not admit it aloud.

“James is gone from you,”

he whispered, his voice a hypnotic drawl.

“Yet you ache for him so deeply that it trembles through your every breath. That ache is your greatest resource. But to unlock its true potential, you must allow yourself to feel, to give in to the boundary between agony and desire.”

The words sent a shiver cascading down her spine, her knees threatening to buckle under the weight of his proximity. His hand slid beneath her chin, tilting her face upward until their eyes met. His eyes were impossibly dark, fathomless, and brimming with an authority she could not challenge. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers.

Her heart screamed for her to retreat, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own. This unbidden desire welled up from within her and threatened to consume her fully. Why was the feeling so strong here? Why did she feel she would completely come undone at any moment? She did not want this man, just as she had not wanted Frye earlier, but the proximity of their warm flesh, the promise of a touch of fingers or lips had made her feel weak enough to faint.

But along with that inexplicable passion was a great sense of guilt. She loved James; she wanted James. So then, how could she feel this way for someone else? Eleanor hated herself even as she felt herself inching closer to Lord Blackwood, desperate to feel the heat of his lips upon her own.

When his mouth finally claimed hers, it was not the gentle exploration of a lover but the deliberate possession of a predator. The kiss was molten, a clash of dominance and surrender that left her breathless. His hands roamed her back, pulling her closer, until the heat of his body threatened to sear through the thin fabric of her gown.

She gasped against his lips, a sound that only seemed to embolden him. His tongue teased hers, demanding a response, and when she gave it, a low growl of approval rumbled from his chest. Her hands, which had hovered uncertainly at her sides, now found his shoulders, clutching at the delicate fabric of his coat as though he were the only thing anchoring her to reality.

A sharp tug at her waist brought her flush against him, and she could feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing into her. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her, shame and arousal intertwining in a way that left her dizzy. This was not James, she knew that, but at this moment, with his lips devouring hers and his hands mapping every curve of her body, she could not summon the strength to push him away, nor was she sure she wanted to. She knew that she did not want him in the way she wanted James, but her body at least wanted his touch, begging for it in a purely carnal sense.

He broke the kiss abruptly, leaving her gasping for air, her lips tingling and swollen from the force of it.

“And so you prove you are not a porcelain doll,”

he murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction.

“You can be stirred.”

She stumbled back, her legs trembling as she collapsed onto the settee. Her chest heaved, and her mind raced with conflicting emotions: shame, anger, but above all, a desperate, aching need that refused to be ignored.

“How dare you kiss me!”

Eleanor hissed at him through clenched teeth, hoping Blackwood did not notice how hard she was breathing. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how he had affected her. But, from the silky, seductive smile on his lips, it seemed clear that Blackwood knew exactly what effect he had on her.

“Oh, come now, Eleanor, you’ll need to be made of stronger stuff if you plan to survive the next few weeks. You will face every moral dilemma you can imagine, and you will need to decide now if you have the stomach for what we must do here to achieve our goals. Will you be a proper London lady or will you wallow down in the mud with the rest of us heathens?”

Lord Blackwood loomed over her, the corner of his lips curving up into a knowing smile.

“This is only the beginning, Eleanor. If you truly wish to bring him back, you must embrace this. The passion. The longing. Let it consume you, for you can only channel it fully.”

A soft knock at the door interrupted the charged silence. Assistant Frye entered, his expression carefully neutral, though there was still that same wild flash in his eyes when he caught her gaze. In his hands, he carried a small velvet box. “My lord,”

he said, addressing Blackwood with a rather blatant bite to his voice, “shall I present it to her?”

Blackwood nodded, stepping back as Frye approached. The box opened to reveal a silver chain, its centrepiece a polished metal disk humming faintly with energy.

“An amplification instrument,”

Blackwood explained, watching her intently.

“It is something I discovered in my travels. I purchased it from a shaman of dark magic while traveling through the jungles in the East Indies. He certainly did not want to part with it, but I knew it would prove useful when he showed me how it worked and amplified any emotion or feeling.”

“If he didn’t wish to part with it, how did you manage to purchase it?”

Eleanor asked, her eyes glued to the gleaming disc.

“You will learn very quickly, my dear Dr. Ashcroft, that I am a man who gets what he wants. I simply offered the man more money than he had ever seen in his lifetime. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, has a price. Even you, Eleanor.”

Blackwood’s gaze lingered on the box as he extended it toward her. "It sharpens the senses, weaving them into the apparatus’s hunger, even in your absence," he murmured, his tone a velvet caress. "Think of it as a pledge, a quiet bond to the work we’ve begun."

Eleanor’s hands shook as she lifted the chain, nearly dropping it altogether when the disk’s subtle vibration sent a sensation coursing through her fingers. She glanced at Blackwood, who watched her with undisguised satisfaction, and then at Frye, whose lingering gaze sent a fresh flush of heat to her cheeks.

Though her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own at that moment, she managed to fasten the chain around her neck, the disk settling against her clavicle. A pulse of energy radiated outward, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. Blackwood’s smile widened, dark and triumphant.

“Wear it well, Dr. Ashcroft. Let it remind you of the power you hold and the passion you must harness.”

She touched the disk, feeling the warmth of the energy emanating from it. A mild shock tingled along her flesh, making her start. Lord Blackwood’s approving nod felt laden with dark promise. A pulse echoed through her bones as the disk settled against her chest. Not mechanical, something deeper, older. Like the heartbeat of a thing that had been waiting for her.

“Keep it close, Dr. Ashcroft," he murmured, his voice velvet smooth. "With each spark of longing, the apparatus hungers, a delicate symbiosis, drawing your essence into something... greater." A shadow of a smile played on his lips. "And perhaps it will serve as a gentle nudge, a reminder to embrace your desires. After all, the fiercer the flame, the more formidable the offering."

Eleanor swallowed hard, her breath unsteady. She hadn’t told anyone what she’d heard. During the demonstration, a voice, his voice, had whispered her name. James. She was certain. She had heard it too many times before to mistake it. But it wasn’t possible. They hadn’t even begun the process on him. And yet, she had heard him just as clearly as Fairfax, Marian, and Frye. A trick of her mind? A desperate illusion? She didn’t know. But whether real or imagined, the promise of what might come made the whole thing feel far less monstrous.

Excerpt from the Diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft

I can scarcely write these words, but I must unburden myself. Blackwood kissed me. Passionately, hungrily. But worse than that, worse than anything, I kissed him back. I didn’t pull away. I let him kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me.

When his lips met mine, I did not pull away. I betrayed my heart, my James, whose memory I vowed to keep sacred. The guilt is unbearable. How could I let myself be so weak, so drawn to another? Was it his charm, or the hope he dangles before me? Or, God forbid, what if I just wanted it for no other reason than that?

Whatever the reason, I fear I am a woman torn in two.

Dancing with Devils

Eleanor thought back to that first day she had met him in the anatomy lab. Eleanor had to work in the lab late into the night after all the other students had gone home to avoid the cruel remarks and vicious looks from the primarily male students in her class at medical school. There were only three women in the entire class of three hundred, and of those three, the chances were good that one or more of them might not make it till graduation. But Eleanor persisted. She had wanted to be a doctor from a young age and follow in her beloved father's steps.

Eleanor recalled that night in the lab when she had heard a noise and became convinced someone was sneaking into the lab to harm her or do something unspeakable to the cadaver she was working on. She grabbed one of the scalpels she had used to dissect the cadaver and crouched down low behind the table where the cadaver lay, its chest cracked open and the exposed internal organs appearing quite black in the pale light that filtered faintly in from the window. Eleanor had wanted to cover the poor body as it seemed terribly disrespectful to leave it fully displayed in such a way, but she had no time to grab the canvas cloth behind her, for just at that moment, she heard someone enter the lab.

The door's hinges screeched as it was slowly opened, sounding like some terrifying animal cry. Soft footsteps entered the room as Eleanor held her breath. Was she about to come face to face with corpse thieves set on defiling one of the dead bodies in the lab? Eleanor knew she couldn’t let such a desecration occur, so she clutched her scalpel tightly and crept slowly. She had to get to the wall and find the switch for the electric lamps. Though the school had been fully equipped with electric lighting last year, Eleanor had not wanted to bring attention to herself in the lab, for it was strictly against the rules to be here so late, so she had only studied by candlelight alone.

After a few seconds of trying to gather her courage, Eleanor jumped up and ran towards the wall with her arms outstretched. She hit the wall quite hard, sending a painful shock through both palms that radiated up each arm, but she did not stop. Her hands desperately felt around for the light switch, but she couldn’t find it. All she could feel beneath her hands was the smooth, cold plaster wall. Eleanor gave a small cry of frustration, for she knew then that whoever was in here with her had to know she was here now and would no doubt be creeping up upon her any moment.

But then the electric lights flicked on, and harsh yellow light filled the lab. Eleanor gasped and shielded her eyes from the blinding intrusion of light.

“Just stay back!”

Eleanor cried out, extending the hand that still clutched the scalpel.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will gut you if I have to!”

“Ouch!”

came an amused voice.

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

Eleanor squinted and saw a young man standing a few feet away, his hand still on the light switch.

“I mean it!”

Eleanor said in what she hoped was her most vicious voice.

“I am at the top of my anatomy class, so I know where to cut you to make you suffer the most.”

The young man threw his head back and laughed, showing his straight white teeth. He didn’t appear to be some sexual deviant come to desecrate corpses. At least not what Eleanor thought a sexual deviant would look like.

“I believe you would do it, too,”

he laughed again.

“Look, if you promise not to flay me alive, I’d like to put my arm down, is that all right?”

Eleanor nodded stiffly, her hand and weapon poised in the air, still on guard. She wasn’t about to be lulled into a false sense of security, no matter how charming this young man might be.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,”

he said with a disarming grin.

“I’m a medical student too. I’ve seen you around the campus. Honestly, I did not know anyone was here tonight. I just came to get some practice in before the exam tomorrow. My name is James. James Sinclair.”

The young man’s boyish grin threatened to disarm Eleanor, and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he extended his hand to her.

“I’m pleased to meet you,”

he said, “And even more pleased that you didn’t gut me like a fish just now.”

Eleanor lowered the scalpel but still held onto it, not fully trusting this stranger yet. After all, he could say virtually anything to her and she would have no way of knowing if it was true. James seemed to pick up on her skepticism and lowered his hand, accepting defeat. But his smile remained as he shifted the satchel on his shoulder.

“Do you mind if I put these down? You know how heavy these textbooks are. It feels like I’m carrying around boulders.”

James dropped the satchel to the floor and motioned to the cadaver on the table behind them.

“We could share him,”

he said with a sly grin.

“What?!”

Eleanor gasped. Her eyes widened at the lurid suggestion.

James seemed confused for a moment. Then, as it began to dawn on him what she thought of him, he doubled over in laughter until tears streamed from his eyes.

“Oh my, you really do think the worst of me, don’t you?”

James said as his laughter began to taper off.

“Did you think I was offering to…”

He hesitated and glanced at the dissected body to his left.

“Trust me, the perverts that hunger for the bodies of the dead like them a little fresher than our friend here.”

Eleanor looked over at the body and admitted that only a truly psychotic maniac would get any sexual gratification from a sliced-open cadaver with its internal organs exposed. And though this young man was a stranger, she doubted he was a maniac.

“All right, I suppose I jumped to conclusions,”

Eleanor said with a gentle laugh.

“But you gave me a terrible fright coming in here. I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”

“Looks like we both had the same idea. Do you want to work together on this body and help each other study for the exam? That’s what I was trying to ask before you accused me of necrophilia.”

James gave her that boyish grin, and Eleanor smiled in return, finally letting her guard down enough to get a good look at him. His blonde hair fell softly across his forehead, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand in a haphazard way. A sweet, good-naturedness about him and that sense of mischief and playfulness stirred something in Eleanor. She felt a flutter in her stomach and a stirring within her that she had never felt before. She felt her cheeks flame, her breath catch in her throat, and her mouth go dry. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening to her. But she smiled at James and nodded her head.

Eleanor’s reverie was broken minutes later when Frye loudly cleared his throat and excused himself, leaving the salon door ajar. Lord Blackwood leaned against the mantle again, swirling his wine.

“In time, you’ll meet others who share our calling. For now, let the device you wear, and the memory of tonight’s… encounter guide you.”

He raised a brow.

“You’ll find the line between your devotion to James and your awakened carnality blurs quickly. Embrace it.”

The scandalous suggestion pricked her anger, and she rose abruptly.

“I am not some harlot to be toyed with.”

He set his wine down, then pivoted, studying her with an inscrutable expression.

“No. You are a woman bound by sorrow, willing to cross thresholds once deemed forbidden. I do not condemn nor moralize. I simply provide the stage on which you perform your final act.”

A silence weighed heavily in the room. She glared at him, wanting to retort but failing to find words. The truth was, part of her recognized a spark in his statement. She was crossing lines, step by step. Even tonight’s shocking kiss had fed that hunger within, a hunger that belonged to no one but James. And yet, in a twisted sense, she’d let it kindle under another man’s mouth.

Breaking eye contact, she exhaled, determined not to show tears or weakness.

“I will do what I must,”

she repeated, voice steadier than she felt.

“Whatever ritual of passion is required, I shall… participate.”

A pensive smile tugged at Blackwood’s lips.

“Then I expect we’ll see each other again soon. We have a Grand Induction in the coming fortnight. Until then, Dr. Fairfax will continue your training. After all, you must learn to command your desires, how to channel them, direct them, if you hope to reclaim James.”

He bowed in an oddly gallant manner, then moved toward the door. Just before departing, he paused.

“Consider this our pact, Eleanor. Your fiancé’s soul in exchange for your unwavering… cooperation.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving her alone in the candlelit hush. She pressed a chilled hand to her lips, still bruised from his kiss. A swirl of conflicted emotion rose in her chest: a fierce repulsion at letting a stranger’s seduction tarnish her memory of James, yet also a dark craving for the power it granted her. She felt appalled by what had transpired, yet more enthralled than ever by the potential the clinic promised.

She dropped onto the settee, chest heaving as she tried to calm her ragged pulse. The hum of the small disk at her throat reminded her of the line she had crossed. Yes, perhaps she was dancing with devils. But if it meant resurrecting James, she would willingly share in that dance.

Excerpt from the Diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft

I loved James. I love James. And yet…

When Blackwood’s lips were on mine, my body sang. When Frye touches me, I feel sick. But my thighs still ache after.

What does that make me? What kind of woman lets herself burn at both ends when the one man she wants is cold and buried?

No, I’m doing this for him. I’ll crawl through filth and flame if it means I hear him repeat my name.

But what if I’m starting to like the filth?

He gave me a silver pendant that they want me to always wear. It's a silver disc with a strange symbol etched into it, something he called the Alchemical Triangle.

Blackwood said the symbol was tied to purification, destruction, and transformation. I don’t know that I believe a symbol has such powers, but I confess that I have felt odd since putting it on. Part of me wonders if my unnatural desires for Blackwood are related to it. It seems ridiculous that a piece of jewellery could have such an effect on someone, but I can feel a hum from it. A vibration. It feels warm against my skin.

I am reasonably sure that my mind is playing tricks on me. I am looking for ways to justify my inexcusable disloyalty to James today. I do not believe in magic. I believe in what I can see and touch. But I mustn’t let Blackwood or the others know. I will follow their plans if it gets me what I came here for. If it gets me James.