Page 6 of The Flesh Remembers

The coil hissed loudly as white sparks flew up into the air while the group watched in fascinated horror as something moved jerkily under the death shroud. It gave a faint twitch, no more than a spasm. Eleanor clenched her fists at her sides. Lord Blackwood was chanting something from an ancient-looking book, and these chants grew louder, throbbing in the air, winding tighter around her senses.

“A-lah… to-rem… ah-zah…”

His voice was soft at first, but it steadily gained momentum.

Dr. Fairfax beckoned her closer to the dais, indicating she should place her hands lightly on James’s chest, just where the shift parted to expose his collarbone.

She hesitated, fear and excitement overwhelming her. The man who once murmured sweet words against her ear now lay cold, unresponsive. A wave of despair threatened to crush her. But then she recalled the electric jolt of her solitary fantasies, the power that heartbreak and longing could unleash. Letting out a trembling exhale, she pressed her palms against the chill of James’s skin.

A surge of energy coursed through the electrode leads, bridging her body and the apparatus. She felt a sharp, intimate shock, not painful but achingly intense, as though every nerve in her body had awakened. Her gaze darted to Marian, who offered an encouraging nod. Frye stepped forward, quietly adjusting the rods so that arcs of bluish electricity snapped and hissed above James’s prone form.

“Now, Dr. Ashcroft…Eleanor, think back to your time with James. Think of the happy memories you have of him. Times that were especially emotional or loving. Concentrate on those memories, sear them into your brain. Feel his lips on yours, his arms around you. The more you feel it, the more energy those memories will release, and we can then channel that energy back into the machine.”

Fairfax was becoming more animated as he guided Eleanor, his eyes taking on a frenzied intensity.

Eleanor let her mind wander to the raw memories of her and James, his tender kisses, the heat of his body, the nights of shared ecstasy. She conjured each intimate detail, letting the swirl of lust and grief coalesce in her core. Her pulse thudded violently, and she gasped aloud as the silver disk at her throat glowed faintly, amplifying her emotions into the galvanic current.

The chanting surged higher, becoming almost orgasmic in its cadence. Blackwood’s voice melded with Nurse Collins’ soft, breathy murmurs, their voices rising and falling in a sensual harmony. Eleanor felt the rhythm crawl beneath her skin, every pulse of sound rippling through her as though her very soul was being drawn into the rite.

The electrodes on her skin sent jolts of heat and vibration coursing through her limbs, intensifying with every arc of electricity that snapped above the dais. Her muscles tensed of their own accord, the yearning between her legs swelling into an agonizing need. She bit down on her tongue to not only keep from crying out but also in penance for how easily she moved from grief to arousal. Her guilt overwhelmed her as her hands trembled against James’s chest. Her nipples hardened, becoming so sensitive that even the brush of air felt like a caress.

“Focus,”

Dr. Fairfax urged, though his voice seemed far away.

“Let it build, Eleanor. Let it consume you.”

She closed her eyes, the memory of James’s touch searing through her mind. His lips tracing her skin, his hands guiding her hips, the sensations were so vivid she could almost feel him now. The galvanic current seemed to pulse in time with the chanting, each wave of energy driving her closer to the edge of something uncontrollable.

Then it happened. A final surge from the apparatus sent a shock so intense through Eleanor’s body that she cried out, her back arching involuntarily. The ache inside her exploded, pleasure crashing over her in relentless waves. She couldn’t stop it. Her body convulsed with an orgasm so powerful it left her trembling, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. Her knees nearly buckled, but she clung to the edge of the dais, her breath ragged and uneven.

The room fell silent momentarily, the echoes of her cry still hanging in the air. Heat flushed her cheeks as she realized what had just happened. Embarrassment warred with the lingering tremors of pleasure, her gaze darting to the others in the room. Marian’s lips parted in astonishment, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. Frye looked away, his jaw tight, but not before Eleanor caught the flicker of something dark and hungry in his eyes.

“I… I didn’t…”

Eleanor stammered, mortified, her hands flying to the silver disk as if to shield herself. But the apparatus hummed louder, demanding more, feeding on her vulnerability and desire.

Suddenly, an unexpected sexual component manifested in the rite. Marian, trembling with her own repressed excitement, moved behind Eleanor, placing her hands on her shoulders. She began a soft, repetitive chant synchronizing with Blackwood’s deeper incantation, her warm breath brushing Eleanor’s ear. The closeness sent a pang of forbidden thrill through Eleanor; she recalled Marian’s recent confession of fascination and attraction.

Then, to Eleanor’s shock, Frye approached from the other side, his gaze intense, dark. He hesitated only a moment before sliding one of his rough, calloused hands around her waist, pressing her closer to James’s prone body. Eleanor stiffened but did not pull away; her mind spun with conflicted impulses. A strange, eerie unity seemed to command them all, each player a vessel for the galvanic force tying them to the promise of reanimation.

Skin tingling, she let her memories of James intensify. She pictured the moment he had guided her to ecstasy in the carriage house, the storm raging outside, and a surge of heat pulsed in her chest. That intimate recollection merged with the present, where electric arcs spat overhead, and the chanting thickened the air into something almost tangible. The more her body quickened with desire, the more the apparatus glowed.

A single bolt of miniature lightning streaked between two rods, striking James’s chest in a brief, crackling burst. The muscle beneath Eleanor’s palms flinched. Heart lurching, she pressed down harder, gasping as a wave of galvanic energy leapt from her fingertips into him. It felt like her longing had taken physical form, coursing into his flesh.

Frye leaned in, exhaling against Eleanor’s neck, the curling dark hair of his beard tickling her there. The faintest brush of his lips teased her ear. Meanwhile, behind her, Marian’s hands trailed lightly down her arms, as if urging her to stay locked in that intense moment of combined lust and heartbreak. Horrified and fascinated, Eleanor embraced the swirling sensation: James, come back to me…

Lord Blackwood’s voice sounded very far away as he said softly to Eleanor, “Let them guide you, Eleanor. The sexual energy generated will help revive him.”

Eleanor felt as though her mind was in a fog. She could not form coherent thoughts. All she could see was James as he had been in life—sweet, smiling James with his crooked smile and bright blue eyes. She would do anything for him, wouldn’t she? Yes, she would. She would.

Eleanor felt herself lean back against Frye, allowing him to run his tongue lightly against her neck. She could hear the heavy, guttural sound of his breathing as he grew more aroused. His teeth lightly nipped at the soft white flesh of her throat while his hands slipped stealthily from her waist up to her breasts.

Eleanor gasped as she felt a surge of arousal flame and she felt a warm sticky wetness slowly slipping past the swollen lips of her vagina, spreading to her clenched thighs. She was gradually losing control, but all Eleanor saw was James. It was like he was there with her. It was his mouth at her throat, his hands on her breasts. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, the softest moan escaping her lips as she gave herself over.

“Yes…”

Frye clenched a handful of her skirt and yanked it up roughly, exposing her legs. The white cotton drawers she wore had an open crotch, which exposed her wet and swollen sex. Eleanor could feel Frye's first gasp in surprise, then make a low, throaty moan as he slipped his fingers into her moist heat.

“Your pussy’s ready for me, isn’t it?”

Frye vulgarly whispered into her ear.

Eleanor knew on some abstract level that this was all wrong, that this man touching her was not James. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to slap his face and make him sorry he had ever given her a lustful thought. But she could not. She felt trapped within the throbbing, aching confines of this prison of flesh.

Frye’s thick fingers found her slick folds, and with surprising delicacy, he slipped a single finger between them. Eleanor cried out involuntarily as Frye found her swollen clitoris and rubbed slow, lazy circles over and around it.

From very far away, Eleanor heard the silky, almost hypnotic voice of Lord Blackwood.

“Yes, yes, that’s good.”

There was a hint of something in his voice that sounded slightly pained, as if he were trying to hold something back. “More,”

he all but whispered.

“You must go further.”

Eleanor felt like a lifeless doll in Frye’s arms as he continued his gentle assault on her. He continued rubbing her, but now increasing the pressure and speed. Eleanor closed her eyes tightly and began to whisper James’s name to herself. It was almost like a mantra or a protective spell she cast over herself. Perhaps to absolve her of the guilt that undoubtedly would come from letting another man touch her in such a way.

“I’m going to fuck your pussy with my finger, sweetheart,”

Frye said roughly. Eleanor briefly wondered what had taken hold of Frye. He had seemed coarse, but he hadn’t been vulgar or crass with her like this. It was as if this ritual was releasing something within all of them.

Eleanor pushed impatiently against his finger, wanting what came next even as she dreaded it. No one had touched her this way except James. But this was for James. She was doing all of this for him. Surely, he would understand how desperate she was to get him back.

Frye moaned as his finger slipped into her entrance and then ventured further and further within. He went slowly at first, his finger slightly curled upward as she began to pump it in and out of her slowly.

Eleanor clenched her eyes even tighter as she felt another finger follow the first and then another. She clutched Frye’s forearms for support as he began to work her faster and faster. His fingers slipped in and out with ease as her wetness coated everything.

Eleanor cried out, feeling a tingling begin to spread from her sex to her thighs, then her belly. Her orgasm was building, and it was only a matter of seconds before she would explode.

“Yes, sweetheart, yes, come for me. Come hard for me!”

Frye called out to her, pumping her roughly with three fingers, her juices coating his hand.

All at once, Eleanor felt her body seize with uncontrollable pleasure. She screamed out as the orgasm overtook her, muscles jerking and spasming as the ecstasy filled every part of her body. Then, when she thought her body could not take more, she felt a tremendous build-up, then release fill her and a fresh surge of wetness, stronger than before. It gushed out of her like a flood, leaving her quivering, wet, and spent.

Eleanor opened her eyes and took in the scene around her. Frye stumbled back away from her, his face red and sweaty. He looked ashamed, nervous, even a bit frightened. It was as if he had been sleepwalking and had now woken and realized what he had done.

Marian stood nearby, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Her eyes were glassy, and she stared at Eleanor with a barely contained lust which she quickly sought to hide as she turned away.

Lord Blackwood stood behind the machine, watching from the shadows. Eleanor could not make out much of his figure, but she thought she saw him grin at her in a way that made her feel like icy fingers were clutching her heart.

A sudden hush fell, broken only by the sizzling of the coils. The chanting died. Eleanor looked to James in time to see his eyelids flicker. Disbelief caught in her throat. Is it real? She watched, breath suspended, as James’s eyes opened, cloudy, dazed, yet undeniably alive. A choked sob escaped her.

She leaned over him. “James?”

she whispered, voice trembling.

His gaze roamed in confusion, eventually fixating on her face. His chest rose in a shallow, ragged breath. The shock of it paralyzed her, but then, in a single motion that seemed impossible for a corpse moments ago, he lifted one hand to cup her cheek. His touch was cool and fragile, but it was his hand, shape, and essence. Fresh tears streaked down her cheeks as she pressed her palm over his, searching his eyes for any spark of recognition.

As Eleanor looked down at James in emotional disbelief, she noticed his eyes appeared to be struggling to remain open.

“James?”

she asked quietly.

The corpse that had once been James Sinclair blinked slowly once, then twice, before letting out a ragged and primal scream.

Excerpt from the diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft

I thought I was a woman of reason. A doctor. A devoted fiancée.

But I moaned over a corpse tonight. I came with James’s name on my mouth, and other men watching.

No, not watching. Guiding.

I did it because I love James. Didn’t I?

Because now, hours later, I keep feeling the air brush my thighs and wondering if the clinic wants me to do it again.

My hands tremble, but not from fear. From want.

I was supposed to resurrect a man. But I think I’m the one being resurrected. And I’m not sure I was ever holy to begin with.