Page 8 of The Flesh Remembers

That night, Eleanor lay restless in her bed, the sterile air of her quarters stifling. When sleep finally claimed her, it brought no peace, only vivid dreams that teetered between ecstasy and torment. She found herself in the carriage house where she and James had once sought refuge. The scent of rain-soaked earth filled her lungs as lightning illuminated the room. And there he was, alive, whole, his presence overwhelming.

Her heart clenched as he opened his arms to her. “Eleanor,”

he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“Don’t let me slip away again.”

But as the dream ignited into searing intensity, a flash of lightning revealed his face, and her blood turned to ice. His eyes were sightless, hollow. His skin was unnaturally pale and waxen, the scent of decay clinging to him.

“Don’t let me slip away,”

he repeated, his grip tightening painfully. Pleasure and fear collided within her, leaving her gasping as the dream dissolved.

She woke with a strangled cry, her body trembling, her heart pounding against her ribs. Sweat clung to her skin, the ache between her thighs sharp and unrelenting. She clutched the silver disk at her throat, its faint hum offering little comfort. Was James reaching out to her, or was her mind unravelling under the weight of her despair and longing?

Eleanor pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. She had been dreaming of James’s mouth on her breast, his voice low and fevered in her ear. But as her eyes blinked open, the voice did not stop.

It whispered still.

“El… my El… you promised…”

She sat upright. The room was empty. The pendant at her throat pulsed once. Then silence.

The following day, she found no solace in Dr. Fairfax’s measured reassurances that a second attempt would happen soon. Not soon enough. Her entire body thrummed with restless energy, tinged by the dream’s disturbing eroticism. Even routine tasks, like reviewing notes or sampling serums, left her mind wandering to images of James or to the fleeting possibility of finding release in another’s arms. Her late-night talk with Frye had left her with troubling thoughts when she had stood so close to him. And the touch of his hand upon hers had inflamed her with a quiet passion she tried very hard to deny.

In the late afternoon, unable to bear the oppressive gloom of her quarters, she ventured again into the depths of the clinic. She passed cramped storage rooms and unmarked doors, eventually stumbling upon a small alcove where a single lamp burned. Within, she glimpsed Marian Collins, hair somewhat dishevelled, rifling through a cabinet of bandages.

Marian jumped at the sound of Eleanor’s footsteps.

“Oh! I didn’t hear you.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, exhaling.

“Everything all right?”

Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, only to hesitate as she took in the nurse’s rumpled state, the faint flush on her cheeks. A stab of curiosity mingled with something like jealousy. Has she been with someone? Perhaps she and Dr. Fairfax were lovers as she had speculated earlier? The notion rankled her unexpectedly.

“Eleanor?”

Marian repeated gently, stepping closer.

“You look… troubled.”

Perhaps it was the residual heat of the dream, or the memory of how Marian had confessed her fascination, but a reckless impulse seized Eleanor. She closed the distance between them in a single step, grasping the nurse’s wrist.

“Have you ever felt like the entire clinic is a tinderbox of desire?”

she whispered, voice shaky.

“As though we’re all feeding off something too potent to contain?”

Marian’s eyes widened, fear and longing warring in her expression.

“I do. But it frightens me,”

she murmured.

“This place… it warps our hearts.”

“Do you think I’m disgusting?”

Eleanor whispered, her eyes downcast, unable to look directly at Marian for fear of her answer.

“No. I think you're grieving.”

Marian replied softly, her hand reaching out and gently touching Eleanor’s shoulder, then running down to her arm in a comforting caress.

“I think I liked it.”

Eleanor choked, shame burning hotly in her cheeks.

Marian said nothing, but continued to gently rub Eleanor's arm, her other hand now coming up to caress Eleanor’s other arm.

“I felt… powerful. The moment I came, the machine answered. It listened.

And part of me… wanted to cry. Not because of James. Because I’d never felt that before. Like I could command death with a moan.”

Marian smiled softly.

“You’re not the first to feel that way, and you won’t be the last.”

Eleanor finally looked up into Marian’s eyes and saw understanding there and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“So, I should just embrace it?”

Marian gently touched Eleanor’s cheek with the tips of her fingers.

“No. You should decide how far you're willing to go.

Because the clinic will never stop asking for more.”

Despite the weariness in her limbs, Eleanor let her hand slip from Marian’s wrist up to her shoulder and lightly curl against her cheek. The contact carried a boldness that even she hadn’t anticipated. Marian let out a small exclamation of surprise, her full, pink, lips parting. For a charged moment, they hovered in that intimate hush, the hum of distant machinery providing a backdrop.

She felt Marian's racing pulse under her fingertips and recognized the mirrored ache in the nurse’s eyes. And then, in a rush of desperation, she leaned in, pressing her mouth to Marian’s in a tentative, searching kiss.

Marian tensed, a muffled gasp escaping her. But as the shock subsided, she melted into the kiss, responding with a soft whimper. Eleanor’s heart hammered so loudly she feared it might be audible in the corridor. There was guilt, yes James was the man she loved, but also a driving need for comfort and kindness, for any spark that could mimic that moment of aliveness she’d felt on the dais.

Their lips parted, breath mingling in shallow pants. Marian’s eyes shone with both confusion and yearning.

“We…we shouldn’t,”

she stammered, but she did not move away.

Eleanor cupped the nurse’s face with gentle hands, pressing her back against the cabinet’s edge. For a heartbeat, she imagined it was James she held, warm and alive, but the reality of Marian’s body under her touch sent a different flutter through her. The kiss deepened, and a swirl of tongues and heat left them shaky.

Eleanor’s desperation to release the burning desire that filled her grew with each kiss. Her hands slid up Marian’s body, settling at her waist. She gripped the nurse tightly, her desire pushing her closer and closer to the precipice until she feared there would be nowhere to go except over the edge.

Eleanor’s hands moved up the other woman’s blouse, and she began to claw at the buttons like some wild thing, desperate to consume and devour. She needed to see the white of her breasts, feel the heat of them in her hands. Feel the hardened peaks of her nipples against her tongue. It felt like madness, this passion, slowly consuming her until there was nothing else left.

Marian moaned as Eleanor found the laces of her corset and began to loosen them, allowing her breasts to spill out and into Eleanor’s eager hands. Eleanor’s fingers found the hardened nipples of Marian’s breast, and she began to pinch and knead them with her demanding fingers. The two women’s soft moans and gasps filled the small space as their desire threatened to push them beyond the limits of restraint.

It wasn’t until Eleanor’s lips pulled Marian’s sensitive nipple into her mouth and she began to swirl her eager tongue over the rough flesh that Marian finally spoke aloud. “Eleanor.”

Eleanor looked up into Marian’s flushed face, both women now breathing heavily, waiting expectantly for what would happen next. They looked at one another for a long moment before Marian reached out and slipped two fingers between Eleanor’s rosebud lips. Eleanor began to suck them, her eyes closed, her back now arching against Marian. The air within the cramped room was hot and thick with the scent of lust. Both women were on the verge of losing control completely, and it would only take a moment more of unbridled passion to send them over the edge of reason.

“I need to touch you!”

Marian whispered feverishly, pulling up Eleanor’s long skirts just as Frye at done at the ritual to revive James. The thought of Marian penetrating her as Frye had done caused her knees to go weak and a surge of wetness to trickle from her sex.

Marian pulled her fingers from Eleanor’s mouth and used those same wet fingers to push her way into Eleanor’s heated and damp flesh. Eleanor cried out as Marian found her swollen clitoris and began to rub it desperately.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Eleanor moaned into Marian’s ear as she began to thrust her hips against Marian’s hand unconsciously.

Marian pushed her fingers into Eleanor’s wet entrance at a frenzied pace, moaning as Eleanor continued to thrust against her penetrating fingers. Both women were in a state of complete abandon, oblivious to anything but the other’s body.

After only a few moments of thrusting inside her, Eleanor’s orgasm thundered through her muscles, causing her to bite down on her lip to keep from screaming. Her entire body convulsed and shook as she came in Marian’s arms while the other woman kissed her delicately on the neck, her arms holding her close as the waves of pleasure tore through her.

When they finally broke apart, the hush pulsed with the heaviness of regret and satisfaction mingled. Marian’s cheeks were aflame, eyes wide. “Eleanor,”

she whispered, voice catching.

“This… I don’t want to betray your love for James.”

Tears pricked at Eleanor’s eyes. “I know,”

she choked out.

“It’s just my desire feels like a storm, and sometimes I fear I’ll drown if I don’t grasp at something… someone.”

Marian pressed her forehead to Eleanor’s.

“I understand. God help us, but I understand.”

For a long moment, they clung together, hearts pounding, their breasts pressed against one another, their lips gently kissing and tasting each other. There was passion, but it was the physical and emotional intimacy with another person who understood her feelings that Eleanor truly craved at that moment.

Then footsteps echoed down the corridor, and they sprang apart, breath ragged. A fleeting glance passed between them, equal parts apology and gratitude, before they hastily composed themselves, returning to the clinic's suffocating normalcy.

Eleanor retired to her room early that night, wearied by guilt and still unquenched yearning. She froze as she sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair. Somewhere beneath the hum of the clinic, something else stirred. A sound as soft as silk. Her name, spoken not aloud, but inside her skull. “Eleanor.”

Eleanor nervously glanced around the room, but, of course, no one was there. She knew the sound had not come from the outside. It had come from inside. Eleanor angrily tossed the hairbrush onto the dresser and rubbed her tired eyes. It had to be the stress and anxiety of the process that was making her hear things. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, knowing that a good night’s sleep was all she needed. The second she drifted off; however, she found herself in another semi-lucid dream of James.

Again, she dreamt of deathly cold kisses, the scent of the grave, and accusations of her abandonment. She gasped for air, drenched in sweat, chest heaving. Her heart slammed so violently that she feared it might burst.

There was a bruise, just above her hip bone. In the exact place James used to bite during their lovemaking. She touched it lightly, wincing. It bloomed like a memory.

There had been no one in her room. No lover in the night. No mouth on her skin. But the mark was there, vivid and purple, as if the dream had reached through and branded her.

At dawn, her nerves still frayed, she confronted Dr. Fairfax in his study, demanding they schedule the next reanimation immediately. Fairfax rubbed his temples, eyes bloodshot from his sleepless nights of calculations and chemical tests.

“You don’t understand,”

he murmured. We’re refining the serum ratio and adjusting the rod placements; rushing now could harm James’s fragile tissues.”

She slammed her palm on the desk.

“If we wait, we risk losing momentum! He was here, Dr. Fairfax, and he recognized me. The energy in that moment… It’s something we cannot let fade!”

The physician studied her with reluctant sympathy.

“Eleanor, we want him back just as you do. Believe me, I’m thrilled with the progress we have made. That has been the sole purpose of my life for the past decade. But the next attempt must be more controlled, or we risk damaging what little synergy remains.”

Lord Blackwood’s smooth voice cut in from the doorway.

“And more intense, would you not agree, Doctor?”

he said, stepping inside. He offered Eleanor a measured smile.

“We must push the boundaries further, greater emotional output, more unwavering devotion to the cause. Wouldn’t you concur, Dr. Ashcroft?”

Eleanor exhaled, shaky relief threading through her veins. Two days, just two days until she could touch the edges of the impossible again, until James might return to her. Her hope swelled, untamed, threatening to devour her.

But the room, suffused with the acrid scent of oil and smoke, felt heavy with a darker promise. Blackwood’s grin gleamed like a predator's, his words curling around her like chains. Even Dr. Fairfax’s uneasy silence added to the weight pressing down on her chest. She was plunging headlong into a mystery far greater than she could grasp, yet the thought of turning back never once crossed her mind.

The shadows in the laboratory seemed to pulse, alive and watchful, as if they, too, hungered for what came next. Eleanor’s voice was barely audible as she whispered, "Just two days." She clenched her fists as fire burned behind her eyes. This was no longer longing. It was a gamble that might cost her more than her heart.