Page 14 of The Flesh Remembers
Late in the evening, Eleanor wandered into the half-lit laboratory. The dais stood empty, the galvanic rods dormant, shadows flickering across the walls like restless spirits. Her fingertips skimmed over the cold metal edges, her mind awash with memory. She closed her eyes, picturing the arcs of electricity that had sparked above, the way James’s chest had risen, the coolness of his lips trembling against hers before warmth had surged back into them. The memory sent a pulse of heat through her body and a shiver down her spine.
Her hand drifted along the apparatus, her touch lingering as if the metal might still hold some trace of him. Her breaths quickened, and her mind betrayed her with images of his hands, his voice murmuring against her ear, guiding her movements in a rhythm that left no room for hesitation. Her knees weakened as she pressed her palm against the dais, her body burning as if from some unseen fire within her. And while her body screamed silently for relief, her mind screamed for a different reason. She wondered what sort of woman she was to shift so quickly from grief to arousal. Even if this place or something within it was affecting her in some way, she was still ultimately responsible for her actions. Her thoughts and desires.
“You’re like a ghost,” a deep and resonant voice behind her said, cutting through the thick fog of her thoughts.
Eleanor turned sharply to see Edgar Frye leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, his gaze heavy with unspoken curiosity. He stepped closer, his movements heavy and deliberate, his presence electric in the charged atmosphere. He seemed to have fully returned to his usual self after the earlier ritual, with no trace of the previous shame or fear she had sensed after she had climaxed and James had opened his eyes.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice sounding strained as if he were trying to keep his tone soft and neutral. “Or is it something else that keeps you wandering these halls?”
Her throat tightened, heat rising to her cheeks. She wanted to retort, to snap at him and regain control of the moment, but the weight of her emotions, the unbearable craving that roared beneath her skin, rendered her vulnerable.
“That is none of your concern,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended, though it did little to mask the tremor in her tone.
Frye stood unsmiling, but his eyes gleamed with amusement and something darker. “Maybe not. But sure, I’ve seen such a look in a woman’s eyes before.” He stepped closer still, his gaze locking with hers.
She flinched as his fingers grabbed her arm, rough and unrestrained. He tilted his head, his lips curving into a grim smile. “Do you have what it takes, I wonder?”
For a fleeting moment, she felt tempted. The pull of his words, the heat of his proximity, tugged at her resolve. But the thought of James, his lips and hands, his voice calling her name, was enough to ground her.
“I don’t need your advice,” she said, stepping back. “Or your… insinuations.” The metal of the pendant she wore went cold against her skin, biting, scolding. As if punishing her for restraint.
Frye’s look intensified. “As you wish.” He held a hand up to stop her as Eleanor began to protest. “Weren’t meant as an insult, just a warning.” Frye’s eyes stared deeply into her own as he spoke, his gaze filled with something she was unsure of. His eyes were green and gold hazel. They were lovely eyes, to be sure, but Eleanor could not shake the feeling that some secret was hiding there.
“How did you come to work for Dr. Fairfax?” Eleanor asked, turning away from the dais, her hands nervously twisting together in front of her. Frye made her incredibly nervous, but it wasn’t just due to the unexpected and unwelcome sexual attraction; there was something else, something dangerous, though she didn’t quite understand what about him made her feel this way. Perhaps that was part of the allure she felt for him.
“Ah, you want to chat,” Frye said with a laugh, turning to lean casually against the platform that not six hours earlier had held the briefly animated corpse of Eleanor’s dead fiancé. Frye jammed his hands into the pockets of his dingy wool coat and turned his head to look at her.
“Came a few years back. Fairfax and his nurse were already here under Blackwood’s thumb. They needed an assistant for the heavy work and repairs. Saw the ad they placed and I needed a job, so I applied.”
“That’s it?” Eleanor asked, throwing him a surprised look.
Frye shook with laughter at her blunt question. “Aye, that was all. I needed a job, and he needed an assistant. It didn’t hurt that I had donesecretwork before. I know how to keep my mouth closed.”
“Meaning what?” Eleanor asked, wondering what sort of person Frye truly was.
“Oh, done almost everything there is that could get you sent away to prison or even the gallows.” He laughed again at Eleanor’s horrified expression. “But, who better to keep your secrets for you than someone who has plenty of their own?”
Eleanor mulled this over, and though she did not trust Frye in the slightest, she had to agree that he was unlikely ever to divulge what he saw and experienced here, if for no other reason than to protect himself.
“What do you think of the work you do here?” she asked him quietly, not brave enough to look at him as she asked.
“It could change everything,” Frye said softly.
“What do you mean? Change how?”
"Life and death, Eleanor that’s the only damn rules. Mess with them, they’ll mess you up right back. Worse. And you? You’re the one with the most on the line. The most to win and the most to lose."
“I think I will try to sleep now,” Eleanor all but whispered, her mouth gone very dry at Frye’s cryptic words.
He responded with a slight nod of his head. “Goodnight, Eleanor,” Frye reached out and gently squeezed her hand. His rough and thick fingers linger for a moment, the warmth of them seeping into her skin.
“Goodnight,” she whispered and turned, hurrying out of the room before she completely lost control.
Frye watched her retreating figure and smiled, but his eyes showed a knowing look.
Excerpt from the Diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
I cannot stop trembling. What have we done? What have I allowed? Hope feels like a poison in my veins now, intoxicating yet deadly. To see him alive, even in torment, awakened something in me I thought long dead, a flicker of possibility. But at what cost?
