Page 24 of The Flesh Remembers
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Fairfax hesitated, his gaze darting to the ledger. “Lord Blackwood has designed a new process. It requires your physical connection to James and a complete merging of your essence with his. The machine will amplify the exchange, pulling energy from both of you until your souls are… entwined. At least, in theory. I cannot say with certainty that the process will work or be without risk.”
Eleanor’s stomach twisted, a mix of fear and excitement rippling. “What does that mean?”
Fairfax’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It means you’ll become part of him. Your life, your memories, your very being will feed his resurrection. And… there’s a chance he’ll take more than you’re willing to give.”
“How is such a process even possible?” Eleanor asked incredulously. She understood the basics of how Dr. Fairfax and his research on aging and death had assisted him in creating the machine that they now used to resurrect James. It provided power, which reanimated the cells. Logically, this made a kind of sense to her. Blackwood’s dark rituals and magical incantations were more complicated to reason about and required a certain leap of faith, which she admitted was not her strong suit. But Eleanor had used the rationale that millions of people pray in churches to God daily, and many are convinced that miracles occur. Perhaps it was not so farfetched to think that these darker, more unholy rituals conjured up another sort of God with a power just as great?
But this? The melding of their souls. It seemed impossible, ridiculous.
“Eleanor, I understand your hesitation. And if you prefer, we not continue, we can end this now and find someone else to continue the work with.” Fairfax looked at her with a mixture of guilt and sympathy. No doubt, the emotional toll this process was having on her was becoming very obvious.
“No!” Eleanor said sharply, “No, we aren’t going to stop. We can’t stop. The whole thing feels like a dream, and I am half convinced that in a moment I’ll just wake up and all this will have been some awful, wonderful dream.”
“Blackwood’s rituals are real. I know it seems like a lot of nonsense, but I have witnessed firsthand, we all have in fact, that his rituals combined with my machine can bring life back to the dead.”
She swallowed hard, her resolve tightening. “If that’s what it takes, then I’ll do it. Nothing will stop me from seeing this through to the end.”
Eleanor was firm in her resolve, and for the first time, she saw something close to fear in Fairfax’s eye when he looked at her.
The lab was unrecognizable. The Transductor Chair had vanished, replaced by a towering dais encircled by galvanic rods that hissed and sparked like caged lightning. Chains dangled from the ceiling, glinting in the flickering light, their sinister purpose shrouded in shadow.
Lord Blackwood stood at the console, his dark gaze glinting with a cruel, almost gleeful anticipation. “Dr. Ashcroft,” he purred, his voice silky and sharp as a blade. “Tonight, the veil between life and death will be torn apart. You will be the bridge, the vessel through which James returns to us fully.”
Eleanor’s eyes locked on the dais. James’s body lay strapped down, rigid and pale, his head tilted just so. His eyes, unseeing and lifeless, seemed to track her, watching her every move.
She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the tremor in her limbs. “What do I need to do?”
Blackwood’s smile spread, slow and deliberate, a predator cornering its prey. “Disrobe.” He gestured toward the dais, the galvanic rods humming louder. “Lie with him. The apparatus will do the rest.”
Energy crackled through the air, sharp and electrifying, as Eleanor hesitated, a whirlwind of fear and resolve churning inside her. The machine's hum deepened, a promise of power and something far darker waiting just beyond.
Excerpt from the journal of Lord Alastair Blackwood
The process has been going excellently.
Eleanor Ashcroft has proven to be an excellent conduit for our work. I must confess that I lust for her and look for any reason to touch her. I have seen her in such vulnerable states at this point, naked and chained. She does not submit easily, but it is so beautiful when she finally submits to my will. Her love for the dead man makes sure of her submission. I see the two opposing sides warring within her. But she wants him to return so badly that it has become a true obsession for her. Well, her obsession is no greater than my own. We will bring this man back from the dead just as Christ did to Lazarus in the bible, and then no one can question my power.
The rituals create a heightened atmosphere of lust and depravity throughout the facility. I fuck one or two of the maids nightly, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. My cock seems hard constantly and the growing need to fuck and then destroy has increased tenfold since we began the rituals. I would love to fuck Eleanor, but I fear that it might temper the sexual and erotic tensions needed for the rituals. Perhaps Marian would be willing, although she usually occupies Fairfax’s bed, but now I see her little sidelong glances at Eleanor when she thinks no one is watching. I would not oppose their union if I could watch it.
We are headed into the final stages of the work, and soon, we will know for sure if they worked as intended. Of course, it is possible for things to go wrong. I have seen it happen badly, but I am confident the process will work now.
And, if it doesn’t, we can merely start again as we did before.
I NeedMore
Eleanor slipped out of her gown, the cool air brushing against her bare skin. She felt the weight of their gazes —Dr. Fairfax’s discomfort, Blackwood’s predatory approval— but she pushed the shame aside.
Climbing onto the dais, she lowered herself beside James, her body trembling as she felt the chill of his decayed flesh against her own. She swallowed back the revulsion she felt at the touch of the dead flesh and pictured in her mind the warmth of James’s touch, the softness of his lips on hers. If she could focus on what she wanted him to become and not what he was, she could make it through this process.
When Blackwood activated the apparatus, the room seemed to awaken with an unsettling sentience. The crackling hum filled the space like a living breath, itsvibrations crawling along the walls as if the structure absorbed the energy. The galvanic rods flared to life, sparking in wild bursts that felt less mechanical and more like deliberate flickers of intent. Their essence seeped into the air, encircling Eleanor with an invisible tether that seemed less a bond and more a calculated grip, an awareness that pulsed, probed, and held her within its grasp.
“Touch him,” Blackwood commanded, his voice sharp.
Eleanor obeyed, her hands fluttering like small white birds as she brushed against James’s chest. His skin was cold and stiff, but she felt a faint pulse beneath her touch, a reminder that he was not entirely gone.
The machine responded instantly, amplifying her emotions and feeding them into the galvanic field. She gasped as the energy coursed through her, igniting a fire in her veins that blurred the line between pleasure and pain.
