Page 41 of The Flesh Remembers
“I did,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “But not like this.” He gestured sharply toward the sea of bodies. “Look at them! This debauchery isn’t science, it’s chaos. Blackwood is turning the clinic into a den of unstoppable mania. If we trigger a meltdown in the apparatus, if James absorbs too much of this twisted energy, do you even realize what he might become? Or what we might unleash?”
Eleanor’s stomach lurched. She could feel the truth in his words, but the image of James, her James, haunted her. Half-alive, hungry, reaching for her in his restrained, tortured state. The thought of failing him now was unbearable, not when it was she who had brought him back to begin with. James hadn’t asked for this. It had been Eleanor’s grief and desperate obsession that had brought him to this state, and she would not leave him like that. Not if there was a chance she could save him.
“We’re so close,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “We can’t stop now. Don’t sabotage it. Let us finish this one final push. Please.”
Fairfax ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair. His eyes flicked over the crowd again, over the masked figuresmoving with rhythmic abandon, over the glowing runes painted onto slick skin, over the bound wrists and clenched fists and the rising cacophony of moans.
“Do you even hear yourself?” he demanded, though his voice lacked the conviction it once held. “Do you see what you’ve become part of? We aren’t just playing with fire, Eleanor, we’re feeding ourselves to it.”
Yet even as he spoke, his resolve seemed to falter. The air was thick with the scent of incense and sweat, charged with a magnetic pull that no one could fully resist. The chants resonated deep in his chest, and for a moment, Fairfax’s breath caught as though the collective madness had also sunk its claws into him.
“I know that Blackwood’s rituals are a necessary part of the process. We know through trial and error that the machine cannot sustain life for any sustainable amount of time without necromancy. I was willing to put up with it because it was just a little chanting, a little candlelit ceremony in the basement now and then. He has never done…” Fairfax paused and looked around him in undisguised disgust, “...anything like…this.”
“I don’t like it either,” Eleanor said softly, her gaze following Fairfax’s across the sea of writhing bodies that filled the hall. “But I have to do what is necessary to bring James back fully. I can’t leave him in that state. He’s like a feral creature, and it’s my fault. I couldn’t bear a life without him, and so I selfishly did whatever it took. I have thought many times over these past weeks that we are all mad, playing with fire, but I can’t stop, Dr. Fairfax. I can’t leave him.”
The clinic transformed into a vortex of unbridled desire and dark purpose as midnight approached. The crowd surged toward the dais, forming a massive circle that pulsed with motion and heat. Masked men and women danced in wild,frenzied arcs, their bodies gleaming under the flickering candlelight.
Robed cultists moved among them, their hands steady as they painted glowing runes onto exposed flesh. Some traced spirals on chests and thighs, while others marked intricate patterns across the curves of shoulders and backs. The substances they used glimmered faintly, responding to the electric charge in the air, each stroke an incantation that tied the participants to the ritual.
The fetish masks worn by many of the guests weren’t mere decorations; their lenses sparked faintly, amplifying the galvanic energy coursing through the hall. Elaborate harnesses, fitted with polished rings and chains, gleamed under the candlelight. Floggers and riding crops cracked against flesh, the sharp sounds swallowed by cries that mingled pain and pleasure.
Eleanor stood at the edge of the dais, watching the scene unfold with a grim resolution. The galvanic coils surrounding the dais crackled with growing intensity, their blue arcs flickering across sweat-slicked bodies. Chains rattled as bound figures writhed against their restraints, their movements blending submission and ecstasy. She thought she saw the lurking figure of Frye peering down from one of the upper balconies, but she couldn’t be certain. It seemed unlikely that he would attend such a gathering.
Nurse Marian Collins emerged through the crowd, her usually composed demeanour shattered. Her face was flushed, her hair dishevelled, and her eyes were wide with guilt and arousal. She stumbled to Eleanor’s side, clutching her arm as if to steady herself.
“It’s madness,” Marian gasped, her voice breaking as she struggled to form words. Her nails dug into Eleanor’s skin, her breath hot against her cheek. “I can’t stop feeling… drawn to it. God help me, I can’t leave it.”
Eleanor, equally overwhelmed, placed a trembling hand on Marian’s shoulder, trying to steady both of them. Her gaze flicked to the dais, where Blackwood stood like a god commanding his congregation. “None of us can,” Eleanor murmured, her voice barely audible over the rising chant.
Her mind drifted to James, still waiting in the lower chambers, his half-corporeal body bound and ready to be brought forth. She could feel him as though he were already there, his presence pulsing in time with the crowd’s rising fervour.
The air was electric, pulsating with the ritual's raw, untamed power. The hall writhed with bodies, a seething ocean of lust and desperation. At the dais, Lord Blackwood loomed like a conductor of chaos, his arms raised in triumphant command. His voice cut through the guttural moans, the crack of leather on skin, and the frantic thumping of flesh against flesh.
“Friends," Blackwood called, his voice a velvet command wrapped around the room, "tonight, we cross the threshold. Let your desires surge, pour them into the galvanic coil. Every cry, every lash, every trembling surrender will fuel our cause. Together, we will summon the ultimate resurrection."
The crowd answered with a feral roar, surrendering to the madness. The room surged with movement, the chaos escalating into something primal and all-consuming. Blood smeared across glowing runes painted on chests and thighs, the cuts deliberate, their pain a gateway to heightened ecstasy. Chains bound pairs and groups together, locking them in erotic struggles that blurred the line between torment and rapture.
Eleanor watched, her heart beating faster as the scenes unfolded unrelentingly. The sight of flesh marked with glowing ink, the clash of dominance and submission, and theraw, unfiltered cries of pleasure and agony made her skin tingle, flushed and alive with excitement.
Eleanor felt Marian’s grip tighten as the two women stood amidst the erotic chaos around them, taking it all in. Though Eleanor reminded herself that this was all for the greater good of resurrecting James, she could not help but feel the twinges of arousal filling her. She had lost whatever composure and morality she had ever had once she entered this twisted place, so it did not surprise her to feel her skin tingle and her thighs grow slippery with desire as she watched the debauchery all around her. A part of her longed to join in, to give herself over entirely to the madness of it all.
Marian’s breath came in shallow, rapid bursts, her chest rising and falling as if caught in a fever dream. Eleanor followed her gaze to the group ahead, their movements hypnotic, their murmurs a siren’s call. Marian’s grip on Eleanor’s arm slackened, then fell away entirely.
“Marian, stop,” Eleanor hissed, her voice trembling. But Marian didn’t stop. She took a step forward, then another, her eyes wide and unblinking, her face flushed with something Eleanor couldn’t name, fear, desire, or both.
Eleanor’s heart pounded as she watched Marian reach for the ties of her ceremonial robe. “No,” Eleanor whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding in her ears. But Marian’s hands moved with a strange, deliberate grace, untying the robe and letting it slip from her shoulders.
The fabric pooled at Marian’s feet, and Eleanor’s breath caught in her throat. The group ahead turned, their eyes gleaming in the dim light, and Marian stood before them, bare and unguarded, as if offering herself to the night.
Eleanor’s stomach twisted. She wanted to call out, to pull Marian back, but the words died on her lips. The air seemed to hum with anticipation, and Eleanor realized, with a chill,that there was no turning back, not for Marian, and perhaps not for herself.
Excerpt from the diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
The shadows stretch long tonight, heavy with what’s to come. Blackwood assures me the ritual will succeed and bring James back. But doubt consumes me. If it fails, I will lose him forever. If it succeeds, will he be the man I loved or something unrecognizable?
This desperation blinds me to reason, but I can’t stop. I’ve already sacrificed too much. The memory of losing my parents haunts me still, leaving a void I’ve spent my life trying to fill. James became my anchor, my solace. Gain without him, without him grasping at anything to keep me afloat.
Tomorrow, I will stand at the precipice, knowing that the consequences of my choices will ripple far beyond the confines of my broken heart. And yet, I feel powerless to stop. Not hope or love drives me now, but desperation, a fear so consuming that it blinds me to all else.
