Page 49 of The Flesh Remembers
“Come sit down!” Eleanor’s mother cried out to her, food flying out of her mouth as she spoke. All three stared at her with blank, unblinking eyes as they seemed to swallow the food whole, not even bothering to chew.
“NO!” Eleanor cried out, backing away from the table in horror. All three of them rose from their places at the table now and began to walk towards her, food still dripping down their chins, their mouths still bent in an unnaturally wide grin.
“Come, sweetheart, you’re mad now. It’s time we put you where you belong.”
Eleanor screamed and then ran. She turned and fled the room, but her legs felt as though they were stuck in molasses, and she could move them only inches. The ghoulish trio were right behind her; she could almost feel the brush of their fingertips across her back. But then she was at the back door, nearly outside, nearly free! Eleanor laughed, believing she would escape this madness, but suddenly, a sharp pain pierced the back of her head.
Her father had somehow darted ahead of the others and now had a handful of her dark hair in his hands, wrenching her backward.
“You can’t get away, my darling little girl!” Her father cried in a terrifying singsong voice.
As he pulled her back, Eleanor felt a chunk of her hair rip clean out of her head, and she screamed in pain. But then, as the rest of them descended upon her, she cried again, but by then it was not merely in pain.
James was no longer merely a man,he was a force, an embodiment of everything the clinic represented. His body, once a grotesque sight, had become a symbol of erotic corruption. His touch no longer feared; it was sought.
Eleanor watched as he approached a group of novices huddled in the ritual chamber. They knelt as he entered, their heads bowed, their bodies trembling with fear and desire. “You think you can resist,” he said, his voice low and rasping. “But you’ve already given yourselves to me.”
One novice, a girl barely out of adolescence, whimpered as James reached for her. His hand traced the curve of her jaw, leaving faint bruises in its wake. “Please,” she whispered, her voice soft and uncertain.
“Please, what?” he asked, his voice cruel.
“Please… take me,” she said, tears filling her eyes.
James’s smile was a grotesque parody of warmth. “Good,” he said, his fingers digging into her flesh. Her scream echoed through the room, but it wasn’t a scream of pain. Something darker sent a cold stab of fear straight through Eleanor’s heart.
Eleanor no longer tried to resist. She had fought for so long, telling herself she was different and could rise above the corruption. But the clinic had changed her. James had changed her.
One night, she found herself outside his chambers, her heart pounding against her ribs like a prisoner rattling its cage, her fingers quivering as if they bore the weight of her hesitation. The door loomed before her, an unyielding barrier that seemed to hold her fate in its grip. She didn’t know why she was there. She only knew that she couldn’t stay away.
Inside, James was waiting for her. His now perfect form was illuminated by the faint glow of the runes carved into the walls, and his blue eyes were fixed on hers. “You came,” he said, his voice a rasping whisper.
“I… couldn’t stop myself,” she said, her voice trembling.
He smiled softly, and for a moment, Eleanor could pretend that this was her James and nothing else. They were again back in that carriage house with the storm raging outside, their love for one another all-consuming. “Good,” he said. Then you’re ready.”
He reached for her, his hands tracing the runes on her arms. She shuddered at his touch, wincing as his fingers dug into her flesh. “You’ve always wanted this,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Haven’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice breaking, her eyes glazing over, “I have.”
The grand hall was a nightmare brought to life. Novices knelt in a circle; their bodies marked with glowing runes that pulsed with unholy energy. Around them, reanimated corpses moved with unnatural grace, their hands exploring trembling flesh as the air cracked with dark power. It seemed that James was creating an army of monstrous half-livingcorpses that pulsated with necrotic passion, and they were now seeking out the willing and unwilling alike within the clinic to use in any way they saw fit.
Eleanor stood at the centre, her body bound by cords that writhed like living things. James stood beside her, his form radiating power. Blackwood raised his arms, his voice echoing through the hall as he chanted in a language no one understood.
“Tonight, we tear down the veil!” he cried. “Tonight, we destroy the line between life and death, pleasure and pain!”
The room erupted into chaos as the ritual began. Novices screamed as the energy consumed their bodies, their flesh dissolving into light. The reanimated moved with animalistic hunger, their decayed mouths and hands claiming every trembling body in their path.
Eleanor felt the cords tighten around her painfully, as blackness clouded her vision and everything went dark.
Excerpt from the journal of Lord Alastair Blackwood
Power.
The subject has an unnatural power over the group. Men and women throw themselves at his feet, supplicate before him, and beg for the pain of his love. Witnessing the power I have wrought is a glorious sight. I must be careful not to alienate him, as I need him to trust me to keep him close enough to harness his power when the time comes.
Eleanor will be a problem. Honestly, I didn’t think she would still be a consideration this far along in the process. I knew we needed her for the initial sessions and the partial reanimations. But he is whole now, and his power is unmatched. I counted on the fact that the subject would have no further use for her once he was at full power. But it seems that I have underestimated the affection between them.
Their bond seems to have only twisted into something deeper, even as it becomes darker.
