Page 51 of The Flesh Remembers
He moved the point of the dagger down to her pale, tear-stained cheek and let it prick her ever so gently. The girl gasped as the sharp tip of the blade stung her skin. James dragged the blade ever so slowly down her cheek, leaving a thin trail of red behind as the blade gently cut her skin. Not enough to bleed yet, but just enough to know that he was in complete control of her.
He let the blade wander down her naked body, pressing slightly harder the further down he went. A drop of blood at her throat, a bit more across her chest. Then he pressed harder still at her pink rosebud of a nipple, causing a little stream of blood to trickle down her breast and stomach. The girl cried out in pain, but also something else. As James flicked the sharp blade against her nipples, her arousal intensified. It was as though the pain she was feeling made the arousal only that much greater.
James bent his head and, with his cold tongue, lapped at the blood that pooled upon her breast. He teased her nipples, biting down on the wounds to cause fresh blood to well up to the surface. He drank her blood like some horrific creature from a nightmare, and indeed that is what he was. But the girl only closed her eyes and moaned, pushing her breasts up to meet his mouth, silently begging him for more.
James continued with the dagger, leaving long red wounds upon her abdomen, deeper wounds that bled freely. When he reached her thighs, a collective sigh seemed to rise from the room as everyone watched eagerly for what he would do next. The sexual mania in the air was thick and cloying. It would not take much to push every person in that room over the edge.
James dug the dagger into the girl’s pale thigh, causing her to let out a long, thin cry. He left an equally impressive wound on her other thigh, blood running down her legs, staining the bed beneath her. James then brought the tip of that blade between her legs. The young woman was very wet,her arousal evident. Her juices mixed with her blood on her thighs. James, using his cool, pale fingers, spread the girl apart and brought the very tip of that blade to that swollen centre of her pleasure and very gently prodded it. She cried out louder this time, thrusting upward wildly, begging him for more.
“Oh, my dear, you are giving me such sweet suffering!” James’s blue eyes seemed to darken as he watched her closely. “But I think you can give more.”
“Yes, my lord, I will give you everything I am!” The girl cried out, her eyes closed, her head thrown back.
James pressed harder on the dagger, flicking it back and forth across the swollen centre until she screamed in both torment and ecstasy. She bled freely from there now, her blood and her arousal running together in a pool beneath her.
James smiled as he watched her become completely undone by the pain and the intense arousal that was consuming her. He knew only one way to consummate this intense moment. He lifted the blade and in one swift movement he grabbed it by the fine gilt blade and then proceeded to push the intricately carved bone handle deep inside of her.
James felt no pain at holding the blade, though it did slice into the flesh of his hand, though no blood seeped from the wound. He just watched her intently as he pushed the handle deeper and deeper into her until the entire handle was encased within her warm, wet flesh. He pulled it out brutally and quickly, plunging it back in again with even more force. The girl screamed as the blade handle penetrated her again and again, her hips rising to meet each thrust.
“Please, my lord, please!” She screamed as he continued his assault, showing no mercy. James laughed coldly as she begged him for release. He bent his head to her bleedinggroin and began to tongue that wounded centre of her pleasure, lapping up her blood and juices with a tongue that felt like ice. The girl bucked wildly as the onslaught continued, not knowing where pain ended and pleasure began. One sensation flowed into the next so perfectly that it seemed they were but the same in that moment.
At last, when it seemed the girl could not take more, her body seized and she began to shake and twitch as she cried out louder still. Her release was not a sweet one. It was brutal and harsh, just as the sex itself had been. Her body jerked and twitched, her muscles contorting painfully, but the pleasure she felt was unlike any she had ever known.
James stood up then and smiled down at the utterly spent young woman. “What a good, obedient girl you are,” he said with a smile, her blood and juices still staining his lips.
Nurse Marian Collins had tried to avoid the ceremony, retreating to the clinic’s outer halls. But James’s presence was inescapable. It pulled her like a magnet, her feet carrying her to the library despite every instinct screaming at her to flee.
When Marian had started working with Dr. Fairfax, she had genuinely believed in the goodness of their work, the nobility of it. They were trying to do something good for all humankind, for what is worse than growing old and dying? Marian had shared Fairfax’s passion and grew to feel more than simply admiration for the man. She had been willing to follow him anywhere just to be a part of his brilliance and devote her life to him, hoping he might notice her as more than a nurse someday.
But now, as Marian stepped into the room and her gaze locked onto the grotesque, reanimated form of James, a chilling realization clawed at her: there were fates far worse than death. She should never have followed Fairfax down this abyssal path.
Tears blurred her vision, clinging to her lashes as she whispered, “James, please…” Her voice fractured, a desperate blend of fear and yearning.
James turned with agonizing slowness, his smile stretching unnaturally wide. The crowd shifted, a sea of silent, eager faces parting to make way for the clinic’s most reluctant participant, their next sacrifice.
Marian stumbled back, her trembling legs carrying her until her spine collided with the unyielding edge of a bookshelf. “Don’t,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible, a plea even she couldn’t believe.
James’s laughter was low, resonant, and laced with a dark, magnetic power. He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. “You can’t resist me,” he murmured, his voice a velvet snare, dripping with necromantic allure. “You don’t want to.”
Excerpt from the journal of Lord Alastair Blackwood (dated 1889)
Subject A has been steadily losing stability. He has violent outbursts and often does not seem to know himself or anyone else. His wife, Rebecca, tries to calm him, but he does not seem to recognize her most days. His eyes are the wild, deranged eyes of a trapped animal seeking escape.
At this point, he has been back for 11 days, and for the first week, things are going perfectly. He retained all his old memories and a tender affection for his wife. But, as the days passed, there were subtle signs that things were not going right.
Subject A began to show immense cruelty toward human and animal living things. Fairfax’s nurse had a little grey cat that sometimes wandered into the lab when we worked. I did tell her to keep it out of the way, so it is, in a way, her fault that the cat died. But Subject A saw the cat, which seemed to spark something completely animalistic within him. He lunged for the animal and grabbed it by the neck. The room was in utter chaos as Frye and Fairfax tried to wrestle the cat from his death grip. But he was too strong, and he strangled that poor creature in a matter of seconds.
It was what he did after, however, worse. With his once rotted hand, he ripped the head of the cat clean off and began to drink the cat’s blood, even ripping into the flesh of the animal and tearing chunks of meat and eating them. It was a horrific sight, and it was then that we knew the subject did not come back right.
It was what happened a week later that was the catalyst. We had taken to keeping him chained and alone in the lab to prevent any unnecessary stimuli from affecting him. But his wife was desperate to see him. Fairfax thought it best not to let her know the extent of the subject's decline, as we still had hopes then to reverse it. We should have told her, however. Perhaps then she would not have gone in there alone.
I don’t know exactly what happened. If he escaped his chains or if she let him out, but whatever the case, our dinner was interrupted by Rebecca’s blood-curdling screams. We raced to the lab to see what had happened, and that was where we found her. And him. The subject had torn her head from her body just as he had with the cat and was quite literally bathing in the fountain of gore that sprayed from her severed neck. We had no choice then; we had to put the subject down.
It was for the best. Even if we could reverse the damage, the poor man would never have been able to live with himself knowing what he had done.
Regardless, we will refine the process andtry again when the opportunity presents itself.
The Truth about Resurrection
