Page 10 of The Flesh Remembers
Eleanor wandered the corridor searching for Fairfax, her skirts whispering against her legs in the dim gaslight. The building had quieted since dinner, yet the air felt warmer, more humid, as though the clinic exhaled around her.
She paused beneath a rusted arch where two walls met in shadow. Her fingers brushed the seam of the wallpaper. It gave beneath her touch,yielding. Almost soft.
She frowned.
It wasn’t justwarm, it waswet.
Her heart pounded. She tried to step back, but her handsankinto the wall only slightly. The texture was fleshy, almost pulsing, and it held her.
A soundbehind her made her freeze—a low, wet groan, like something sleeping just beneath the floorboards.
She yanked her hand free, cradling it to her chest. Her fingertips tingled. Her wrist burned. She turned to flee andstumbledinto a patch of air so hot and fragrant it made her knees buckle.
The scent was overwhelming—like metal, cinnamon, and bare skin. Eleanor gasped. Her body surged with heat. Her breasts swelled. Her thighs clenched involuntarily. The pendant around her neck buzzed and warmed, then pulsed once, like a kiss on her collarbone.
“No, this isn’t real,” she whispered.
But it was.
She staggered to the nearest wall, bracing herself, and nearly screamed. The wood beneath her palmshivered. She felt a long, slowdragbeneath her hand, like a tongue tracing her palm.
Her pulse throbbed in her throat, her core tightening. Her breath came fast. Her legs shook.
And the whisper came again.
Not James’s this time.
Just breathe. A long inhale. Then
“You taste ready.”
She bolted back to her room, hand still buzzing, the evidence of her shame dampening her undergarments.
The gentle knock on the door startled her, pulling her from her anxious thoughts on what had just occurred in the corridor. Composing herself with a sharp inhale, she called out, “Yes?” Nurse Marian Collins appeared, stepping in with her usual soft-spoken courtesy.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” Marian said, eyes tinged with concern, “but Dr. Fairfax asked me to fetch you. We need to outline the procedure for tonight’s attempt.”
Eleanor nodded, slipping the burning disk beneath the edge of her blouse. “Of course.”
As Marian led the way down the dim corridor, Eleanor tried to calm her rapid breathing, smoothing her hair back as they walked briskly along the cool, damp hallway.
“Have you worked with Dr. Fairfax long?” Eleanor asked Marian as they turned a corner.
"Oh, about five years now," Marian said, her smile soft yet deliberate as her gaze lingered on Eleanor. "He's quite the mind, isn't he? I first met him at the Campbell Institute while nursing in the children’s wing. His research, well, it had everyone talking. I couldn’t resist asking him a few questions, which led to some... intriguing conversations." She paused, a flicker of nostalgia crossing her face.
"My father was a scientist too; his work centred on blood disorders. Leukaemia, haemophilia... Those were his life's crusade. Some might call it obsession." She let the word hang for a moment, her smile deepening. "Perhaps that’s why I understand Dr. Fairfax so well. That focus, that drive, it’s a rare gift. My mother understood it too; she spent hours transcribing for my father, supporting his work. A good scientist, you see, needs someone who knows how to steer things in the right direction quietly."
“It must have been a bit lonely for you to have your parents so occupied with work all the time,” Eleanor commented, offering a sympathetic look. Eleanor understood lonely childhoods, having endured her share of loneliness growing up as she did.
“Well, yes, it was difficult at times, but I understood the gravity of their work. How could I possibly demand their attention for something trivial like a game of hopscotch in the garden when they were striving to save lives?" Marian smiled, her expression tinged with a distant sadness.
"Dr. Fairfax and I often spoke at length about his research, the study of aging, the theories, the bold ideas of reversing time's toll. When he invited me to join his work, I couldn’t refuse. Helping children was meaningful, of course, but the doctors in the children’s wing lacked the fervour I saw in him. Dr. Fairfax’s passion was contagious, igniting my own. Together, I thought, perhaps we could unlock answers to why our cells falter, why time wears us down."
Marian’s smile softened as she spoke, a trace of warmth in her gaze that lingered as she mentioned Dr. Fairfax. It made Eleanor wonder if her admiration for him ran deeper than mere professionalism.
“Why did you leave the Campbell Institute? I know it is one of the top research facilities in the country. Surely working in a place like that would have more advantages than working in a place like this? Even with a wealthy benefactor like Lord Blackwood.”
Marian paused and turned to face Eleanor, her expression sombre yet steady. "There were experiments conducted at the Institute, unsanctioned ones. Dr. Fairfax was exploring blood transfusions, transferring vitality from healthy children to elderly patients. It wasn’t without consequences. Two children and one elderly patient succumbed to septicaemia." Her voice wavered briefly, as though tasting the sorrow anew. "He was devastated, of course. But in his heart, he understands, progress often demands sacrifice."
