Flesh Failure
Page 10
I should have the doctors put that into their research papers.
The items I found in the laboratory still haunt me. Why did he have all those clippings?
My left eye has now slid from its socket and has landed on the page.
I fear that I may not last the journey to see my parents. I had hoped that it would do their hearts good to see their daughter one last time.
About the Author
Sèphera Girón has been writing since she was a child. She has over twenty published books, and dozens of short stories. As well, as writing, Sèphera is a professional editor, paranormal investigator, and tarot card reader. Sèphera has been the Canadian Chapter Head of Horror Writers Association for over fifteen years.
Sèphera lives in Toronto and is mom to two adult sons.
You can find Sèphera online:
www.twitter.com/sephera
www.sepheragiron.com
tarotpaths.blogspot.ca
sephwriter.blospot.ca
www.instagram/sepheragiron
Look for these titles by Sèphera Girón
Now Available:
Captured Souls
Can science create the perfect lover? Or only a living hell?
Captured Souls
© 2014 Sèphera Girón
Dr. Miriam Frederick is a brilliant professor at a large university. But her latest experiments are decidedly unsanctioned and far more chilling than anyone could imagine. She is determined to answer questions that have plagued mankind for millennia. What is love? What is lust?
Her first specimen is an author with a gift for language. Specimen Two is an athlete with amazing endurance. Specimen Three provides physical beauty. But once she has trapped her subjects, her twisted attempt to create the perfect lover will have unexpected—and nightmarish—results, not just for her captives, but for her as well.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Captured Souls:
Notes and Journals of Dr. Miriam Frederick re: Experiment 698
Journal
In examining the human experience, one realizes that perfection appears in many forms for many people. What is perfection for one may not be perfection for another.
Beauty. Brains. Brawn.
Honesty. Loyalty. Intelligence.
Flawless flesh. Physical symmetry. Sexual stamina.
Quick wit. Compassion. Lust.
What are the qualities that define perfection?
Perspective?
In the end, if there were a type of mate one could have, one could choose, perhaps create, that human being would likely encompass enhanced qualities of intelligence, beauty and physical stamina.
Almost any human has a wish list and I think we all have the same one. How we view the potential candidates on our wish lists is somewhat subjective, although intelligence and stamina are measurable. Physical beauty or handsomeness is a more subjective commodity.
Is it even possible to find one human being with enhanced qualities of intelligence, beauty and stamina?
What lengths would I go through to find such a mate?
Would it ever be possible to create one mate out of three or more? Or would it be more preferable to have a polygamous arrangement to satisfy each facet of desire as it arises?
What would I provide in return? After all, there needs to be an exchange to keep the universal laws of equilibrium in balance.
My undying love and loyalty, a home, financial stability and endless nights of ecstasy would be part of their own personal paradise. I think it could be an equal trade if I find the right specimens.
My journals and observations will record the emotional and physical progress of my latest experiments.
This journal will contain my more subjective observations. There is another book filled with my detailed calculations, charts and formulas. The two books remain separate in case of damage or theft.
So my new quest begins.
Experiment Number 698
Specimen 1
When I first spied him across the room, I suspected he would indeed be a worthy candidate for experiment number 698. It was indicated by a punch in my solar plexus. The visuals were perfection, no question. Until I met him, exchanged verbiage with him and interacted with him, I couldn’t quite be certain if he would be as intelligent as I anticipated. There he stood, long and lanky, in the doorframe that connected the party room to the hallway, his shoulders slightly slouched as he drew on a cigarette, blue eyes staring directly at me.
He watched me, hypnotic, glittering eyes observing my every movement. Calculating. Predatory. The idea of it amused me. His youth was intoxicating. The fact that anyone dared to smoke inside at a party anymore was also an indication that this rebel with a pen could be just what the doctor ordered.
The chattering noises and laughter of our mutual academic friends drinking around us faded from my consciousness as I saw only him.
Lion to prey. Tony to Maria. Dr. Frank-N-Furter to his Rocky. Dr. Miriam Frederick to Author Scott Gravenhurst.
I walked towards the honored guest, prim in my three-piece, grey skirt suit and sky-high stilettos, a predatory slink in my gait. He kept his stance in the doorframe as I stepped past him, lightly brushing his chest with my elbow on the way through to the patio.
Summer air was warm on my face. A light breeze rippled through the mature trees that lined the gardens of the faculty building.
He followed me.
“Dr. Miriam Frederick,” I said as I held out my hand to him. He took it and instead of shaking it, he lightly brushed his lips to it.
“Charmed,” he said and released my hand. “Scott Gravenhurst.”
“Ah, yes. Our visiting guest,” I said, pretending to stare around for someone more important. I waved towards a nobody and turned my attention back towards Specimen 1.
“Yes, I’m here for a few days,” he said. His gaze traveled from my carefully slicked-back bobbed hair, my full red lips and then down my sleek figure.
When his attention returned to my eyes, he stammered. Very slightly. My green contacts were working their ethereal magic.
“Mmm…Ms. Frederick,” he said.
I licked my lips, breathing in the sweetness of the nervous sweat underneath his Jimmy Dean persona.
“Yes, Scott,” I smiled, coyly.
“Isn’t the moonlight lovely tonight?” he led me out farther onto the patio.
“Toronto is beautiful this time of year,” I told him. “We have the most beautiful summers. Can you hear the leaves whisper?”
“Yes, they’re telling me that there are many secrets to be shared.”
He smoked his cigarette as we both stared at the stars and the moon. The murmurs of people farther in the gardens mingled with the light classical soundtrack that filled the ancient halls of the old faculty building.
He began to recite a poem. I joined in and we laughed together.
After several poems, we stopped and the distant murmuring and tinkling of glasses became backdrop ambiance once more.
“I guess another drink is in order,” he said, noting my empty glass.
“Most definitely,” I said and slipped my hand through his as we navigated through the clumps of people. I was as tall as he was, my shoes were so high. The view of people giving me darting glances was easier to see elevated above most.
There were a few raised eyebrows aimed in my direction but I didn’t mind. My nights with various colleagues left different imprints, even years later. I stopped mingling with my cohorts long ago as it became apparent that some people can’t split their alliances to the different compartments of their lives. Complications and emotional drama only waste time that can be better focused on making progress in one’s field.
Even wives can’t seem to forgive me, even though I never wanted their spineless wonders for more than a
few hours. But my importance to the university is incalculable, so the disenchanted put up with my idiosyncrasies. If not for me and most of the people in this room, there wouldn’t be grant money for parties, studies, renovations and home laboratories. Behavior Systematic Neurological Studies is in big demand in these times of psychopaths and terrorists. So we all keep our secrets and each other’s.
I smiled at my conquests as I let Specimen 1 order me another glass of wine and we found a nook in the room to stare out at the party. University bigwigs gossiped in little cliques, whispering, no doubt mostly about me, likely seeing the innocent act of Specimen 1 bringing me a glass of wine as me luring him into my lair. Which I am, of course, but it’s not seemly to be gossiping right in front of my face.
“Your peers?” Specimen 1 asked as he caught me frowning.
“Colleagues, perhaps,” I said, drinking deeply from the wine he gave me. “However, most of my friends aren’t from the university. And my colleagues rarely see me. I do the majority of my work in my home laboratory. More convenient.”
“Oh,” he said. “What do you do?”
“I’m a scientist but I love to read, which is why I’m here tonight,” I started to walk so that we weren’t trapped in a corner. “I love to mingle with authors and publishers. I also love to go dancing. Clubs. Parties. Probably not really the run-of-the-mill geek you conjured up in your mind.”
“You’re too beautiful to be a scientist,” he said. His youthful earnestness slipped out for a moment from the too-cool-for-school author pose.
“You’re very kind,” I said.
“I’ve always been intrigued by mature women,” he said.
My dear writer boy did not disappoint. He was indeed the classic womanizer.
My heart raced as he spoke; he had a wonderfully crisp accent that I could have listened to for hours. He was only in town for a few days, a special guest-author speaker at the university as part of a seminar series. We easily bantered about books. His face was lean and he had an air of sadness about him. He writes about dark things, maybe because he’s lived them or maybe now that he’s drawn such ideas in with his fantasies, they haunt his reality. It will be interesting to find out.
I will find out.
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Flesh Failure
Copyright © 2014 by Sèphera Girón
ISBN: 978-1-61922-243-4
Edited by Don D’Auria
Cover by Scott Carpenter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2014
www.samhainpublishing.com