His Private Hell - Chapter 61: Chapter 61
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The Genesis Of Hell
She woke alone in a high-ceilinged concrete room—no windows, no furniture, no escape. The only thing keeping her tethered to sanity was the sharp click behind her as Garrison stepped into the faint glare of a single exposed bulb.
“You survived,” he whispered through the taut distance between them.
Eella’s voice cracked: “I’m… not sure who.”
He closed it. His steps were soft, but each one echoed like doom. He knelt, cupping her cheek. “Good. Because she shouldn’t be in control.”
She flinched. “She?”
He held up the USB drive. “You looked inside. You saw her in the mirror. Now it’s time you’ll meet her.”
She pressed her back into the cold wall. “Stop this.”
He shook his head as though surprised. “No. Now begins the genesis.”
He pressed a button on the wall. A steel door hissed open, and harsh light flooded in, exposing an array of monitors, cameras, surgical lights… and a chair. High-backed. Leather. Straps dangling.
“What the fuck is this?” Eella ground out.
“The cradle,” he said softly. “The womb.”
Eella’s eyes widened. “Womb?”
He gestured to the chair. “It’s for integration. You requested the truth—you accepted Darcie’s imprint. Now it’s time to fuse.”
She backed toward the room’s exit. “I never—”
He reached for her hand. “You did.” His voice trembled with deliberate clarity. “You wanted memories. You wanted her. Now you’ll feel the rest.”
Eella shook free. “You can’t merge me with her!”
His eyes flashed in the sterile glare. “Mine.”
He hit a control panel and brief static filled the air, followed by the soft trill of a child’s lullaby. It echoed and warped, invaded her bones. Garrison stalked closer, sliding straps across her wrists and ankles with surgical precision. She tensed—but didn’t resist. Because her body remembered the truth she’d yet to name.
He pressed a button on the chair. It spread open, arms reaching for her like a lover. The chair straps tightened around her wrists and ankles. She cried out, but he held her steady.
“Look at me,” he demanded. His voice softened, turning intimate. “Eella. I need you.”
Her head shook—slowly, pathetically. Her tears felt like betrayal, and guilt swallowed her throat.
He brushed tears from her cheek. “None of this hurts—yet.” He whispered in the hollow of her ear. “So just… absorb.”
Flashing lights on the panel blinked. A low hum began. Eella felt warmth flood her veins before the machines magnified the hum into a roar. Her breath rattled.
He kissed the base of her skull. “Your memories, tied to hers. Your pain—overlaid. Your soul—tested.”
She arched in confusion and panic as the hum grew. Images flashed behind her eyelids: Darcie laughing. Darcie screaming. Darcie falling. Darcie climbing.
Was it? Could it be her?
The world fractured. Her head spun. They danced halfformed inside her skull: Eella and Darcie, grief‑afflicted, furious, entwined. And Garrison—pulling, staring, desperate.
Her arms convulsed against the straps. She heard herself screaming… but it wasn’t her voice.
She focused on Garrison’s eyes. His grief. His obsession. The same madness she felt. A man pushing limits until one breaks.
She summoned strength. “Stop this.”
He faltered.
But he didn’t remove her.
He just sat across the chair, watching her face contort, her eyes glaze. And the lullaby looped, soft and innocent, under the storm.
Time cycled. Pain. Pleasure. Memory tangoing with fantasy. Laughing with sobbing. His voice echoing on loop. Her name — in Darcie’s voice?
“No…”
He leaned in. “I couldn’t bear losing another piece of myself. So I found her code. I overlaid it onto you.”
She gasped.
Her mind pounded with grief not hers. The ache of a love buried years earlier. The guilt of his entire empire twisting around two women he’d incinerated and resurrected.
Her vision blurred. Shadows above her flickered.
She screamed—a single, pulsing cry that shattered the lullaby. The loops stuttered, lights blazed, the chair slammed her head forward.
And then she yanked free—a living thrall tearing against robotic arms to stand upright, chest heaving.
Garrison dove for the power and yanked the drive free. The systems whined to life…but only for a moment before he shut it off.
They stared at each other—man and vessel—breathing heavy, eyes wild.
She pressed a hand to her head. “Darcie… isn’t in me. She never was.”
He shook his head, anger and awe tangled in his grimace. “Yes. Yes, she is.”
She didn’t cry. She laughed.
“Because you said you couldn’t lose me. So you transferred the pain.”
He bowed his head. “I did.”
Silence fell. And then she spoke quietly, bone-cold.
“I forgive you.”
His head snapped up.
“I forgive you.” Her voice curved around a terrible shape.
“But I will never forget what you are."
Garrison stumbled back.
She took a step forward. Hand out.
“Open your eyes, Garrison.”
He obeyed.
Behind her, the chair had powered down. But the screens flickered.
They showed Garrison. Alone in his office. Watching.
Watching her.
Watching them.
But on the video—she wasn’t strapped at all.
She smiled.
“You overlaid the memory on him too.”
His jaw froze.
She clicked ‘play’.
The screen glitched.
Garrison’s eyes stared from it.
Her eyes stared back.
He tried to speak.
She cut the power.
She woke alone in a high-ceilinged concrete room—no windows, no furniture, no escape. The only thing keeping her tethered to sanity was the sharp click behind her as Garrison stepped into the faint glare of a single exposed bulb.
“You survived,” he whispered through the taut distance between them.
Eella’s voice cracked: “I’m… not sure who.”
He closed it. His steps were soft, but each one echoed like doom. He knelt, cupping her cheek. “Good. Because she shouldn’t be in control.”
She flinched. “She?”
He held up the USB drive. “You looked inside. You saw her in the mirror. Now it’s time you’ll meet her.”
She pressed her back into the cold wall. “Stop this.”
He shook his head as though surprised. “No. Now begins the genesis.”
He pressed a button on the wall. A steel door hissed open, and harsh light flooded in, exposing an array of monitors, cameras, surgical lights… and a chair. High-backed. Leather. Straps dangling.
“What the fuck is this?” Eella ground out.
“The cradle,” he said softly. “The womb.”
Eella’s eyes widened. “Womb?”
He gestured to the chair. “It’s for integration. You requested the truth—you accepted Darcie’s imprint. Now it’s time to fuse.”
She backed toward the room’s exit. “I never—”
He reached for her hand. “You did.” His voice trembled with deliberate clarity. “You wanted memories. You wanted her. Now you’ll feel the rest.”
Eella shook free. “You can’t merge me with her!”
His eyes flashed in the sterile glare. “Mine.”
He hit a control panel and brief static filled the air, followed by the soft trill of a child’s lullaby. It echoed and warped, invaded her bones. Garrison stalked closer, sliding straps across her wrists and ankles with surgical precision. She tensed—but didn’t resist. Because her body remembered the truth she’d yet to name.
He pressed a button on the chair. It spread open, arms reaching for her like a lover. The chair straps tightened around her wrists and ankles. She cried out, but he held her steady.
“Look at me,” he demanded. His voice softened, turning intimate. “Eella. I need you.”
Her head shook—slowly, pathetically. Her tears felt like betrayal, and guilt swallowed her throat.
He brushed tears from her cheek. “None of this hurts—yet.” He whispered in the hollow of her ear. “So just… absorb.”
Flashing lights on the panel blinked. A low hum began. Eella felt warmth flood her veins before the machines magnified the hum into a roar. Her breath rattled.
He kissed the base of her skull. “Your memories, tied to hers. Your pain—overlaid. Your soul—tested.”
She arched in confusion and panic as the hum grew. Images flashed behind her eyelids: Darcie laughing. Darcie screaming. Darcie falling. Darcie climbing.
Was it? Could it be her?
The world fractured. Her head spun. They danced halfformed inside her skull: Eella and Darcie, grief‑afflicted, furious, entwined. And Garrison—pulling, staring, desperate.
Her arms convulsed against the straps. She heard herself screaming… but it wasn’t her voice.
She focused on Garrison’s eyes. His grief. His obsession. The same madness she felt. A man pushing limits until one breaks.
She summoned strength. “Stop this.”
He faltered.
But he didn’t remove her.
He just sat across the chair, watching her face contort, her eyes glaze. And the lullaby looped, soft and innocent, under the storm.
Time cycled. Pain. Pleasure. Memory tangoing with fantasy. Laughing with sobbing. His voice echoing on loop. Her name — in Darcie’s voice?
“No…”
He leaned in. “I couldn’t bear losing another piece of myself. So I found her code. I overlaid it onto you.”
She gasped.
Her mind pounded with grief not hers. The ache of a love buried years earlier. The guilt of his entire empire twisting around two women he’d incinerated and resurrected.
Her vision blurred. Shadows above her flickered.
She screamed—a single, pulsing cry that shattered the lullaby. The loops stuttered, lights blazed, the chair slammed her head forward.
And then she yanked free—a living thrall tearing against robotic arms to stand upright, chest heaving.
Garrison dove for the power and yanked the drive free. The systems whined to life…but only for a moment before he shut it off.
They stared at each other—man and vessel—breathing heavy, eyes wild.
She pressed a hand to her head. “Darcie… isn’t in me. She never was.”
He shook his head, anger and awe tangled in his grimace. “Yes. Yes, she is.”
She didn’t cry. She laughed.
“Because you said you couldn’t lose me. So you transferred the pain.”
He bowed his head. “I did.”
Silence fell. And then she spoke quietly, bone-cold.
“I forgive you.”
His head snapped up.
“I forgive you.” Her voice curved around a terrible shape.
“But I will never forget what you are."
Garrison stumbled back.
She took a step forward. Hand out.
“Open your eyes, Garrison.”
He obeyed.
Behind her, the chair had powered down. But the screens flickered.
They showed Garrison. Alone in his office. Watching.
Watching her.
Watching them.
But on the video—she wasn’t strapped at all.
She smiled.
“You overlaid the memory on him too.”
His jaw froze.
She clicked ‘play’.
The screen glitched.
Garrison’s eyes stared from it.
Her eyes stared back.
He tried to speak.
She cut the power.
End of His Private Hell Chapter 61. Continue reading Chapter 62 or return to His Private Hell book page.