I'm Here to Help You (Darkiplier x Reader)

White Room Torture Bonding

"I-I'm here bec-cause..." the man manages before breaking down.

"Take your time." After a few moments of hiccups, we finally continue the conversation:

Linus Morris: "... I'm here because they say I killed my wife and two neighbors."

Me: "Who says that, Mr. Morris?"

Him: "One of the other neighbors."

Me: "Are they telling the truth?"

Him: "N-No! I would never–"

Me: "You only have to answer the question. Did you do it?"

Him: "No..."

Looking over him again, I see the fear in his eyes. He has much to fear – incarceration, isolation – but his fear isn't directed toward me. This fear is external, or he thinks it is. There's something inside of himself that he thinks will punish him.

He's not smart enough to fear his own humanity, I observe. There has to be something else...

Me: "You seem a bit frightened, Mr. Morris. What are you scared of? I'm not going to hurt you."

Him: "I don't wanna go to prison."

Me: "If you're telling the truth, I will make sure you don't go to prison. How does that sound?"

The man gives a firm nod, but doesn't respond. He's guilty – that much is blatantly obvious – but how do I get a confession? What is his fear?

Me: "Why are you still scared?"

Him: "I told you, already."

Me: "And I said that you have nothing to worry about, if that's all you're afraid of. You aren't lying to me, are you? I hate liars."

Him: "I'm telling the truth! Hand to God!"

Bingo.

Me: "Do you believe in God, Mr. Morris? Are you Christian?"

Him: "Catholic, actually. Yes, I believe in God."

The man beams, as if this will help him. If only he knew that his faith would be his downfall.

Me: "You said that you're telling the truth?"

Him: "Of course."

Me: "Would you tell that to God?"

Him: "..."

Me: "If you were really being honest, you'd swear on Jesus's name."

Him: "I-I swear that I–"

Me: "On Jesus's name."

He looks pained and even more fearful than before. His breathing is rapid and he's sweating drops the size of buttons. I smile at him sweetly, knowing just enough about his religion to cut every thread of sanity keeping the messy bundle of knots together.

Me: "What would you say if I told you I could ask God directly if you are telling the truth?"

Him: "How would you do that?"

Me: "Just a hypothetical. Tell me, Mr. Morris, what would you do?"

Him: "I'm not sure."

Me: "If I went up to Heaven and asked, right now, what would he say to me?"

The man in front of me is nearly trembling with anxiety. I can almost see him bursting at the seems, ready to break.

Me: "What if I told you I'm an angel, Mr. Morris, and that I can send my soul to Heaven and back in the blink of an eye to ask our God if what you're saying is true?"

The idiot might die of fear before I get an actual confession, I almost laugh. However, I hold back my smirk and keep my soft smile, facing his panic with unbridled innocence and patience.

Me: "Should I ask God what you're thinking, Mr. Morris? Would he be happy that you lied to his angel? I think I might have to, if you stay silent like that–"

Finally, the man snaps.

Him: "IT WAS ME, OKAY?"

"What was you?" I ask, still perfectly composed.

"I killed my wife, Heather, and Bate, and Cottor! I killed them all! I hadn't even meant to do it, just when Heather fell down the neighbors came and I-I-I panicked. They-They screamed at me and I didn't know what to do!" he rambles, then tosses his head back to face the ceiling.

Please – try around ten actual murders and about two or three fake ones, I roll my eyes.

"Oh, Christ! Oh, God forgive me!" Linus Morris's sobbing is vexing, but I remain seated and still as he blabs about his most recent sins and gives plenty of a confession.

And that, kids, is why you don't believe in religion, I joke to myself. I hear chuckles behind me, and I only now realize that cold hands are still on my shoulders, giving me my superhuman deduction.

"Well done," Dark congratulates, entertained by the weeping, praying man on his knees.

Meh, I shrug, also finding amusement in his antics.

A 'click' sounds from the door, and the same woman from before walks in. Over an unseen speaker, I hear, "Thank you, Linus Morris, for your confession."

With that, he's guided out of the room, still in a blind panic. Dark transports us back to my house, seating me in a dining room chair. When he removes his hands from my shoulders, about half of the clarity he had given me blurs back into my regular vision. The other half, however, stays.

"This is what happens when you simply listen to me," Dark simpers. "I'm here to help you. When you accept that, things proceed smoothly."

"I guess you're kinda right," I reply, smiling back at him.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter of "I'm Here to Help You" as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments and votes are super appreciated. Thanks for reading! ~Blue