Chapter 23 — The Devil Couldn't Reach Me
The mansion was too quiet.
It was the kind of silence that didn't soothe — it stalked.
Celia sat on the edge of her bed, fingers trembling against the cool silk sheets. Beverly's memories were still leaking into her mind in fragments: pain, whispers, blood on white tile. Every time she thought she had a clear picture, it blurred again.
She could remember Beverly's tears, the sharp hospital smell, but not how she'd gotten there. Not who had taken her. Not who had told.
The gaps drove her insane.
And beneath it all, a single phrase kept replaying in her head — something Beverly had whispered before fading completely:
"Don't let them bury me twice."
Celia swallowed hard and pressed her palm against her chest. The space where Beverly's spirit once lingered felt hollow now. The fear, the rage, the sadness — all of it had seeped into her veins.
"Don't worry," she muttered to herself, voice cracking. "The devil couldn't reach me before… he won't now."
But her heart didn't believe it.
⸻
She heard the rumble of an engine outside — low, expensive, deliberate.
The kind that didn't belong to anyone ordinary.
She rose slowly and walked toward the window. Through the tall curtains, she saw a car pull up in front of the mansion — black, polished, the kind of luxury that announced power before the driver even stepped out.
A driver hurried out first, opening the back door.
And then — a leg, a shimmer of gold, and a woman emerged.
Her heels hit the ground like a countdown.
Dahlia.
Her hair was a perfect wave of chestnut gloss, and her lipstick was the color of temptation. Even from the window, Celia could feel it — the command in her presence.
She didn't rush. She didn't need to.
Every step was a statement: I'm back.
Celia's pulse quickened. The blurry fragments in her head began to sharpen — laughter, tears, and that same voice whispering false comfort before twisting the knife.
Beverly's memories flashed —
"She said she was my best friend."
"She said she'd protect me."
"She lied."
Celia backed away from the window just as Dahlia lifted her gaze —
And their eyes met.
A smile curved across Dahlia's lips. Elegant. Calculated.
She tilted her head slightly, as if to say Did you miss me?
Lightning flashed in the distance, painting the world in silver for half a heartbeat.
And for the first time since Beverly vanished, Celia felt that cold, old fear crawling up her spine.
"So…" she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else,
"…the devil couldn't reach me. But he sent her instead."
The doorbell rang.