Ashleigh struggled over the events of the past several days. Time was jumbled together in overlapping images and disconnected memories. Each moment entangled with another until she could hardly tell them apart.
What was real? What had she imagined?
Bell had told her repeatedly that the sickness had altered her moods, memories, even her reasoning. What she did or said while it was happening wasn’t her fault.
Yet, the things Ashleigh could remember concerned her. There was an image of Galen on the ground, his eyes pained. Blood on his hand.
Caleb had made her pulse race; she had stood in the cold desperately waiting for him. Her mind had been consumed with fear that he would blame her for Galen’s injury.
And then he stabbed her in the heart.
“No…” Ashleigh whispered to herself, shaking her head. “That wasn’t real.”
