She’d known what was real before Dr. Jillium increased her meds. Of that Meg was certain. Beyond that, nothing was sure.
     The campus’s cramped roads had become black with night, and the sudden right angles made her headlights almost useless as she drove to the hospital. What Haley said couldn’t be true. Meg hadn’t done those things. How could she? It had been Austin.
     Confusion-born tears started, and the car threatened to stall as she took a corner too tight.
     Austin had been there. Haley was lying. She was a mean, spiteful bitch who’d pretended to like her for her own sadistic mind games. Meg should’ve known it was too good to be true that Haley actually liked her. People as perfect as Haley didn’t make friends with basket cases like her. Rorry was even worse, pretending to protect her from Austin when all Rorry was doing was protecting Haley’s “investment.”
     “I’m a plaything to them. A toy.” Wiping her eyes, she bounced over the road bumps, struggling not to cry from the heartache of being used. “I can’t believe I painted a picture for him. Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch!”
     The canvas was beside her where Austin once sat, its lines lost in the darkness. Throwing it away wasn’t an option. It was her best work, the beginning of something totally new, and now, she’d think of him every time she looked at it.
      “Damn him. Damn them both,” she whispered. Frustrated, Meg hit the dash, and her hand began to bleed again through the bandage. Meg stared at the slick sheen leaking out, her panic rising anew. Was it really bleeding or just an illusion? Had she cut her hand or burned it?
      “I hate this car,” she said softly, and then louder, when she realized she’d missed the turn and was headed into the nearby park, “I hate this car! Why am I even driving this car!”
     Suddenly her headlights gleamed on the ragged silhouette of a man in the road, waving at her to stop. It was Christopher, and gasping, Meg spun the wheel to avoid him. That damned little dog of his jerked his lead free and ran away, but Christopher froze in fear. Panicking, Meg hit the gas instead of the brake. With a sickening lurch, the car angled off the road and onto the open grass toward the trees. Meg shrieked, paralyzed as the memory of her accident rose up, thick and smothering. The impact of the curb bounced her head into the wheel, and dazed, she could do nothing but cross her arms over her face as the trees flashed past bright with light. With a jaw-snapping thud, the car ran into a tree and stalled.
     For three seconds, Meg didn’t move, her breath a harsh rasp as she remembered where she was. There’d been no airbag to cushion her this time, and the taste of blood slicked her teeth. Dazed, she looked at the empty seat beside her, relief pushing out the fear. It wasn’t one of her nightmares. It was real and she was okay. Austin wasn’t here, his hand mangled and his leg nearly severed at the hip by a metal fence support. There was only a canvas lying on the floor, one that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
      “I hate this car,” she whispered, wishing she’d gotten the airbag replaced along with the passenger side door. But it hadn’t seemed to matter if she wasn’t going to drive the thing.
      Then Christopher banged on the window, and she jumped, shrieking.
      “You have to kill them!” he shouted through the window, and Meg scrambled to the other side of the car and got out in a panic.
      “Stay away from me!” she exclaimed as she reached back in for her purse, backing away from him as he came around the car. “You’re crazy. Crazy!”
      “Like hell I am,” he growled, and she gasped as he grabbed her arm. “It’s not too late. Come with me to the fountain. They need moving water. That’s how they get here. They haven’t left. Help me. We have to kill them both or you’ll never know what’s real again. Don’t let them take you. Perfection isn’t real. They aren’t real!”