I was so focused on Drew not having a competent alibi that I failed to connect the other piece of the puzzle. Torrance had gone along with Cam’s lie—why? The obvious explanation: He still needed an alibi. Which gave him motive to get rid of Cam—the person who could reveal the truth and implicate him.
As we head to the Tiki Hive, I try to envision Torrance stalking toward me on the dock. His hand gripping a knife. I try to visualize his features on the man who pulled me from the lake. I see the white lotuses on the dark water.
I blink hard when the rest won’t come.
If we prove Torrance is the killer, I will have to accept it as fact. Regardless of what my mind wants to believe. There’s no room for two beliefs. The mind is the most powerful tool. But just like a tool, it can be sharpened and molded. It can be bent. It can be trained to believe almost anything.
23
Book of Drew
Lakin: Then
Have you ever told a lie and immediately regretted it? Either because you believed you’re inherently an honest person, or because the lie contradicted your principles, your own beliefs? How badly did you feel after telling the lie? What did you feel? Remorse? Guilt?
This is called cognitive dissonance. The uncomfortable feeling that squirms inside you when two beliefs challenge each other. When this occurs, our mind has to decide how to correct the imbalance and restore harmony. To alleviate the guilt, in other words.
There are four choices:
Modify. Trivialize. Add. Deny.
We can modify our belief system to accept a portion of the lie as truth. Or trivialize it, coming to the conclusion that the outcome of the lie isn’t that important. We can add another cognition, or behavior or belief, on top of the lie in order to accept what we’ve done. Or we can downright deny that we ever told a lie to begin with.
The last one gets a bit tricky.
How do we convince ourselves of something that we fundamentally know is the opposite?
Logically, we have to understand that our mind wants to protect us. If a belief is causing pain, the brain will map a way around that area of hurt in order to find a less painful avenue.
The path of least resistance.
It’s why we occasionally look at people and question their choices, their situations. It’s inconceivable to us, in our belief structure. But we haven’t walked in their shoes, to quote a cliché. We don’t know the logical avenues their brain had to map in order to protect them from destruction.
I’m thinking about this now, as I write a scene from my past, because—at this particular moment in time—I couldn’t see the path ahead. I wasn’t aware of the very real pain my relationship with my psych professor was causing.
Love, in so many ways, is a deceptive lie in itself, triggered by the chemicals in our brain.
Maybe that’s a bit jaded. Or maybe it’s just plain science.
On this day, Drew was lounging in a hammock on the back lanai of his Spanish Colonial home, book in hand. A mystery novel. Something I’d teased him about; his guilty pleasure.
“You’re supposed to be writing a paper,” he said, and flipped a page in his book.
I put my pen down on the patio table. “It’s coming off as rambly.”
He looked over at me. “Rambly?”
I twisted my lips. I’d heard Cam use it recently. “I am a college student, you know.”
He set the book on the deck and rocked out of the hammock. “You’re not just a college student. If that were the case, I’d have no interest in you.”
“Very bluntly put.” Tired of this latest head game, I stood and marched toward the house. Lately, Drew and I had been testy with each other. Not fighting. Not even arguing, per se. Just…prickly, for lack of a better word.
Maybe it was the upcoming spring break trip. With less than a week to go, I’d been anxious to get away. From school. From Cam. My parents.
Chelsea.
I sensed Drew behind me, closing in. I sped up as I neared the sliding-glass door. He grabbed me around the waist and lifted me off the deck. I squealed as he slung me around and pinned my back to the glass.