Page 28 of Pretty Nightmare

“What’s that?”

“It’s a moment when you use old information to see things in a new way and it brings understanding.”

“I don’t get it. What does this have to do with Nick Tate? And I’m definitely not transformed. Nothing about this was helpful. I don’t understand anything.”

“I don’t know about Nick Tate yet. He might not be real. I mean, he’s real. Was. Whatever. But he might not be real to you.”

“You think I made him up?” Her voice is loud and incredulous.

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying I can’t fathom a reason why Nick Tate would be dropping you off on that island when I was under the impression that your house mother abandoned you there.”

“Maybe you got it wrong?”

“Maybe I did. That’s entirely possible.”

“Why would you be under that impression?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem. We have a disconnect here. Remember when I said memories are unreliable?”

“Yeah.”

“Well”—I laugh—“there you go. We can’t both be right.”

“Does it really matter? Maybe you were just jumping to conclusions?”

“Maybe. Or maybe someone told me that lie about your house mother. If so, I need to figure out who said it. There are no coincidences here, Indie. Not when you’re born into the Company. Everything comes with a plan. Everything.”

“Hm. I see the point. So. Who would want to lie about that?”

“No, that’s jumping ahead. First, we need to figure out if it was real on your end. Then we can ask questions like that.”

“OK.” She huffs out a long sigh.

“But we’re done for today. You need to settle before we do another session.”

She slaps her legs and stands up. “Fine with me, I guess. Can I have that?” She points to the recorder.

I pick it up and I’m just about to give it to her when I pull my hand back. “Let me keep it for one night. Listen to it again and make some notes. I’ll make a report for you.”

“Whatever you want, Donovan. You’re the psychiatrist.”

I cringe at that. “I’m not really a psychiatrist, Indie. But if we’re gonna do this, we should do it right. Turn it into a proper case study.”

She gives me a weird look. “Number one, you absolutely are a psychiatrist. When people learn as much shit about brains as you have, and they have a medical degree to go with it, they are psychiatrists. Even if they’re not practicing. And number two—case study? No. I don’t want to be your fucking case study.”

“It’s more credible that way.”

“Who will be reading this report that we care if it’s credible?”

“Us,” I say. “It matters. That’s all. It’s procedure. We should remain objective. The truth requires it. And if we’re only doing this to prove we’re fine, if we’re just trying to prove that everything’s OK and it’s really not…” I blow out a long breath. “If we’re missing things and we allow ourselves to succumb to cognitive dissonance, then what is the fucking point?”

“Well, that’s a long, serious sentence there, Donovan. I’m not sure what cognitive whatever is—”

“It’s when you see the truth with your own eyes and still you refuse to accept it. That’s what it is.”

“Oh.” She pauses for a moment. “Well, yeah. That’s… scary. But—”

“We’re doing this my way or we’re not doing it at all. I’m not gonna go inside your head again without thinking the whole thing through first and recording the results at the end. I’m not. I won’t fucking do it!”