Robert Bloch's Psycho (10 page)

Norman didn't know how he could feel any luckier.

*   *   *

The next day Dr. Reed discussed Robert's visit with Norman. He said that Robert had indicated that he'd like to see Norman again—regularly, if possible. Dr. Reed told Norman that if it was all right with Norman, it was all right with him. He said that such visits would be therapeutic for Norman. Norman quickly agreed.

So it was arranged that Robert would come to see Norman on whatever evenings he could. Since the visits were outside regular hours, Dr. Reed suggested that it might be best if Norman said nothing of them to other staff members.

“I've told the evening attendants that Robert is a friend and colleague of mine,” Dr. Reed said, “and that's enough to get him in, as long as he's in my company. I'd rather that Dr. Goldberg … you remember him?” Norman did, all too well. “I'd rather he not know about Robert, not just yet. I think your brother is going to have a very positive influence on you, Norman. And I don't want anything about our … situation to change until that occurs, you understand?”

“Sure,” Norman said. “Mum's the word.”

Dr. Reed chuckled, and Norman couldn't blame him.
Mum
was
generally
the word where Norman was concerned.

His spirits were much higher now, and when, three days later, Dr. Reed asked him if he'd like to try visiting the social hall again, Norman swallowed hard and thought about it. He knew that Dr. Reed would be proud of him if he did (and managed to keep down his food), but he also thought that it would give him something to tell Robert about on his visit that evening, and maybe Robert would be proud of him too.

That afternoon, when Dr. Reed walked with him to the social hall, he said, “Norman, I'm very sorry, but I can't stay with you today. I have a staff meeting I have to attend.”

Norman felt a chill pass through him, and he looked at Dr. Reed with panicked eyes.

“Now, Norman, I think you'll be fine. If someone begins a discussion you don't want to have, just walk away from them. Remember, the attendants are there to keep everyone safe, so you don't have to be afraid. But you
do
have to learn to cope with other patients.” Dr. Reed slowed their pace and turned to Norman. “You can't just stay in your room indefinitely. We have to integrate you into a social life here. Eventually you'll be eating with other patients in the dining hall, doing activities with them, being on a work detail—janitorial or grounds or laundry or … maybe the library. Would you like that?”

Norman nodded.

“Of course you would, and I think that would be a good position for you. We'll see. But before any of that happens, you have to become more social, make some friends. And this is a start.”

They were at the door of the social hall now, and Dr. Reed held it open for him. Norman nodded. “All right,” he said. “I'll try.”

“Good for you. I'll see you in an hour or so. Read, watch TV, play a game if you like. But don't be frightened.” And then the door closed, Dr. Reed was gone, and Norman was in the social hall.

There were more Christmas decorations taped to the walls, and in a corner was a scraggly tree with tinsel and lights but no ornaments. That made sense, Norman thought. Broken glass in the hands of some of these patients could be dangerous.

He recognized some of the people he had seen before, but not the man who had been so horrible, who had asked him those terrible questions. Norman coughed at all the smoke in the air, and walked over to a table that held magazines. He really didn't want to talk to anyone, but if someone came over and talked to
him,
he'd try to respond politely.

No one did, and Norman read magazine after magazine. He had thought he might catch up on current events, but all the magazines were from before he'd come into the hospital, so he read old stories about politicians and celebrities. Some pages had been torn out, and Norman wondered if it was because the stories were about crime.

He was actually starting to get comfortable when he heard shuffling footsteps behind him, and a soft drawl. “Well, well, if it isn't my old buddy Norman…”

Norman didn't turn around. He knew all too well who it was.

He saw an arm reach past the right side of his head and pick up a magazine from the table, then vanish again behind him. He heard a wooden chair creak as Ronald Miller sat in it. “How's your tummy today, Norman?” the voice went on. “Feelin' a little better? Really sorry that I made you sick, but I thought it'd take a lot more than that to upset
your
stomach. 'Specially after some of the things you done. Tell me, you chop 'em up afterwards? That's gotta be pretty messy, huh? Or do you like chop and puke, then chop some more?”

Norman clutched the magazine in his hand and stood up, looking through the haze of smoke for a haven. Across the room in the corner was a faded and worn easy chair, stained in a dozen places. Holding the magazine, he got up and quickly walked toward the chair and sat, facing his adversary. He reached into his pocket and felt the piece of petrified wood Nurse Marie had given him, rubbed its smoothness with his fingers, and thought about being strong.

Ronald Miller had turned to follow Norman with his gaze. When he saw that Norman had moved, he shook his head sadly, stood up, and strolled over to the corner with the easy chair. Norman looked at the closest attendant, but the man's attention was elsewhere.

Ronald Miller stopped a yard away from Norman and started looking at some of the cardboard Christmas decorations on the wall. “Can't get away from me, little Norman. You've really gotta tell me some things. I wanna know everything, pal. Unless your mama doesn't want you to tell.”

Norman hissed in a breath.

“Oh, yeah, that got ya, huh? Word travels fast. 'Bout you killin' your mama, 'bout the way you stuffed her—” Miller stopped abruptly. “Oh, I just
got
it. Why Doc Reed looked so funny when I lied to him and told him we were talkin' about
mummies;
hell, yeah, your
mama
was like a mummy, huh? That's pretty weird, Norman. I wanna hear about that too. And you're gonna tell me. Or you know what, Norman? One of these days, when they get you back in with us, when we eat together and take
showers
together, y'know? Well, hell, I got a reputation for bangin' anything that moves, and that could easy include your chubby little ass, Norman. Now
spill.
”

The man moved closer. Norman, trembling, could feel the heat from Ronald Miller's body.

“Okay, Norman,” he whispered. “Tell me. Get it out of your system. Tell me the worst thing that happened, the worst thing you did, get it over with, and we'll go from there, huh?” A little laugh came from Miller's throat. “So tell me, before you stuffed your mother … did you
stuff
your mother?”

What happened next surprised Norman. He didn't throw up, and he didn't hit Miller. He wanted to, but he knew that would be terribly wrong, and that both Dr. Reed and Robert would be disappointed in him. Not knowing what else to do, he started to softly cry.

“Aw,” Miller whispered, “is Mama's baby boy
cwyin'?
Did mean old Wonnie make him sad?” The man chuckled. “You think you're cryin'
now,
wait'll I get you alone, Norman. And I will. I'll either make you talk or make you squeal, ya freak.”

Miller looked around at the attendants to make sure they weren't looking, then leaned down and pried Norman's right hand off the rolled magazine he was crushing. He took Norman's hand in his own.

“Guar-on-teed. Let's shake on it, buddy…” The long cracked nail of his right middle finger sliced across the soft side of Norman's hand, and Norman winced at the pain, though he didn't cry out. “Somethin' to remember me by,” Miller said, dropping Norman's hand and standing erect. “You think about it, buddy, and the next time you see me I wanna hear some good stuff, okay?”

Ronald Miller smiled down at Norman. “You think about what you wanna tell me, and you better not be makin' it up. I want the real deal, Norman.” Miller turned and walked away, over to the windows, where he looked out at the cold, cloudy afternoon.

Norman stopped crying and looked at the side of his right hand. A thin line of blood marked where Ronald Miller's fingernail had sliced him open. He released the stone he'd been holding in his left pocket, and nestled the small wound in the palm of his left hand. There he sat, looking down at the floor, until Dr. Reed finally returned to take him back to his room.

It wasn't until they were there that Dr. Reed noticed the way Norman was sheltering his hand. He asked to see what was wrong and Norman showed him. Dr. Reed sent Ben to get some antiseptic and bandages, then asked Norman how it happened, and Norman told him. Dr. Reed frowned.

“I'm sorry, Norman. That was inexcusable on Miller's part. He'll be reprimanded. We'll take away his access to the social hall, starting tomorrow.” Dr. Reed sighed. “Do you think you can eat dinner after our session?”

Norman's stomach felt queasy. “I'm … not sure.”

“You really should, you know. Robert's visiting you tonight. If you don't eat something, you won't feel well when he's here.”

Norman agreed to try to eat. When Ben returned, Dr. Reed treated and bandaged Norman's scratch, which had stopped oozing blood. Then Norman lay back on his bed, and they began their session. When they were finished, Norman felt more relaxed.

Nurse Marie brought his dinner, he ate, then sat in his room and read before Robert arrived. Finally Dr. Reed knocked and entered. “Robert's here,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“Sure,” Norman answered, putting down his book and sitting up, and Dr. Reed smiled and disappeared.

Robert came in a moment later, and Norman heard the door close on them. “Hey, little brother,” Robert said as he gave Norman a hug. Then he sat down and they started to talk. It didn't take long before the subject of Ronald Miller came up.

“Dr. Reed told me about your trouble with that guy today,” Robert said, shaking his head. “Man, it's gotta be tough in here. When I think about that son of a bitch, I just feel like…” He paused. “Is this guy a lot bigger than you are?”

“He's … tall,” Norman said, fearing what Robert might be getting at. “But he's skinny. Still, I couldn't…”

“No. No, of course not. But people like that … I mean, they make me realize why people like you go over the edge. So many times I've run into idiots like him, and I want to hand them their heads, you know? But I just don't have the guts, I guess.”

They sat quietly for a moment. Then Robert said, more softly, “It helps me understand
you
more when I feel like that, feel that urge to lash out. Sometimes I…” He shook his head. “I can understand what you did.”

“What I…” Norman was confused. “What I did?”

“In a way, I respect you, little brother, for having the courage.”

“To do … what?”

“To kill people when you felt you had to.”

The silence sat heavily in the room. Norman thought he could hear his heart beating, faster than before.

“I didn't…,” he said. “It was … Mother who killed those people.”

Robert nodded, and his mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “Sure. It was our mother. But she was inside
you,
Norman. She may have been the … inspiration, but it was your hands and your mind that killed. Just like it was your hands and mind that killed our mother. And her boyfriend, that Considine guy. Mother didn't have anything to do with
that,
did she?”

“I—” But before Norman could say what he wanted to, he heard her.

Maybe this
is
my son after all.

Mother?

He sees the truth. He sees that
you
killed that girl, not me.

“I have to admit, Norman,” Robert said, “I do respect that.”

He sees the truth, Norman. The truth about the killings. I've told you it wasn't me, but you're not man enough to admit what you did, are you?

Be quiet, Mother!

You killed me and my lover—yes, my lover, Norman! It wasn't me inside you then! Have the gumption to face the truth, boy!

“You had guts, Norman,” Robert said. “Dr. Reed told me all the details. You knew our mother was betraying you, and that Considine was stealing her away, and you had the guts to do something about it.”

Now
this
boy has got the gumption to face the truth even if you don't, Norman!

Shut up, Mother!

“And as far as killing the girl, I don't know why—but you must have had a good reason. She was a criminal, right? She stole all that money? Maybe you didn't know at the time, but there was probably something about her, wasn't there? Or did she lead you on and then try and back out? I can understand how that could make you sore.”

“No, it wasn't like that, she was—”

“And the detective, well, hell, he came snooping around, who could blame you for getting rid of
him
? It may have been wrong, but I understand it, Norman, I do.”

Robert was looking at him with the most serious gaze Norman had ever seen. After all Robert had said, Norman expected his eyes to be wild, even crazy, but they were coldly sane.

“I can't help but think,” Robert said slowly, “that doing what you did—killing in that way—must be somehow … liberating, freeing. When people
deserve
death, to mete it out to them, that must be … quite satisfying. Is it?”

“I … don't know. I don't really remember … doing it.”

“Sometimes,” Robert said, “I wish I had the nerve. To see what it's like.”