Robert Bloch's Psycho (33 page)

“Robert isn't going to do
anything,
” Norman said. “He can't. He's dead.”

“No,” Reed said, “Robert isn't dead. He's
here.
”

“He never really existed,” Norman said. “It's only ever been me and Norman. Why did you trick him? Why did you try and fool my
only
son?”

If he'd had the slightest doubt before, Reed was certain now. It wasn't Robert standing there with the knife in his hand. And it wasn't Norman Bates, either. It was
Mother.

“I didn't try to fool him. I was trying to
help
him. I've only ever wanted to help Norman—to help
you.
”

“You're a
liar.
” The voice became even more bitter and harsh. “You wanted those people dead, and you wanted Norman to kill them for you. You tricked him into it, didn't you? Tricked my boy into killing for
you.
”

“No, it was
Robert
who killed them, not Nor—”

“Liar!”
Mother shouted, and Reed cringed, trying to think of a way out. “There
is
no Robert!”

“No, no!” Reed pleaded. “There
is!
”

*   *   *

Mother dropped the plastic sheeting, and her now free hand shot out and grabbed the flashlight from the doctor's sweating grip. She shined it full into his face, this man who had helped banish her, and had then used her boy as his assassin. His eyes were wild, and tears were in them. His crying made snot run from his nose, and the sight disgusted her.

“There
is!
There
is
a Robert!” he shouted again, and to her surprise, Mother saw the doctor's face change, melt, transform into the very image of Robert Newman that she had seen through Norman's eyes when she was chained deep down inside of him.

She could not accept even the
imagined
reality of Robert Newman.

Mother slashed up and across with the knife, and the blade ripped through the doctor's neck. He fell back, down onto the damp stones, and Mother dropped the flashlight, turned the hilt in her hand, sank to both knees, and stabbed down at that lying, false face, over and over again until its features were drowned in a red pool that appeared black in the flashlight's residual gleam.

*   *   *

Norman watched it all, unable to move, unable to stop Mother from doing what she did. Only when she finally released the knife, whose blade remained wedged in Dr. Reed's cheek, and stood up did Norman reclaim his own flesh.

He felt unmoored and lost, as though life itself were nothing but confusion. His brother was gone as though he had never existed. The only doctor who had cared for him was dead. And he had become a murderer again. Whether it had been Robert or Mother who used it, it had been
his
body that had lurked and killed and hidden away what had been done.

And now Mother, who had been dead and buried, had returned to save him, to claim him, to take over his life once more.

I know, Norman, I know, things didn't go the way you'd hoped, but life is full of disappointments. What matters is that I protected you from that doctor.
Norman felt a sigh shiver his entire body.
You got into trouble again because your mother wasn't there, didn't you? Because you believed that doctor's lies and you sent me away. Well, I'm back now. And I'm going to stay.

All right, Mother.

All right, Norman. Now, stop moping, boy, there's work to be done! You do as I tell you, and then go back to your room like a good boy.

He could remember nearly all of it now. Mother helped him to remember, just as she told him what to do every step of the way. As Norman wrapped Dr. Reed and the knife that had killed him in the plastic sheet and put him next to the others, he thought back to each one of those times, remembering the realities that had appeared disguised in his dreams.

When he was finished with Dr. Reed, he took the flashlight from the floor and went into the passage, up the spiral staircase, through the narrow turns until he came to the entrance to his room. He pressed the plate on the wall and moved to the side as the door opened. Then he pushed aside the padding, went in, took the rolled bedding from under his blanket, and set it, along with the flashlight, on the floor of the passageway. He stepped back into his room, reached around and pressed the plate again, drew back his arm and replaced the padding as the heavy door slowly closed.

Still obeying Mother, Norman went to his sink. In the dim light coming through the open slot in the door, he looked down at his bare chest and arms. Dried blood was all over his hands, some on his arms, and a bit on his chest and belly, but fortunately none had gotten on his uniform pants. He washed all the blood away with soap and warm water, and watched as the pink liquid went down the drain. Then he examined himself again. Mother noticed that he had some blood left around his fingernails and cuticles, and he scrubbed them until they were clean enough for her.

Then he dried himself thoroughly with a hand towel too small to hang oneself with, and put on his shirt.

Now lie down and rest, Norman. You've had a very busy day.

Thank you, Mother. Thank you … for helping me.

That's what a mother's for.

Norman lay there in the room, his eyes open. For a long time he thought about what Dr. Reed had done to him, and he remembered one evening, just a few years ago, when he and Mother had been watching television. There was an old silent movie on—German, he thought—about a doctor who hypnotized a sleepwalker and had him kill people. In a way, that was what Dr. Reed had done with him. That wasn't right.

It certainly wasn't, Norman. I won't let anyone fool you like that ever again. And I won't let anyone take me away from you, either. We'll always be together, just the way we both want it. We just won't listen to their lies. We won't listen to a single word they say.

That's good, Mother. That's good. I think I can sleep now.

We can both use some rest. Good night, Norman.

Good night, Mother.

 

20

TO: Cosmo Danvers, MPH, MD, PhD

FROM: Peter Harrison, MD, PhD

REGARDING: The Ollinger Sanitarium

DATE: July 7, 1918

My dear Dr. Danvers:

Attached is the report of what was found in the final inspection of the Adolph Ollinger Sanitarium. We have already discussed this face-to-face, so the report will serve as a formality. The members of the state board unanimously agree that the report should not be made public in order to save the families of patients from even more pain than they have already incurred. There is no point in revealing the more sensationalistic aspects of this affair. On the contrary, the board has prepared a public statement intended to quash many of the rumors which have circulated.

We intend to state that the deaths of Ollinger and his remaining patients were due to the Spanish influenza, and that the patients' bodies were found in their rooms, Ollinger's in his bed. The remains will be returned to the families. Ollinger, having no family of which we know, will be buried in the local cemetery.

As for the building itself, I understand that plans are to close off the cellar room in which all the bodies were found. The stench which remains makes it uninhabitable, and there is no way to air it. As for the passageways which are said to exist, we have so far found no access to them.

That the building should have a commercial use at this time seems unlikely, since it is far from any major city. The consortium which financed and still owns it is planning to put it up for sale, though there seems no immediate plan to market it aggressively. I suspect that many of these investors, who had family members as patients there, might even prefer to see it go to wrack and ruin, and be forgotten. Indicative of this is the fact that they have done nothing with the building's contents.

Considering what has occurred there, I know of few concerned who would not be willing to see it crumble into rubble over the years …

*   *   *

When Dick O'Brien brought Norman Bates's breakfast, he knew something was wrong. Norman was sitting on his bed, looking down at the floor, just the way he had done when he had first come to the hospital.

When Dick put the tray of food on Norman's small table, Norman didn't sit down in his chair, look up, or acknowledge Dick's presence in any way. Uh-oh, Dick thought. That was bad. He called Norman's name several times, but there was no response. Dick left the tray and exited the room, locking the door firmly behind him.

He went to Dr. Reed's office, but Reed wasn't there. His overcoat was hanging in his closet, so Dick assumed he was somewhere in the building and went to look for him.

He didn't find him. Dick checked with Dr. Steiner, but Steiner hadn't seen Reed that morning. When Dick told Steiner about Norman Bates, Steiner went immediately to Norman's room, while Dick looked in the parking lot to see if Reed's car was there. It was.

Several attendants scoured the building looking for Dr. Reed, but no one found him. By that time, Dr. Steiner had finished his visit to Norman Bates. Norman had been completely uncommunicative, and Dr. Steiner couldn't help but wonder if there was a connection between Norman's condition and Dr. Reed's disappearance. Obviously Norman had suffered some overwhelming trauma, for him to return to his previous state.

Dr. Steiner too had come to the end of his tether. He sat alone at his desk and considered how four people had disappeared from the hospital. One could have been an escape, the double disappearance an elopement, the other a fleeing war criminal. Far-fetched, but not impossible.

But now Dr. Felix Reed had disappeared. His car was there, his office untouched, no evidence of foul play found. But he was gone.

Dr. Steiner looked at the telephone for a long time before he finally picked it up and called Captain Banning, then Sheriff Jud Chambers.

*   *   *

When the lawmen got there, they both reacted as if this was a scene they'd already played too many times. Captain Banning started organizing troopers and attendants for another thorough search of the facility, a search that was going on when Marie Radcliffe and Ben Blake arrived for their evening shift.

Once they learned what had happened and Marie had seen what Norman Bates had once again become, she went directly to Dr. Steiner, who was still with Captain Banning and Sheriff Chambers. In front of the others, she told him about finding in Dr. Goldberg's office the petrified wood she had given Norman.

“I told Dr. Reed,” she said, “but no one else, and he was going to ask Norman about it, but he didn't tell me what Norman said.”

“So what are you saying?” Banning asked. “You thinking this prisoner had something to do with Goldberg's disappearance? Or Reed's?”

“I … don't know. Maybe.”

Dr. Steiner shook his head. “Even if he could have gotten out of his locked room, the ward attendant on duty would have seen him.”

But Marie pleaded until they went with her to Norman's room. While Ben took Norman into the hall, the two policemen and Dr. Steiner went through his room, looking everywhere, including behind the padding that covered the walls. “Well,” Banning chuckled when they had finished their examination, “unless he went through a brick wall, there's no way he could've gotten out of here.”

That the now nearly catatonic Norman Bates was cleared of having anything to do with Felix Reed's disappearance did nothing to relieve the tension in the state hospital. No one could think of any reason whatsoever for Reed to have run off in the night without coat, automobile, or anything else one might deem necessary. The entire building was searched top to bottom, as were the grounds, in the event that Reed had gone for a walk and had an attack of some sort.

Reed's office was searched, as was his apartment, but nothing was found that shed any light on his absence. The searchers, highway patrolmen more accustomed to traffic stops than detective work, overlooked the top shelf of the closet.

Inquiries were made, and people were asked if he had been seen at Delsey's, where it had been his habit to get a meal and a beer between ending his workday and going home, but he had not been in that night. Still, there was no evidence of foul play.

Dr. Felix Reed remained missing, as did Ronald Miller, Myron Gunn, Eleanor Lindstrom, and the man the hospital staff had known as Dr. Isaac Goldberg. Though a number of people, including Dr. Steiner, Marie Radcliffe, and Captain Banning, questioned Norman Bates, he gave no answers, nor did he indicate in any way that he even heard the questions.

In the weeks and months to come, Dr. Nicholas Steiner was made permanent superintendent of the state hospital, and Ray Wiseman and Nurse Wyndham, respectively, became head attendant and head nurse. Dr. Elliot Berkowitz took over as Norman Bates's therapist, but by the time his residency ended, he had been unable to bring Norman out of the amnesic fugue state to which he had returned, passive to the point of catatonia.

Marie Radcliffe and other nurses fed him every meal as they had before. He would open his mouth and eat, but he would not pick up a utensil or a cup. Marie tried to return the piece of petrified wood to him, but he seemed to have no idea what it was, or who she was. Even though she told herself that Norman must have dropped it in the hall and Dr. Goldberg had picked it up, she only believed it half the time, and, in spite of Norman's passivity, was always on the alert for any unexpected movement on his part.

The entire hospital seemed to share Marie's state of tension for a long time afterward. Only when two more psychiatrists came on staff, and several months went by with no further incidents, did relative calm return to the facility. It was reinforced by Dr. Steiner's disapproval of any cruel or sadistic behavior on the part of the staff, and his reluctance to use shock therapies on any but the most otherwise hopeless cases, one of whom eventually proved to be Norman Bates.