Robert Bloch's Psycho (9 page)

“Is he…?” Norman tapped the side of his head.

“No. Not at all. He survived, he was—
is
—intelligent. Enough so as to be curious about his heritage. Curious enough to hire an investigator to go to Fairvale.” Dr. Reed paused. “Norman, do you know where you were born?”

Norman nodded. “The house. I was born at home. Dr. Mayhew, our family doctor, delivered me.
Just
me.”

Dr. Reed shook his head. “That's not what the investigator found. Dr. Mayhew died some years back, but his daughter still had his records. And at the entries on the date of your birth, Norman, was one that said that twin sons were born to Mr. and Mrs. J. Bates, and that the firstborn, whose skull was partially crushed in the area of the left parietal bone, was taken to the Wilkins Charity Home for Babies and Children, to be cared for ‘until its imminent demise,' I believe was the wording. Dr. Mayhew didn't expect it to survive the birth trauma.”

“But … it did.”

“Yes. And recovered. The investigator tried to find this Wilkins Home to match it up with their records, but there was an S&H Green Stamp redemption center at the old address. The home shut down decades ago, no records surviving. It's about a hundred miles north of Fairvale.”

“Was this Wilkins place where the man was adopted from?” Norman asked.

“His parents would never tell him,” Dr. Reed said. “They didn't want him to obsess over his background, so he says. He had no idea he might be a twin until seeing your picture. Then the thought occurred to him, and the rest…” Dr. Reed shrugged. “It looks as though it's a distinct possibility, Norman. I've seen the documents, and they're legitimate. I do believe this man is your brother.”

Norman didn't know what to say. So he shook his head and tried to make a little joke. “Too bad for him. To finally track down your brother and find out he's a…” Norman gestured to his surroundings.

“He says it doesn't matter, Norman.” Dr. Reed's face was serious and, Norman thought, a bit sad. “He says he wants to meet you.”

Norman opened his mouth, but found he couldn't say anything.

“I've been considering it,” Dr. Reed said. “You've told me that you felt very lonely during your childhood. Very isolated. I think if you'd had a brother, someone with whom you could have shared your childhood, well, things might have turned out differently for you.” He smiled. “And when it comes to family, they say it's never too late. I've met your brother, and he seems to be a good man. He has a family, his own business, lives not all that far from here. He could visit you frequently, if that would be acceptable to you. And to him, of course.”

Norman couldn't say anything. It was all too much.

“Would you like to meet him?” Dr. Reed asked. “Afterwards, you wouldn't have to see him again if you didn't want to. And you don't have to see him
now,
if you'd rather not. It's your decision, Norman.”

“What … what do
you
think I should do?”

Dr. Reed took a deep breath. “He seems very sincere about meeting you. And I don't think it would be harmful for you. On the contrary, I think it would aid in your socialization skills, and that's something that we've been concentrating on. You also may find it very meaningful to be in contact with the person with whom you shared so much … yet so little. But as I said, it's your choice.”

Norman sat for a moment, staring at the floor, then said, “A brother…”

“Yes, Norman.
Your
brother. He's here now.”

“
Now?
” Norman's head shot up. He felt dizzy.

“Yes. It's after visiting hours, but he works during the day—on weekends as well. He and his wife have a diner, so he's kept pretty busy. I kind of bent the rules to accommodate him.”

“What's his name?”

“Robert. Robert Newman. His foster family's name, of course.” Dr. Reed cocked his head and looked at Norman. “Well?”

Norman felt his head nod, and he heard himself say, “All right.”

Dr. Reed nodded back. “Good, Norman. I'll bring him in.”

Dr. Reed stood up and walked out the door, closing it behind him so that it locked. Norman waited in the silence.

Only it wasn't completely silent. He sensed her before he heard her, like something scratching within his brain.

He's a liar.

Mother?

He's lying, boy! You had no brother! This man wants something from you!

There was so much rage in her that it surprised Norman. He hadn't felt such anger from her since …

Well, he didn't want to think about that time. No. Instead he thought about what she had done to his brother. What she would have done to
him
if he'd been born less than perfect.

I think you're the one who's lying, Mother.
He tried to make his anger match hers, but cold rather than hot.
I think you gave him up. You left him for dead.

There was no reply.

Are you ashamed, Mother? Are you?

The door opened, cutting off any reply Mother might have made, and Dr. Reed came in.

“Norman, this is Robert.”

Dr. Reed stepped aside. Norman saw a man come through the door. Then Dr. Reed left the room and closed the door again. Norman was alone with his brother.

 

5

Robert Newman stood there smiling. It was a soft smile, a Norman kind of smile. In it, Norman recognized the lines of his own face.

He realized that Robert was what he might have become. What he had
wanted
to become. Robert Newman was Norman's height, but he was slim, his shoulders broad, his hair nicely cut, his face a shade of tan that Norman had always admired in movie stars. He wore a dark suit that hung perfectly on his trim frame. His shirt was blindingly white, accented by a silk tie with diagonal stripes of blue and silver. The silk shimmered as though it were alive.

“Hello, Norman,” Robert said.

It was as though he'd spoken the words himself. The timbre and pitch of Robert's voice was so close to his own it was like hearing an echo. He looked into the man's eyes, the same hazel color as his own. There were crinkles at the corners,
smile lines,
he thought, and as the words came to him, he couldn't help but smile himself.

“Hello … Robert,” he said, the name feeling strange in his mouth.

“I can't believe I'm actually here,” Robert said, and Norman heard joy in the words, a joy that he hadn't heard from another person in a long, long time. “That I finally found out, not only who I was, but that I have a brother.” He chuckled. “A
kid
brother. I was the firstborn, according to the doctor. I, uh, I like to think I cleared the way for you, you know?”

Norman laughed a little, just like Robert did. Then he cleared his throat. “I thought that it wasn't possible,” he said in a voice that sounded small to him. “When Dr. Reed told me about you. It just seems…”

“I know. After all these years.” Robert looked at the chair. “May I sit down?”

“Sure, sure. Please.”

Robert sat, and now their faces were on the same level. The resemblance was uncanny, Norman thought. Though not identical, it was no wonder Robert had recognized in Norman's picture more than the dark monster the press must have made him out to be.

“I guess I ought to show you…” He patted the left side of his head. “More proof. Can you see it?” Norman looked. There seemed to be a slight indentation near the back of Robert's skull, as though the two sides didn't quite match. “You can touch it,” Robert said.

Norman put his hand on Robert's head and felt a depression there, a small crater hidden by hair.

“That's the culprit,” Robert said. “It doesn't look like much now, but on a
baby's
head … well, that's what made the doctor say I wouldn't make it.” His smile faded. “And what made my mother and father give me up.”

“I'm … sorry,” Norman said.

Robert shrugged. “Not your fault. Not your fault at all … brother.” He chuckled. “Gosh. It feels so strange to say that. In my adopted family, I was an only child.”

Norman smiled back. “Me too. My mother never … I was the only one.”

It was amazing, Norman thought, how comfortable he felt with Robert. After Dr. Reed had told him about his brother, he'd been terrified of seeing him. But now, sitting and talking with him just seemed like the most natural thing in the world, even more relaxing than talking with Dr. Reed when he was nearly asleep.

They each had over forty years' worth of life to catch up on, which meant a total of over eighty years to share. Norman insisted that Robert go first, and he told Norman about his boyhood in Michigan, where his parents had taken him after his adoption; about the surgeries that he'd had through his childhood to ease the pressure on his brain; about the sports he played in spite of his condition and how worried his mother had been that he might get hurt; about his graduation from high school with honors and his marriage to Mindy, his sweetheart, a year later; about his working as a new-car salesman; about his stint in the army during the war, where he saw action in Italy and returned unharmed to the arms of his wife; about his growing tired of sales, moving out of Michigan, and buying a diner fifty miles north of the state hospital; about their two kids, John and Susie, both in junior high; and finally about seeing Norman's picture and hiring the investigator.

“I have to tell you,” Robert concluded, his face sobering, “that once we—Mindy and me—learned the truth, I didn't quite know what to think. I mean, you can probably understand that as much as I wanted to see my brother, I was shocked by what … had happened. I wanted to talk to the doctor in charge of your case, and Dr. Reed explained to me certain things, about why you were here instead of in a regular prison. He seemed pretty insistent that what had happened, well, that it wasn't really your fault. That you were … ill. And I thought, if that's what his doctor thinks, then that's probably what happened. So I decided that I should meet you.”

Norman felt gratitude, sorrow, and joy all intermingled. “I'm glad you did,” he said, his voice choked.

“Now tell me,” Robert said, “about yourself. As much or as little as you want.” His grin was comforting. “After all, you're among family.”

So Norman did. He told Robert succinctly but fully about his life. He felt no hesitation in relating everything up until the death of his mother and her lover, but when he reached that point he stopped.

“This,” he said after a moment, “is where things start to get really bad. I know I did some of these things, they
tell
me I did and it's true, but I don't have … much memory of them. Mother did some of them. But what
I
did … what I did…” Norman felt his eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Robert,” he said, and his voice was thick with pain and grief, “I killed … I killed
our mother
…”

He broke down then and wept, for the first time in so long, and he felt arms around him, holding him close. He felt Robert's arms clutching him to his strong chest, felt Robert's hand on the back of his head, patting him, soothing him as he cried.

“It's all right … it's all right, little brother. I understand. It's all right. I forgive you …

“I love you.”

*   *   *

After Norman's tears finally ceased, he was relieved that Robert didn't press him to tell any more about the deeds that had put him in the hospital. In fact, Robert mercifully changed the subject, saying how they actually had a lot in common, since they had both provided public services, one food, the other lodging.

Robert told Norman about some customers he had served at his diner and the funny things they said and did, and Norman thought back to when the Bates Motel was thriving, before the new highway was put in. He remembered and told Robert about some crazy and overly demanding customers he'd had to deal with, and some of the strange things they'd left behind. Robert laughed.

“Sometimes it just gets so insane,” Robert said. He seemed to realize he'd made a poor word choice, and corrected it. “So
frustrating,
” he said. “Problem with me is that I'm pretty easy-going. I let folks get away with too much sometimes. Mindy tells me I ought to sit hard on some of these people, especially the smart-aleck kids who come in at night after they've had a few beers. And she's right. Hell, sometimes I feel as if I'd like to…” He stopped and snorted as though in derision at himself. “It kinda scares me. I wouldn't want to get, you know, carried away. Really hurt someone.”

There was a soft rap on the door, and it clicked as it opened. Dr. Reed cautiously put his head in. Norman wondered if he'd been listening through the door slot. With all his attention on Robert, he hadn't noticed if the slot had been open or closed.

“Excuse me,” Dr. Reed said, “but I think you two should end your visit at this point. I'll wait out here while you say goodbye.” The head withdrew.

“I'd like to visit you again, Norman,” Robert said as he got to his feet.

“I wish you would,” Norman said, standing as well. “I'd … like you to.”

“We'll do it, then.” Robert opened his arms and Norman stepped into them. They hugged briefly, and Robert turned and left the room. The door closed, and Norman was alone.

The slot in the door was also closed, but Norman didn't know for how long. He stood, looking at the door, thinking about who was on the other side. Robert. His brother.

Suddenly his head swam, and he sat down heavily on the bed. His brother. And his
friend.
To have nothing, and then to discover that you had
someone,
someone who was blood, closer than a friend, someone who said that he
loved
you.