Robert Bloch's Psycho

by Chet Williamson

  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.

  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?”<
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  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?”