Robert Bloch's Psycho by Chet Williamson Read Free Book Online

ate. In a woman’s voice, the yin to Reed’s yang, she reinforced Reed’s comforting, nonjudgmental words with her own, nurtured further by food and drink.
    And they watched, and they waited.
    *   *   *
    Norman.
    Â â€¦ Yes, Mother.
    He’s lying to you. And so is she.
    All right, Mother.
    Don’t you “All right, Mother” me. They don’t care about you, boy. They don’t love you, not the way a mother does. Oh, that bitch feeds you and wipes your little mouth, and I’m sure you’d like her to touch more than that. And she talks to you so pretty, just the way she’s talking now, but —
    Mother?
    What, Norman?
    Be quiet, please. Nurse Marie is talking to me. I want to listen.
    Be … quiet?
    Yes, Mother. I’m eating. And Nurse Marie is talking.
    Norman, I—
    Thank you, Mother.
    *   *   *
    Norman would look at Reed for a moment, then look away again. His head wouldn’t turn, but his eyes moved, and when Reed saw Norman’s glance fall on him then flick away, he was encouraged, and his next words were more intent, though never invasive. This had to be a treaty between their two countries, not an attack of one upon the other.
    Eventually the gaze held longer, lowered thoughtfully as if in contemplation of Reed’s words, then returned again. Reed smiled. It seemed to him that he was always smiling, but it was important. Norman had to feel as though Reed and everyone who worked at the hospital truly cared about him and wanted to see him come back into the world, into reality.
    The gaze began to hold on Reed now, and then on Marie. Marie was making further progress with Norman’s eating, getting him to feed himself, guiding his hands with a light touch of her own on his wrist, his forearm, placing the single utensil between his fingers that at first seemed to have trouble retaining it, then held it in a death grip, and finally, after a period of weeks, grasped it lightly but firmly. Marie smiled just as much as Reed did, confident in the presence of attendants Ben Blake and Dick O’Brien just behind her.
    And then audible responses began to be heard. At first they were no more than whispered exhalations of breath, but soon they acquired resonance, became an mmm, an actual humming in the throat of Norman Bates, as though he were considering what Reed and Marie told him, as though it made sense to him and he was speaking inside himself.
    *   *   *
    You’re not here, are you, Mother? You’re really not here at all.
    I’m here, boy.
    No. No, you’re not. You were just part of me. I wanted you to be here, and I made you stay. And you made me do terrible things. Things I wouldn’t have done on my own.
    You did them yourself, Norman. You were a naughty boy. A dirty boy.
    No. I don’t believe that. You made me sick, Mother. But I want to get better.
    You need me, Norman. A boy needs his mother.
    I want to get better, Mother. And I know now there’s only one way that can happen.
    A boy needs his mother to take care of him.
    I need you to leave, Mother. I need you to go away and leave me alone.
    Norman, I’m your Mother  …
    Go away, Mother.
    Norman …
    Go away. I don’t need you anymore. I don’t want you anymore. Go away.
    *   *   *
    And then those sounds became words, spoken so softly that Reed couldn’t understand them. It took several days for Norman’s words to grow loud enough for Reed to comprehend the sibilants and fricatives, consonants and vowels that made up the syllables that built the words.
    At first they were simple. Yes and no, expanding to several words, such as I know, I see, I understand. For Marie, the guttural sounds gradually evolved into please and thank you . Sentences continued to lengthen, facial expressions answered by similar ones, and Norman Bates was smiling. The smiles were infrequent, and never