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

lasted long. They were directed primarily at Marie, occasionally at Reed.
    But when Ben and Dick took Norman to get washed and shaved, the communication ceased. Since they were not the ones who had chipped away Norman’s facade of uncommunicativeness, Reed surmised, they would not reap the results.
    And neither, it seemed, would anyone other than the two people closest to him. But for the time being, that was enough. A typical session between Reed and Norman now consisted of a greeting, and then Reed would sit in the chair, and Norman would lie back comfortably on his bed, a pillow under his head, and the two of them would talk. Many times Norman would close his eyes, trying to re-create the memories that were required to answer Reed’s questions. At times it almost seemed as though he were sleeping, and that was good for Reed, since Norman was more open then, answering Reed’s questions and responding to him slowly but, Reed felt, honestly.
    At such times, Norman’s defenses were at their lowest, and Reed guided him gently, almost hypnotically, along the paths of memory down which Reed wanted him to go. As the true Norman revealed more and more of himself, Reed found that his patient was—or wanted to be—a moral, gentle man. But at the same time, Reed sensed that there was something even deeper, farther below the surface, a darkness, an anger that was perhaps better left unseen, entombed in Norman’s psyche. Buried with Mother.
    *   *   *
    Norman wasn’t expecting visitors that afternoon. After his usual late-morning session with Dr. Reed and the visit from Nurse Marie with his lunch, Norman usually passed a few hours reading in his cell. They called it a room, but he knew what it was, with its thickly padded walls—it was like living inside a winter coat, which was fine with Norman. He felt as snug as a bug in a rug, like his mother used to say.
    Wait. No thinking about Mother. Dr. Reed was helping him with that, showing him why he had to keep Mother out of his mind. He thought he was doing a pretty good job of it. She spoke to him less and less now. Still, even when she was quiet, there were times when he could hear her in there, scurrying around way down deep, as though lost in darkness and trying to find her way out. If he thought too much about her, he was afraid he would leave some kind of door open down there in the cellar of his soul through which she might be able to escape, and he was not going to do that.
    He didn’t want to listen for her, and he certainly didn’t want to hear her speak to him again. She had only done so a few times since he told her to go away, and that made him feel strong, as though he were his own person again. They were talking about that, he and Dr. Reed. They were talking about more and more things now.
    It felt good to talk, to be honest, and Dr. Reed was so easy to talk to. Norman couldn’t remember ever speaking to anyone who relaxed him so much, to whom he felt so ready to share the things he thought, the things he’d experienced, both good and bad. It was as though Norman was important, as though Dr. Reed really cared about him and about what he thought, and Norman had shared more than he ever thought he could. As a result, he had figured out some things, important things.
    Norman had told Dr. Reed that he knew that Mother was imprisoned with him, and that he would never let Mother get away from him again, because she was the one who killed. The way Norman figured it, if she stayed inside him, way down deep, then she’d never be able to kill again, since Norman was locked up. It was for the best, he realized, just as he realized he could probably never be free again. Dr. Reed had told him that he hoped that Mother could be made to go away, to leave Norman forever. And if that happened … well, maybe someday years from now, Norman could walk out of the hospital a free man. And alone.
    Norman had liked it