Night had already dominated the sky as Dylan drove his truck on the streets of White Pine Bay, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement. Little droplets began to fall to his windshield as dark clouds began to coalesce overhead. He hoped that it wouldn't start pouring, although, it wouldn't be the first time his younger brother was out alone in the rain.
It was not unusual for Norman to lash out like this; in fact, in the last year it had become something to be expected from time to time. But Dylan grew increasingly concerned for his brother's wellbeing the months passed. This was, in part, due to how close they'd grown in the last year, but mostly because Dylan could see clearly the downward spiral of his little brother's mental stability. As much as he disagreed with the way Norma handled Norman, he knew that taking him home was a much better choice than allowing the unbalanced teenager to run about the town by himself at night. It seemed that every time Norman was alone, bad things happened, and Dylan just wished he could convince himself that none of it was Norman's fault.
The rain began to pelt the windows, as if each drop was a bullet trying to find Dylan's chest. The young man tried not to let the flapping windshield wipers distract him as he searched for his brother in the trees surrounding him, scanning the side of the road while at the same time watching straight in front of the car. He knew that his chances of finding Norman were slim on a dark rainy night like this, even in a town as small as his. Still, he swore to himself that he wouldn't stop searching until his brother was safe. What came next was unclear.
It had been hours since he started his search when he finally found his brother. He saw Norman for the first time that night outside of the woods a little closer to the docks, standing in place and shivering slightly, even with his jacket on. Dylan drove the truck up towards him, veering the wheels over the gravelly road and hurdling out the door the moment the vehicle had rumbled to a stop. He ran around the truck to meet his brother, who seemed to be locked in one of his trances.
It didn't take long before Dylan was helping his brother into the passenger's side of his car, ignoring the traces of blood that crusted Norman's hands and buckling the catatonic boy into the seat. They didn't say a word to one another as Dylan sped home, which was to be expected in Norman's state. The older boy kept his eyes on the road, glancing occasionally at his younger brother with an expression that was riddled with worry. He knew that things with Norman would only get worse from here, and he and Norma were not the slightest bit equipped to handle these types of situations. He would have to have a discussion with her later. For now, his priority was getting his brother home.
The truck eventually rolled into the motel parking lot, and the rain had subsided. Dylan got out of the car and walked over to his brother's side, helping the younger man to his feet. Norman seemed lost in his own head, and he was clearly incapable of making his way to the house on his own. Dylan wrapped his brother's arm around his shoulder, placing his own hand on Norman's back for support. Each step was like a mile for them, as Norman was not helping with the walking part one bit. As they neared the house, Dylan was practically dragging his little brother along, just trying to focus on getting the boy inside. When he reached the front of the house, both arms were supporting his brother. He freed his hand for just long enough to knock on the door.
The door flew open almost immediately, blowing back the blonde curls that hung spastically around his mother's tear-stained face. She met Dylan's eyes first with sheer gratitude, then allowing her worry-laced stare to fall onto her younger son. She helped them both inside, wordlessly grabbing Norman's legs as Dylan kept hold of his arms, working together to carry the limp, traumatized boy to his room. When they got up the stairs and into his bedroom, they laid Norman on his bed, throwing a few blankets over his cold body as his blue eyes found themselves lost in the ceiling. After catching their breath, Dylan and his mother just looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Norma quickly bolted the window and led her older son out of the room, locking the door behind her.
"Dylan," she whispered, unsure of what she was going to say. Her blue eyes began to well with tears, as they had done many times that night. Her older son simply shushed her, pulling his mother into his chest for a hug and standing with her for several moments. He could see from the flickering in her eyes and from how she quivered that Norma was terrified. It was a look that always took him back to when he and Norman were little, when he would watch Sam advance on her, preparing to beat her or who knows what. He hated that he was never able to protect her then, back when he had nothing but love for his mother, before everything that happened to distance them. Norma was just as scared now, but there was something more that made this pain worse than anything she'd ever experienced. She loved Norman so much, more than anything in the world, but he was hurting her.
Dylan would be around to protect her this time.
The two of them made their way downstairs, Dylan leading his mother to a seat at the table before starting on a pot of coffee. The room was filled with a heavy silence, both mother and son feeling as though they should say something but having no idea where to start. Just one floor above them, lying dormant in his bed, was a ticking time bomb that they couldn't contain any longer. They had to act fast, or everything would fall apart. Dylan knew that he had to say something to his mother, but the conversation that was necessary would certainly end badly. Still, he knew they'd been putting this off for too long. He turned to face her and inhaled deeply, breaking the silence.
"What are we going to do?" he asked with an unwavering stare directed towards his mother. He knew that she was distraught, but they needed to address this. Norma stared back at him with shiny eyes and reddened cheeks, her fight completely gone.
"I don't know," she replied. She didn't make excuses for her son as she used to; she didn't lie to herself anymore and say that she could handle him. She was devoid of energy and visibly heartbroken, trapped in unwinnable circumstances. Still, Dylan had to push her.
"Well, we have to figure out something, Norma," he pressed, running a hand through his golden hair, "We have to know what to do before things get out of hand." He began to pace, racking his mind for possible solutions, only able to imagine the worst. He didn't notice that Norma was breaking down, her face scrunching with all the pain of a mother who no longer knew her son.
"I can't, Dylan," she sobbed, closing her eyes and letting the tears slip through and trickle onto her face, "I can't send him away, and I can't keep him here. I've run out of options!" Her face grew redder as more tears escaped her glassy eyes and fell onto the table. Her expression was lined with more misery than Dylan could imagine a single person having. He wished he could give her an answer, but even he was short of ideas. He quickly took a seat by his mother, rubbing his hand on her quivering back for comfort.
"We'll talk it out, Mom," he whispered to her, trying to console her in any way he could, "We'll find an answer." He doubted that there was an answer to be found, but he couldn't stand to see her like this. He just wished that she could be happy.
"You and I both know that we won't," she responded softly, wiping her eyes with a few delicate fingertips. Dylan continued to rub her back, unsure of what to say at first. They sat in silence for a few moments, dumbfounded by the impasse they'd reached. Finally, Dylan said the only thing he could think to say.
"We have to."
About an hour passed and neither of them had spoken. Dylan's head flooded with fleeting attempts at a solution, each idea quickly getting shut down before he could think to share it. He imagined Norma had thought of everything; she was always one to think excessively and had Norman on her mind most of the time anyway. It wasn't before long that Dylan realized any idea he could possibly come up with was one she'd already considered and, undoubtedly, written off. The situation frustrated him to no end, making him feel more trapped than he'd ever felt in his life. And that included all of the times when he was almost killed.
It was almost morning now, but the sky was still dark with no sign of brightening any time soon. Norma shook her head angrily, pulling out her cell phone with an unenthusiastic look on her already troubled face.
"I didn't want to do this," she grumbled, punching in the number with careless fingers. Dylan looked up, startled by his mother's sudden jump to action.
"What?" he questioned, trying to look over her phone screen, "Who are you calling?" She huffed, pulling the phone to her ear and standing from her chair. She lingered by the entrance way, as if preparing to leave the room, before turning back to face her son.
"Sheriff Romero," she answered with a straight face, waiting for him to pick up.
"Sheriff Romero?" he asked, convinced that his mother had finally lost it, "Do you know what time it is? He doesn't seem like the type of guy who'd enjoy being woken up at three in the morning." Norma waved him off, suddenly in better spirits.
"Oh please, he's a night owl. He's probably already awake," she replied lightheartedly. How his mother knew that about the sheriff, he didn't want to know. He watched with a slack jaw as his mother left the room, shaking his head as he heard her whisper "Alex?" in a helpless voice. He doubted that even if Sheriff Romero came to her rescue, as he always seemed to when Norma called, he would give her an answer that she could accept. He decided not to think about that, though. Now, he was starting to feel drowsiness creep into his eyes and make his limbs feel heavy. He didn't know what would happen, but what he did know is that sleep would do him some good. He tried to drag himself up the stairs, convincing himself that tomorrow, they would find an answer.
Dylan came down the next morning to find both his mother and Sheriff Romero perched at the table, the yellow sunlight pouring through the windows and bouncing off their hair as they each nursed a mug of coffee. Both were completely silent, staring off into space as if in deep thought. The sheriff looked a little worse for wear, Dylan noted; his eyes were lined with apprehension and an obvious lack of sleep. The young man entered the kitchen, heading to grab a cup of coffee without saying anything to his mother and trying to avoid an awkward exchange with Romero.
"Morning, Dylan," she supplied, her voice laced with exhaustion. Although it was nearing 9:30, he wasn't quite sure if his mother had gotten any sleep. The young man filled his cup to the brim, walking over to fill the chair furthest Norma and the sheriff. He smiled weakly, taking a forceful sip of the coffee before responding.
"Hey Norma," he replied softly, rubbing his still-tired eyes, "Did you, uh, figure out a solution?" His mother eyed the sheriff worriedly, answering his question. Dylan figured as much.
"We actually didn't talk much about that," she replied tentatively, still looking at Romero with the same concern that she gave Norman. Dylan was confused, but he decided not to press the matter; the sheriff looked completely exhausted.
Before he could come back with an uncomfortable response, the sound of the staircase creaking filled the room. Dylan watched as Norma flinched at every tentative footstep, ignoring the comforting hand that the sheriff placed on his mother's shoulder. He watched as her fingers danced lightly across the handle of the iron doorstop that she kept near since she realized that her son could overpower her. She shivered away her worry and faked a smile as she saw her younger son emerge from the end of the stairway, twisting the handle of the locked front door.
"Oh! Good morning, sweetie. Can I make you some breakfast?" she piped from down the hallway. She seemed to startle Norman, who didn't know she was there. His eyes flashed with panic as he turned to face her, but he quickly collected himself and walked with purpose towards the kitchen, stopping in the doorway and crossing his skinny arms to his chest.
"I'm leaving, Mother," the boy said sternly, just as he had the night before. His first attempt may have failed, but he seemed as adamant about the fact as ever. Norma stood carefully, raising a tentative hand in front of her as she tried to reason with her unstable son.
"Norman…" she began, trying to talk him down. It had worked in the past, on occasion at least, and she had nothing left to lose. This time, though, her tone only served to make the boy angrier.
"You can't keep me here!" he shouted, backing away slightly as if the sight of his mother terrified him, "If I can't go with Bradley, then I'll just go alone, but there is no way I'm staying here with you." He turned to walk away, back down the hall, jiggling at the knob that Norma had somehow locked. It was as if he wasn't willing to accept that he was trapped. Staring back at Norma with his hand still on the knob, he shouted, "I'm leaving!"
"Norman, sweetie. Listen to me," she pleaded, following her son to the front of the house, "You are not well." Romero rose from his seat to back her up, and Dylan followed closely behind.
"I'm fine, Mother!" the boy cried, his eyes flickering with rage, "Stop saying that I'm sick!" He stomped his foot after he stopped yelling and then proceed to kick at the door. Norma looked as though she was going to run towards him, but Romero's firm hand on her shoulder held her back.
"I know it's hard to understand right now, but I'm just trying to keep you safe," she reasoned, her voice cracking at the sight of her infuriated son, "Please, just sit down. I'll make you some breakfast." She pointed towards the kitchen, leaning forward, trying to grab his arm. At this his face reddened, his muscles tensed up, and all traces of her mild-mannered son were lost.
"NO!" he bellowed, reaching over to grab a lamp. He lifted it, throwing it with all of the force his skinny arms could muster at his unsuspecting mother. Both Dylan and Alex jumped in front of Norma to block her from the heavy piece of furniture that was spiraling towards her head. She lifted her own arms in an attempt to protect herself, dropping the metal door stopper, which fell with a thud. Unfortunately, when the lamp reached them with all of its momentum, Dylan received most of the blow and fell instantly to the floor.
"Norman!" Norma cried, tears streaming from her eyes as her tone begged for her gentle son to return, "Calm down, please!" The boys blue eyes still flashed with anger as they scanned the room for something else to throw. Before he could reach for the iron doorstop, which lay abandoned at his feet, Sheriff Romero lunged forward and pulled the skinny boy into an inescapable hold.
"You need to stop this, son," he growled as the boy squirmed, trying to break free. Soon, Norman lost all energy and fell limp in the sheriff's arms. Alex looked down at the frozen boy with confused eyes, staring back at Norma, who seemed nothing short of terrified. Soon, Norman's faded, blank eyes turned panicked. He didn't seem to know where he was or how he got there, and he stared up to see who it was that had him locked in that position.
"Sheriff Romero?" he asked softly when he met the man's dark, severe eyes. He seemed close to passing out, trembling in Romero's hold. The cop tried to keep him on his feet, seemingly trained in handling situations like this.
"Yes, it's me," he replied, altering his grasp so he was less hurting the kid and more keeping him from falling, "Just take a few deep breaths, Norman. You need to calm down right now." The boy appeared to be listening to Romero's instructions, but he was soon overtaken by exhaustion. His eyes rolled to the ceiling, and he lost consciousness with nothing but the sheriff's forearms to keep him from tumbling to the floor.
"He's not moving. Let's get him up to his room," Romero instructed, struggling with the lifeless teenager. Dylan stood to help out, feeling a bit woozy as he did so and wiping the small drops of blood from under his eye where the lamp had hit him. He once again grabbed the skinny legs of his unconscious brother, taking him again up to his room. Just like yesterday, he had no idea what would come next. He imagined he would wonder that for the rest of his life if they didn't decide what to do with the boy. Norma trailed behind the three men, likely thinking the same thing.
When they got to the bedroom, they again laid Norman on the bed. Dylan wondered if he should grab some rope to restrain him, but he decided against bringing it up to his already anxious mother. She stared down at her unconscious son once again, then looking up at the dark-haired man with shiny eyes.
"Thank you, Alex," she whispered, trying not to cry. She seemed to cry a lot these days, when it came to Norman.
"Norma," he urged, ignoring her thanks, "You have to do something about this. You're not going to always have Dylan or me to protect you." She nodded, wiping her eyes and staring down at her son once more. He looked so peaceful, lying sleepily on the bed with all traces of rage gone from his face. His beautiful, sweet, gentle face.
"I know."