For Christina who reviewed one of my stories as a Guest, thank you for the review and yes, I will be writing more about NormanxMary, whether they are new ones of continuations of existing ones. I love them and I wish I could write about them every day!
3am
Norman awoke in a panic. The nightmare had seemed so real. He was lost in the asylum, running through a labyrinth of dark, gloomy corridors that twisted and turned, leading everywhere and nowhere. There were clocks on the walls, each showing a different time. He ran with his hands outstretched, lurching from one room to another, frightened, alone and unable to scream. It was as though he were trapped in a living place with a heartbeat thumping underneath his feet. It was only as he lay back against the cushions that he realized it wasn't the asylum he was dreaming about. It was the house.
This house.
His house.
Norman threw off the blanket and got up. The room was dark and still. He padded down the hallway, turned right at the muted stained glass window and entered the kitchen. Moonlight clung to the outside of the windows. He did not switch the light on. He crossed the room and stood at the sink, looking across the fields at tiny winking lights in the distance.
He took a glass and held it under the faucet. The pipes shuddered and groaned as the water gurgled out. He winced, hoping it wouldn't wake up Mary. She was sleeping upstairs, in his old bedroom, in his bed, while he slept downstairs on the couch. It was the right thing to do, the chivalrous thing to do. But he wondered if the presence of Mary in the house had caused the nightmare; had brought forbidden thoughts into his sleeping mind.
He imagined her sleeping peacefully, on her back, her sleek, dark head pressed into the pillows, body covered by thin blankets. He imagined her face, expressionless, beautiful, her almond eyes shut tight, full lips slightly parted. He did not imagine her naked. She was a peaceful, happy child- something that he had never been. He did not want to spoil the purity of his waking thoughts in any way.
Norman drank his water, felt a chill as it settled in his stomach. He set the glass down and rubbed his hands over his face, dragged his fingers through his hair. He rubbed the tops of his arms, clasped his hands onto his shoulders, felt the bony nubs of his clavicles with his fingertips. He felt ancient, like something out of a dusty old book. A mythical creature; half man, half supernatural being, a thin spectral blade slicing quietly through the night.
The pipes did not wake Mary, for she was not asleep. She lay on her back, just as Norman had imagined, her head propped up on the pillows, her eyes fixed on the chair wedged against the door. It would break Norman's heart to know that she didn't quite trust him, but it was her first night in the house and she wasn't taking any chances.
This was all her mother's fault. Lila Loomis and her longstanding grudge against a man who had served his time. But maybe she had a point- Norman's psychosis was out of his control.
But nothing about Norman suggested that he was still broken. He had been nothing but gentlemanly towards her from the moment they met. In fact she would go so far as to say that he was the nicest person in that whole diner, the only one who spoke to her with any sort of kindness and respect. Beneath his nervous exterior he had a certain boyish charm and a surprisingly lovely smile. What a shame that she and Lila were trying to drive him mad again.
The old plumbing rattling in the walls told Mary that Norman was up and about. She tensed, waiting for a creak on the stairs that never came. She pictured him alone in the kitchen, and something tugged at her heart. Perhaps he needed company.
Perhaps she needed company.
Mary swung her legs out of bed and stood up. She pulled on her jeans and removed the chair from the door. She crept out onto the landing, tiptoed down the stairs, and made her way towards the back of the house. She turned the corner at the end of the hallway and saw him silhouetted against the windows over the sink, his broad shoulders accentuated by his thin t-shirt, his long legs encased in rumpled chinos.
"Hey," she said, softly.
Norman turned around. "Mary. I woke you."
She shook her head, ruffled her fingers through her hair. "No, I wasn't asleep."
Norman became flustered. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Is the room cold? The bed not comfortable? It's been a long time since anyone slept in it. Well, I - I say 'anyone', I mean, just me."
She smiled at the rapid stream of words. "Everything's fine, Norman. I guess it's just my first night in a strange house and I can't stop thinking about Scott." She thought it best not to add and being stabbed to death in my sleep.
"Oh. Scott." Norman sounded almost petulant, like a cuckolded husband. "Well, only you can figure that one out."
"It's already figured out," she replied. "It's over between us." She approached Norman at the sink. "What about you? Why aren't you asleep?"
"Nightmare." Seeing the wary look that crept onto her face he added, "I was running away from something I couldn't see."
"Ugh, I hate nightmares. I get them too. There's always some invisible thing chasing me."
"Wh- what do you think it means?"
Mary shrugged, her smooth shoulder reflecting pale light. "Our deepest fears, I guess."
Norman picked up the empty glass and refilled it. "Here," he said, handing it to her. She drank thirstily while he watched her lips hug the rim of the glass, perhaps in the same place that his had been. "I... It feels like my first night in a strange house too," he said, folding his arms defensively across his chest. "These rooms, these hallways, all feel different to me now. As if I shouldn't be here anymore."
Mary looked around the spacious kitchen, everything thrown into shadow, chairs huddled like animals, dark cupboards looming behind them. For a moment she imagined everything coming to life, like something from Disney's Fantasia. Mops and buckets, chairs and tables, all performing a moonlit waltz around her, with Norman in the middle, controlling them all.
"Stairways leading to unknown places," Norman went on, unaware of her colorful visions. "Doors closed against the murky past. When I was small, this house was big as a cathedral. Now it feels like it's closing in on me, waiting to smother me in my sleep." He chuckled dryly. "I don't even want to know what awaits me in the fruit cellar."
Mary put her glass down quietly, so as not to wake the table and chairs. "Do you think I have anything to do with it? You know, sleeping in your bed, and all."
Norman visibly twitched as his nervous tic returned. "I considered it. Mother would not approve of a girl sleeping in my be... my be... my bedroom."
"You still worry about her, don't you? Even though she's not here anymore?"
He smiled thinly. "Old habits are hard to break."
"But you know it was all in your head."
"I do now. Thanks to Dr. Raymond and his team. They were very good to me in the asy... in the hospital."
"You had a tortured mind, Norman." Mary reached out and rubbed his arm. His skin was warm, which surprised her. "But that's all in the past now. New beginnings, right?"
Shadows danced over Norman's gaunt features. "Right. New beginnings."
They faced each other under a blanket of silence. Norman's shoulders moved in subtle panther-like undulations, stirring something primal within her. She had a sudden and overwhelming urge to throw her arms about his neck and kiss him, but she wasn't brave enough. She couldn't bring herself to make that one step towards him that would change their relationship forever. She was here in this house for one reason only, and that was to do her mother's work. There was to be no emotional entanglement, no matter how charming he was or how tempted she felt in the dark nighttime world where it seemed as though they were the only two people alive. She tried to shrug the feeling off, but there was something about him in that moment; his tall frame, his glittering eyes, that was dangerously attractive. She fought down the urge to encourage him upstairs and let him do anything he wanted with her. She was scared to provoke his inner demons that way. She did not want to make the nightmare real when she had no chance to escape.
Hoping he couldn't read her thoughts, Mary unfolded her arms and socked him on the chest. "I'm going back to bed," she said softly. "You should, too. We have work tomorrow."
"Right," he agreed.
They left the kitchen together and walked barefoot down the hall. Norman stopped at the door to the front room as Mary prepared to ascend the stairs. Mary's neck itched with doubt- it was now or never.
It was Norman who finally broke the stalemate. "Well, goodnight, Mary," he said. "Or should I say, good morning."
Flushed and anxious, Mary fidgeted on the bottom step. "I hope you don't have any more nightmares," she said, wishing she would just run up the stairs and be done with it.
"I won't," he said, cheerfully. "I feel better for talking to you. Besides, dreams can't hurt us. Everyone has them, right?"
"Right," she said. "Just remember that. We all have nightmares. Whatever's chasing us, it isn't real."
Norman pushed himself off the door frame. "Go to bed, Mary. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite. Not that there are any bed bugs. Whatever else I may be, I'm meticulous about my bedding."
Mary laughed at that. She climbed the stairs, her fingers running lightly up the banister as gently as if she were touching his skin. "Mañana, Norman," she said, almost under her breath.
"Demain, Mary," he replied. "Dans le matin."
"Show off," she said from the landing.
Back on the couch, Norman lay with his hands behind his head staring up at the ceiling. He blinked into the gloom, fearful of drifting into another bad dream. Back in bed, Mary lay with her eyes fixed on the door. But this time there was no chair wedged under the doorknob. This time she waited for the doorknob to turn. She wanted him to appear. She tried to will him up the stairs with the power of her mind, concentrating so hard that her brow furrowed with the intensity. But she waited. And waited.
And waited.
And finally she gave up.
By the time the sky began to lighten, Mary and Norman were both cocooned in separate bubbles of dreamless slumber, waiting for the dawn.