Mothers and Monsters
Twenty two years ago, in the grip of a terrible psychosis, Norman Bates murdered Mary's Aunt Marion. Twenty two years ago, but Mary's mother Lila raged as if it were yesterday, as if the years had done nothing but sharpen her hatred. That monster ruined our lives! Other people have unhappy childhoods, but they don't go around murdering innocent women. Do they, Mary? Answer me!
But Mary had no answers. She had never met Aunt Marion- she died before Mary was born. But she had met Norman Bates, in fact she was living in his house; and that's where she was right now, in the large but homely kitchen of the Bates mansion, watching him tear a sandwich to pieces without taking a single bite.
Norman was now almost fifty, nervous and jumpy, his shadowy eyes darting around the room. He didn't want to be dogged by his unfortunate past. He wanted to fit into the world, to like and be liked, to have the kind of normal, boring life enjoyed by everyone else. Mary had started out fearing him because of Lila, but after he offered her a place to stay, saved her from Mr. Statler's wrath and Warren Toomey's lecherous advances, she was starting to change her mind. Besides, those twenty two years had seen some twisted things manifesting in Lila's own head, turning her thoughts into bullets of hatred all with Norman's name on them. Lila was so obsessed with punishing Norman that she was prepared to undo twenty two years of professional psychiatric treatment to push him back into dangerous insanity, and use her own daughter to do it. Didn't that make her some kind of monster, too?
Lulled into a hypnotic state by Norman's repetitive sandwich shredding, Lila's accusations came screaming back louder than ever.
He stabbed her so hard the knife went right down to the bone! She must have been absolutely terrified! But did he care? No, he did not!
Mother, stop! It won't bring her back. Whatever he was, he isn't anymore. Let him be!
No, Mary. I am not going to let him be. Norman Bates must go back to the institution and never be released again!
But, mother! Dr. Raymond said-
It doesn't matter what Dr. Raymond said! Dr. Raymond wasn't there when your Aunt Marion's body was dragged out of that filthy stinking swamp! Dr. Raymond didn't lose someone he loved!
No, mother! Stop it!
Mary realized she had spoken out loud, the argument seemed so real. Norman dropped the last remnants of his sandwich, reached across and gripped her upper arm, snapping her back to reality.
"Mary! Mary, are you all right?" His eyes were anxious, his voice tinged with panic.
She looked down at his fingers, curled like owl's talons around her bicep. He was holding on so tight that it hurt.
"Yes, Norman. I'm fine." Her skin grew clammy- she felt anything but fine in that moment.
"Who- who were you talking to?" His lapse into stammering was never a good sign, either.
She bit her lip, tried to ignore the pain and act like nothing was wrong. "Nobody," she said, shrugging.
He smiled crookedly, his fingers tightening around her arm. "I thought I was the one who heard voices."
It was a little unnerving when Norman made fun of his own condition. He always did it with a dry cynicism; as though he were more aware of things than he let on, as if he knew there was a buzzard circling, always keeping it in the corner of his eye.
Mary fell back on her old excuse, the reason why she was living with him in the first place. "I was just thinking about Scott. About the arguments we had and things I should have said."
Norman's eyes narrowed. "But you said, 'mother'."
"Did I?" Her heart sank.
"Yes." His tone flattened. "Your exact words were, 'No, mother. Stop it.'"
He was peering at her like one of his stuffed birds, poised to pluck the thoughts right out of her brain. Mary took a deep breath and continued, trying to keep her voice casual. How to broach the subject of mothers without triggering this man- which, ironically, was what she and Lila were trying to do anyway. Good God, when did her life become so weird and confusing? Oh, right... the day she was born.
"Mom was always coming between me and Scott. I guess I was just arguing with her in my head. You know me, Norman- I end up arguing with everyone, eventually!"
"Not with me." He sounded... smug?
"Only because I don't know you well enough yet." She flashed him a cute smile, though her mouth had gone distinctly dry.
Norman released his grip at last. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
"Mothers are prone to interfering."
Mary rubbed her arm, whether to ease the pain or get rid of his touch, she didn't know. "Yes, they are," she agreed. "Especially mine."
He chuckled softly. "Mine was no walk in the park, either." His follow-up smile was both charming and frightening at the same time, giving Mary a glimpse of the man within. Mary knew she and her mother were playing a dangerous game, trying to push Norman back into insanity. She was seized with a sudden urge to tell him everything, to unburden herself of the guilt; but Lila would kill her if she found out.
"Mom doesn't think people can change. She'd happily keep punishing someone for something they did many years ago if it meant she could prove herself right." It was as close as she could get to a full confession without endangering herself- she hoped. But the look on Norman's face was darkening.
"Don't our mothers just want the best for us?" Despite the questioning tone, there was no emotion in his words; he sounded as clinical as one of his own psychotherapists.
She paused to swallow nervously. "Mine doesn't. Mine doesn't want the best for anyone but herself." And suddenly the truth dropped. Lila wasn't punishing Norman for Aunt Marion or anyone else. Lila was punishing Norman for Lila. Because she'd been crusading for twenty two years, and her lust for revenge had become more important than anything; even her own daughter's safety.
Norman fell silent. A floorboard creaked somewhere upstairs; Mary debunked it as the sounds of an old house settling, but still it gave her the creeps. This wasn't just any old house, after all.
"And what did Scott think of all this?" he asked, finally.
"He didn't know." Mary kept her gaze as steady as she could, her eyes trained on Norman's angular face.
Norman went quiet again, and this time the silence was deafening. Mary could hear a clock ticking somewhere, each second falling like a leaden raindrop.
"Would you like another sandwich, Mary? Perhaps a toasted cheese?"
The complete change of subject took her by surprise.
"No, no, I'm fine, thank you."
Norman rose from the table, a tall, slender reed unfurling in the wind. Mary followed him with her eyes, a cold shiver running down her spine. He walked out of her line of vision and she heard a cupboard door open behind her.
"Are you sure you won't have another sandwich?" He sounded distant, but she couldn't tell what mood he was in by the sound of his voice alone.
"Yes, Norman. I'm sure."
Mary began thinking about Aunt Marion and the thirty plus stab wounds that went down to the bone. She couldn't imagine affable Norman wielding a knife in that way. After all, he handled knives at the diner and he didn't go around stabbing people with them, even Warren Toomey. She didn't want to believe that what Lila said was true- that her awkward, gangly new friend was responsible for such a gruesome, bloodthirsty death. And not just Marion, there was that detective guy as well, but that was because the guy went snooping-
And now Mary was making excuses for Norman! If she weren't feeling so nervous right now, she would have burst out laughing.
In the midst of her thoughts, Norman's arm came arcing down over her shoulder like the blade of a scythe. She screamed in terror, waiting for the blow that would end her life, but he simply reached past her and grabbed the loaf of bread, his arm retracting as swiftly as it had fallen. She'd had no idea he was right behind her, but now she plainly heard the rustle of his clothing, the light tap of his sneakers, even his breathing as he put the bread away and clicked the cupboard shut. She heard each second booming from the clock as she fought to steady her nerves- but it wasn't the clock, it was the sound of blood pounding in her ears.
Nice work, Mary. What were you thinking, trying to tell him about us? You can't just come out with these things. The game is in play and you have to follow the rules or someone will legitimately get hurt, and it just might be you!
Norman reappeared in front of her, brushing his hands on his jeans. His eyes were still somewhat blank, but his expression, while rigid, was not unkind. Twenty two years of professional treatment had forced Mother out of his head without turning him into a dribbling, mindless cabbage. His core personality was still intact, and it was clear he was not to be fooled. Not by her, not by Lila, not by anyone. He had been sending out messages that everyone had been blindly ignoring- you know what will happen if you rattle the monster's cage.
Unfortunately, Lila was beyond listening.
Mary stood up and put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. "God, Norman, you scared me!"
"I'm sorry, Mary," he replied, in calm, measured tones. "I really didn't mean to."
She had no idea whether he meant to or not, but suddenly she had an urge to be outside, to breathe in lungfuls of fresh, clean air that would steady her heart, get Lila's angry voice out of her head and restore a bit of sanity.
Sanity. What did any of them know about sanity any more?
"I'm tired of sitting in this stuffy kitchen," she said. "What do you say we go for a walk?"
"I say that's a good idea," he agreed. "On one condition."
Mary put her hand under her hair and wiped a bead of sweat from her neck. "And that is?"
He leaned towards her as she joined him at the door, vaguely encroaching into her personal space, doing it on purpose, she thought.
"That we don't talk about mothers any more."
The relief almost made her laugh out loud.
"Norman, you've got yourself a deal."
Mary put her hand up for a high five and Norman smacked it so hard it left her palm a mass of tingles. Blowing on her fingers and ignoring his triumphant grin, she brushed past him into the long awaited sunlight. She got as far as the bird table before looking back to see him hesitating in the doorway, but after a moment or two he followed her, stepping out of the place where his troubles began and into the world he longed to be part of. She waited until he was standing by her side. Then, scrunching up their eyes against the glare, they crossed the yard and ran down the green slope of the hill like a couple of carefree children, escaping from mothers and monsters, if only for a while.
