The first things Norman saw, when his eyes opened and his head cleared like thick smoke strewing from a hall, were his hands. They were covered in blood, bright red, slick, dark and crusted under his fingernails. It wasn't before long that he noticed the fresh crimson blossoms that now decorated his trousers, felt the dark liquid seeping through his sweater sleeves and soaking his arms. Sweaty, matted hair stuck to his forehead, and his face was tacky from crying recently over something he couldn't remember.
The boy realized suddenly how tense he was, as if every single muscle in his body had contracted all at once. The ringing in his ears grew louder, quivering, whirring until it became a sharp and unsettling silence that filled the room. Norman stood so abruptly that he nearly lost his balance as he tried to figure out what had happened there only moments before he came to. It was just becoming evening; he could tell from the pale streams of light that fell languidly through the windows. The curtains billowed softly, silently. The room was empty except him; him and the bloodied, mutilated mass of a person that lay unassumingly in the corner.
After a few moments, he heard the sound of light footsteps tiptoeing down the staircase behind him. Norman whirled around, desperate for anything or anyone to help explain what was going on. His heart was engulfed in warm feelings when he saw her face: sunshine-blonde curls bouncing and framing her eyes. She was wearing that blue dress he loved, with one sleeve slipped effortlessly down her elegant shoulder. The smile that she wore as she walked towards him was comforting, if not faintly lined with regret. She came forward with outstretched arms, wrapping them tightly around her quivering son.
"What's happened, Mother?" he asked, voice trembling with his body, "Who is that, over there in the corner?" She shushed him with her finger, resting her chin on his skinny shoulder and pulling him tighter in her embrace. For several moments on end they stood there in silence, him with a million questions running through his head and her with an expression that only hinted at the secrets she would never tell. Everything was becoming clear now, still, a sobering moment after all that time Norman could not account for. As lost as he was he knew in his heart that now, he was at the point of no return. Although his eyes refused to make out the features on her unmoving face, he knew deep down who it was lying dead in the corner of the room.
"You have to be brave, Norman," she whispered, her worried voice prickling his ears. She removed a long-fingered hand from his shoulders, drifting slowly away from her son. Her eyes were hopeful, but her half-smile was riddled with silent guilt. She could have protected him more. She could have prevented this.
The droning of sirens filled the room, flashing blue and red lights faintly shining through the windows from outside the Bates home. As the sky became darker with each moment, the lights appeared brighter and more severe. The footsteps, loud and frequent as if they were running, grew nearer as they traveled up the stairway. And Norman didn't move a muscle. Because Norma was right there with him, meeting his eyes with such love. She would never leave him. They would protect each other, even now.
The passing moments were in crescendo, growing louder by the second. The front door was bashed open. Officers rushed in, immediately drinking in the scene. They furiously barked orders to one another, diffusing throughout the house. Behind them, Dylan and Emma stood, trembling and wearing worried expressions.
"Norman!" Emma shouted, reaching out with a hand that had been previously fastened to his brother's. A dark-haired figure turned back to them.
"Both of you, stay the fuck back!"
Sheriff Romero had a gun pointed right between the boy's unresponsive eyes. The noise dissipated, only the sound of heavy footsteps surrounding them. The other officers weren't searching for very long before they saw it.
"Alex…"
The man was utterly disturbed: so shocked that he had forgotten to call the sheriff by his title.
Romero backed away from Norman and towards the other cop, gun still raised in his hands. His feet moved cautiously across the hardwood floor, his dark eyes watching intently the bloodied boy who had not spoken or even moved since they arrived. After just a few more tentative steps, he peered down over his shoulder to see what they had found.
In all his years as sherriff, he'd never seen anything like it. He quickly forgot the boy, staring down in horror at what lied at his feet.
"My God…"
Norman couldn't help but smile.