Three

I was put in the one extra room of the Bates' house, just down the hall from Norman. I guess Norma thought that she either had a good enough handle on the two of us or we were never going to hook up, because we could easily sneak into each other's rooms in the dead of night, if we wanted to. But, I was pretty much passed out on my mattress after the night full of surprises and murder, so I didn't even think about that possibility.

The next morning I was disturbed by the ringing of the doorbell while I was getting ready for school. I'd gotten my clothes and my belongings (it hadn't actually been that much, which was depressing) from the women's shelter while Norman and Norma disposed of the body in the town's harbor, and I had everything I needed to stay in their house. After pulling on my sweatshirt, I slid out of my room in sock-clad feet, going to the top of the stairs to see who was here this early on a school day. I didn't think that anyone was supposed to show up.

A very attractive twenty-something year old was standing at the door with a canvas backpack slung over his shoulder and his hands down deep in his pockets. He was wearing a leather jacket and had a jaunty expression placed on his face that told me he was here to cause trouble. I was familiar with guys that wore expressions like that; my brother had been one of them for most of his life. He stared at Norma, who had opened the door clad in her bathrobe, a small smirk adorning his face. "Hey mom."

XXX

Breakfast was apparently very important to the Bates. Norman was making toast, Norma was making eggs and bacon, and I was sitting at the kitchen table, not sure what to do to make myself useful. Norman had told me that the blonde haired guy that had come to the door was his brother, Dylan, whom he was not fond of. Norman and Dylan couldn't have looked anymore different.

Norman had dark hair and pale skin and was very slim. He looked innocent and like someone that could be easily fooled. Dylan, on the other hand, had blonde hair and looked as though he hadn't shaved in a couple of days because of the stubble growing on his jaw. He was bulkier than Norman and looked tougher. I could smell smoke on him as he passed me in the hallway, which made me want to gag. He was the reject of the family; that was for sure. I could identify with that. He hadn't said anything to me, but he'd given me a look that had made me shy away from him and slink downstairs. Tough guys intimidated me.

"Has he told you how long he's staying?" Norman asked his mother as he fiddled with the bread bag, twisting the top so the bread wouldn't go bad. I stared into the cup of coffee that Norma had given me after telling me to sit, not sure if I wanted to drink it or not. I'd never been a fan of coffee, but, then again, I don't think I'd even been in such great need of caffeine. I drank some.

"No, I didn't ask. Didn't want to make it seem like he had the option," Norma told him. "As far as I'm concerned, we'll find him some money and then he can get on his way."

"But he's your son," I blurted out. "Shouldn't you, like, let him stay here or something?"

"You don't know him, Melanie," Norma said. "He's not someone you want hanging around."

Before we could talk about him anymore, Dylan walked in, glancing down at me and then looking back up at his family. He walked over to Norman (his gate reminded me of the bikers in town) and stood very close to him, towering over his little brother, and looked at the toaster. "Toast is done,"

"Yeah, I know," Norman tried to look intimidating, but he accidentally touched the hot part of the metal and burned his finger. Dylan walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup.

"You want some breakfast?" Norma asked in a tone that made me think she wanted to do anything but feed him.

"Thanks, but no," Dylan said. Norma rolled her eyes and set a plate of eggs and bacon down in front of me, turning back to her eldest son.

"Why're you here?"

I'd hate it if my mom talked to me like that. The way she asked him, it made me think that she hated him or something. Weren't moms supposed to love their children, no matter what they'd done? Mothers of serial killers that I'd seen on TV always said that their little boy hadn't done anything wrong, that he was innocent and couldn't hurt a fly. But yet, Mrs. Bates was talking to Dylan like he was dirt.

"Because that's what normal people do, Norma," He said after taking a deep breath and staring at me. "When they've lost their job and have no money and have no place to stay: they go home. Although most normal mothers don't move their homes out of state and try and hide it from their own son." I wanted to know the history behind this family. There was too much hate and distrust for me not to be interested. I didn't talk, instead I listened. Dylan grabbed the milk jug from the fridge and stared at it for a moment before setting it on the counter. "We're out of cream."

He was about to walk away until his eyes landed on me. He exchanged a look with Norman, smirked, and sat down across from me. "I don't think I've seen you before. What's your name?"

"Melanie Fitzgerald," I said.

"And what misfortune brought you here?"

"I…I was hired," I looked at Norma before answering him, reading her lips for my response so I didn't reveal information I wasn't supposed to.

"Hired…" he stared at me, studying me. I focused on the deep brown of my coffee, not wanting to meet his bright blue eyes. "Well, nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too," Dylan got up and left. Norman scoffed quietly before sitting down across from me with his breakfast. Mrs. Bates sighed heavily, sitting to Norman's right with her plate.

"Well, eat up you two. You both have school."

XXX

I offered to drive Norman to school, but instead he said he was going with Bradley and her friends. So, at his front door, we parted ways, me going to where my truck was parked near the motel and him to the forgotten bus stop in front of his house. Unfortunately, my truck door was blocked by the well-muscled Dylan. He was smoking a cigarette, letting it hang out of his mouth, which tightened his jawline. He had a hell of a jawline to boot, which made it ever harder to think of him as attractive. I sighed.

"I'm gonna be late for school."

"No excuse me? Where are your manners, Melanie?" Dylan teased. I'd never known the guy, but he acted like we'd been friends forever.

"Dylan, please move out of the way."

"Why're you working here?" he questioned, taking a step closer to me while crushing his cigarette under his foot. "I wouldn't wanna work with these people no matter how much I got paid."

"Well I need a job and there was one available," I snapped, trying to push around him. He was stronger and taller, though, and his arm shot out to bring me back in front of him.

"You and Norman dating or something?"

I turned to see him smirking dauntingly. He was trying to get under my skin, he was picking on me. I thought guys grew out of the douchebag act to flirt in seventh grade, but I guess he hadn't. It wasn't that I just assumed that every guy that talked to me liked me, but Dylan was giving off vibes that he did. Then I remembered the look he'd given Norman before he talked to me in the kitchen, one that was challenging. Maybe he was just flirting with me to get at Norman. But that would mean that Norman had a crush on me, which was preposterous. Finally, I pulled my head out of my ass and responded.

"I met him a day ago."

"And?"

"We aren't dating. We barely know each other."

"Well, I'm just warning you, don't get too close to him."

I cocked an eyebrow and set most of my weight on my right side, crossing my arms over my chest. "And why not?"

"Have you seen Norma? If anyone but her gets too close to her little boy she goes ballistic," he spat. I shook my head and scoffed, going around him and opening the door of my truck to climb in. Dylan caught the door before it closed and brought himself very close to me, his voice low and warning. "All I'm saying is watch out. Norma is a bitch and she'll hurt anyone that gets too close."

"She doesn't seem that bad. I think you just have mommy issues,"

Dylan chuckled darkly. "Damn right I have mommy issues. Just…watch out."

"Why're you telling me all this?" I asked him, leaning back in my seat to stare at him easier.

"Because I don't want you to have to deal with all the problems they're going to cause."

XXX

It was like Dylan had jinxed the rest of the day. Bradley's dad crashed his car in front of the motel, was admitted to the hospital with third degree burns covering almost his entire body, the police found Keith Summers' car near the motel, and Norman was practically attacked at the end of language arts by a girl named Emma Decody to work on a poetry project together. I was used to working alone, but I'd figured that since Norman was new and didn't really have any friends that he wouldn't be mobbed and would be my partner. But, it didn't work like that. I left class and told my teacher that I'd be working alone—like usual—and she nodded and smiled at me sadly.

Once I got back to the Bates' place I went up to my room, glad that it was a Friday. My backpack was laden down with books and notebooks with late assignments and fresh homework. I hadn't offered to give Norman a ride again because he'd ditched me in the morning and partly because of what Dylan said. I wondered if I should just go back to the women's shelter and forget about my pay and board. But, I couldn't bring myself to do it. There was something about the Bates family that made me want to stay; I wanted to figure out what was going to happen with them. And besides, I was stuck here. I'd witnessed a murder and I was in tow with them no matter what happened. I couldn't leave if I wanted to.

Dumping the contents of my backpack out on the comforter of my bed, I sighed. There was so much to do and so little time. I got my pens out of the front of my backpack and put the end of one in my mouth as I shifted through all of my books and papers, trying to find something that I actually wanted to work on. There was an essay that I was supposed to do for my sociology class that seemed interesting enough, so I picked it up and looked at the question scribbled at the top of the notebook paper.

Do people behave differently in groups then they would individually?

Well that was a stupid question: of course they do. I rolled my eyes and sat against the headboard of my bed, bringing my knees up so I could write easily on the textbook that I had the paper on top of. I tried to put my thoughts into words on the paper, but it was difficult. Writing was never my thing and essays were hell to do. Before I could start to get really frustrated, Dylan strode past my room, whistling to himself. I heard him walk a few more steps until he stopped and turned around. I groaned inwardly and watched him walk in my room.

"Damn, you're even worse about doing homework than I was."

I laughed lightly at that, looking at the books and papers spread out around me. "I have other things to worry about."

"Like what?"

"None of your business."

"Oh, we're pulling the five year old card, now are we?" Dylan smirked and walked over to my bed, sitting next to me. He looked at my paper and read the question upside down, his brow furrowing in concentration as he did so. "That's a bullshit question."

"I know, but it's required."

"I hated homework; always thought it was useless stuff that teachers just gave us to make our lives even more miserable. I never did any of mine. I guess that's why my grades weren't too good, either…"

"So what do you think?" I asked, filling in the silence that he'd left hanging. "Do people act differently in groups than they do when they're alone?"

"Well obviously," Dylan said, looking up from my paper to gaze at me. "When you're alone you actually feel things. You don't have to hide what you're thinking or what you want to do, you just do it without anyone holding you back. When you're with a group of people, you have to hide things. If you're not happy then you have to act like you are so people don't get tired of you."

"I didn't think someone like you could be so deep."

Dylan grinned and chuckled. "What's someone like me mean?"

"Oh, a smoker, a bad-boy that rides a motorcycle that never did his homework when he was in school." I decided that I could stand Dylan. He was open and seemed like someone I could trust.

"I guess I could say the same about you. What good girl has a nose ring?"

"One that likes piercings," I responded promptly, giggling. Dylan smiled and stood up.

"If you need me I'm just down the hall," he told me temptingly. I felt like he had something more in mind than just helping me with my homework, but I just smiled and nodded. I didn't know why I already liked Dylan so much, I just was. Maybe it was just something about this family. I'd never really had any friends since the third grade and talking to people was a new experience, but one that I enjoyed. I figured that I better get used to it, though, or I was going to get too open with Norman and Dylan and do something stupid, like develop a crush on one of them.

I looked down at my paper and started to scribble down my introduction. I think that people definitely act differently when they're alone compared to when they're with a group of other people. When you're alone you actually feel things. You don't have to hide what you're thinking or what you want to do, you just do it without anyone holding you back. When you're with a group of people, you have to hide things. If you're not happy then you have to act like you are so people don't get tired of you.

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