He's stashed all of it. The five thousand Ethan had given him plus scrapes of his salary that he hadn't spent on his truck. Altogether, he has eight thousand dollars socked away. It's under his mattress, wrapped in an envelope. He puts it on top of his clothes in the suitcase and presses the lid down. That's it. All of his belongings are packed and he has enough money to get him the fuck out of this place. That's what he needed: a new start, a new town away from the craziness and the drama and the truth of what Norman is.
Dylan was done with all of it.
Dylan leaves sometime in the dead of night. Norman hears him treading down the stairs lugging something heavy behind him. It doesn't faze Norman. He'd been waiting for this and it didn't bother him in the slightest. He hadn't needed to kill Dylan. He just had to drive him away. Everything was quiet now, but nothing was calm. His mind raced round and round in circles. She was there behind his eyes the way she'd been for months. He should've known she wouldn't leave him that easy. Her life was gone, but her spirit remained lodged deep inside him. It gripped tight and refused to let go.
He lays in bed for what seems like hours staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of the outside world. Cars going by, horns honking, the distant calls of wild animals. He listens until all of that begins to fade into the background. A buzzing noise fills in his head space and he closes his eyes to it.
"Norman." His eyes snap open. It couldn't be. He sits up and finds his bedroom empty. She's not here.
His head falls back to the pillow. Thoughts jumble together at warp speed and her voice breaks in again, louder than before.
"Norman."
He lifts his head and she's there, standing in the corner of the room, wearing a knee length black dress with a plunging neckline. Her eyes sparkle blue and Norman can't breathe.
"Mother."
She gets closer as Norman sits up once again. He feels exposed and vulnerable.
"Mother…I…killed you." The convulsions, the bulging eyes, the gagging. He remembers every agonizing second of it. It was burned into his retinas.
"No." She says. "Not all of me."
He didn't know what that meant. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He just continues to watch her wearily, waiting for the cutting words and the disappointment. But, that isn't what she offers. Instead, she says,
"Now, listen to me, Norman. This is what I want you to do."
It's four o'clock in the morning and he's not alone. He's carrying her through darkened back streets, trying his damnedest to avoid detection despite the lateness of the hour and the emptiness of the night.
"You're a good boy, Norman, coming to my rescue." He nods at her, but he can't really think straight. She's getting heavier with every step he takes.
"Mother, if you…"
"No, Norman. You do what I say. It's not the other way around."
"Yes, mother." His eyes roll upward and he hopes she doesn't see.
"Good boy. Now, hurry up. We're almost there."
Neither of Norma Bates' sons attend her funeral. It goes by in slow motion and no one there makes a mention of the suspiciousness of the absence. Romero doesn't even wonder where either of them has gone. He isn't surprised that they've bailed. They seemed like such fragile kids, broken in all the ways that were obvious and still indecipherable. It was a strange thing really that this family had been so close. Romero could see the cracks in the foundation, the cracks in Norma's foundation, the oddness of her relationship with her younger son. It had fascinated him and also disturbed him. He'd found himself wondering on more than one occasion just what Norma had done to her children.
He supposed it didn't really matter now. Norma was dead and her sons were falling apart piece by piece by piece.
Dylan had been right. It was better to stay away.
Two days pass and Norman doesn't go to school or answer a single text message. They're mostly from Emma, though there's a stray one from Bradley that makes his entire body lock up. He doesn't sleep and he doesn't eat. He watches movies, but his attention never lasts long. He tries to read, but the words blur together on the pages and the meaning becomes indiscernible.
It's Saturday afternoon when a knock on the door startles him out of yet another stupor.
Who he finds standing behind it is the last person he ever expected to see.
"Hi, Bradley."
"Hi, Norman." She's holding a casserole dish in her hands and something inside him jolts. What the hell was she doing?
"Uhhh, come in." She steps past him and he watches her closely, trying to read the signals. She seems tense in the shoulders.
Her eyes flit around the room. "Is Dylan here, too?"
He tries not to let it get to him. It was a logical question. Their mother was dead, after all.
"No, he, uh, he moved out." He leads her into the kitchen and eyes her as she puts the casserole dish on the table.
"It's green bean." She says. "It's one of my specialties." She sends him a winning smile and his heart speeds up. God, this girl would be the death of him.
"Thank you. That's very kind of you."
"So, you're going to live here by yourself? Run the motel and everything?"
His eyebrows furrow. He was never actually alone. Ever.
"Yeah. It won't be so bad. I'll have Emma and Will to check up on me." He secretly hoped he could get them to stay away, but he wasn't going to tell her that.
"And me." She says.
"Yeah." An awkward silence settles between them. He wrings his hands and avoids her eyes. Then, he lets out a nervous chuckle.
"Well, sit down. I'm not going to eat this by myself." Happiness takes over her face and Norman can't breathe. She looks like his mother when she smiles like that. Something dark nestles its way under his skin. It's the same urge he felt when he saw his mother and his brother in the motel office. The urge to maim and destroy. He ignores all of it as he sets two plates on the table.
They eat in relative silence, but it's oddly comforting. He hasn't felt this serene around her in a long time. It's a welcome change of pace. Aside from the nagging feeling in the back of his skull wouldn't leave him alone.
She goes to the bathroom and he's left washing the dishes, shaking his head to himself. Norma's here in the chill that rides up his spine, in the tremble of his fingers beneath the faucet, in the voice that rings out from beside him.
"She's a pretty one. Too bad that's all she's good for."
He shuts his eyes tight, refuses to look over at her. "Mother, please."
"It's the truth. What did you ever see in her?"
Now, he does glance over at her. She's expectant. He laughs at her.
"Isn't it obvious, Mother? I saw you." He smiles wide, his eyes alight. Yes, he had seen her in Bradley's every movement. The blonde hair, the blue eyes, the damage that couldn't be repaired by just one man.
His mother scoffs. "Whatever."
"Don't be like that. She's not…"
"Norman?" Bradley stands at the bottom of the stairs, her face reading utter confusion. "Who're you talking to?"
"No one." He turns and leans back against the sink. His mother's still beside him, but he refuses to look at her. Her voice is all he can hear.
"Tramp. I wonder if she had sex with Dylan, too. I wouldn't put it past her."
The young girl takes the necessary steps to reach him and Norman shuts his eyes again. He feels her fingers on the edge of his collarbone. His breath hitches.
"Norman." Norma's voice again.
"Norman, open your eyes." He does and Bradley's there, all warm eyes and pretty smile. His heart speeds up.
"If you ever need anything, just call or text me, okay?"
He nods and her lips brush his cheek. Norma breaks in again.
"Please. Don't tell me you still want this whore."
"Thank you." He says as Bradley turns away from him and starts heading to the front door.
"Norman, you're not going to let her leave, are you?"
"Why not, Mother?"
"Norman." The kitchen drawer opens under the touch of his fingers. The knife glints silver in the yellow light and Norman sees his own fingers wrap around it.
His mother's over his shoulder. "Let's get rid of her."
There's blood everywhere. It stains the carpet deep black and Norman can't scrub it away. The body's in the bathtub upstairs. He'll have to dump it in the dead of night just like they'd done with Keith Summers. He gives up on the carpet and heads up the stairs toward her room. She's lying in bed and his thoughts race around incoherently.
"It'll be done, Mother." He says.
"Good." The smile is present in her voice.
His footsteps thump on the carpet. He leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. She's ice cold, but he doesn't know what that means.
All he knows is that he'll protect her, no matter what it takes. He refused to let her down ever again.