Disclaimer: Based on characters created by Robert Bloch and the movies by Universal Studios and MTE.
Prologue
FAIRVALE, CALIFORNIA
Fifteen-year-old Jason Bates sauntered through his front door. He was tall and lanky with untidy dark hair, a casual demeanour and something of a nervous look in his big blue eyes. A book bag was slung over his left shoulder, as he had just finished a day at school. He wandered through to the large kitchen at the back of the house and dumped the bag on the island.
"I'm home!" he called, and waited for an answer. He thought the house was unusually quiet, so he went back out into the hallway calling, "Mom? Dad?"
Somebody appeared at the top of the stairwell. Jason looked up, smiling in readiness to greet one or other of his parents. However when he saw the person who was slowly descending the stairs, wearing a long dress and a cheap wig, he stopped dead in his tracks, and the smile froze into a grimace.
"Oh no…" he whispered, watching as the figure walked slowly down the stairs. Then suddenly, shock turned to terror when he saw the kitchen knife clasped in the person's right hand, stained with blood. His eyes wide with alarm, the boy stared at the figure and yelled frantically, "Oh my God – what did you do?"
With no thought for his own safety, the boy barged past the large figure and bolted up the stairs. He ran to his parents' room, skidding to a halt in the doorway, and the sight that met his eyes brought the bile rising to his throat. He turned away sharply, pressing his hand to his mouth, his heart hammering as he attempted to come to grips with the situation.
"Jason?" the harsh voice of an elderly woman called sharply.
Jason froze, and his heart skipped a beat. He had never heard that voice before, and hearing it now sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't think; he only knew that he had to get out of there. Adrenalin coursing through his veins, Jason ran to the bathroom and locked himself in. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes as he launched himself at the basin and was violently sick.
"Jason?"
"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!" Jason yelled in panic, as the voice became dangerously close. A moment later he heard the squeak of the door handle turning. The door was locked, but he knew that wouldn't keep his pursuer at bay for long.
Jason knew that he had to act fast. He grabbed the nearest towel, wrapped it around his left hand and drove his fist at the window. He broke it on his third attempt, the shards of glass falling to the street outside with a resounding crash.
"JASON! What are you doing in there, boy?"
But Jason was already on the ground outside. It was quite a long drop, and he sustained an injury to his left ankle, but this didn't stop him from running faster than he ever had in his life. He charged into the nearest phone box, careful to keep the door open in case he needed to make a quick escape. He could still see his parents' house, which he kept a close eye on as he dialled.
"Hello – police!" Jason said urgently, when someone finally responded to his call. "This is Jason Bates. My father's gone completely off his rocker. Again. He…" Jason blinked back tears, and tried to steady his voice as he delivered the grim news: "He's killed my mother."
Six years later
"I've just seen it in the paper," Sarah Bentley, a young woman with a colourful and imaginative hairstyle, chattered into her cell phone. She was standing outside a dilapidated house wearing jeans, a chequered shirt and a hard hat, various building work going on noisily around her. "But I understand it's been on the market for twenty-two years. I mean, no wonder it's going so cheap. Why do you suppose nobody wants to buy it? Can't you get planning permission or something?"
Sarah waited for a reply.
"Oh, well, that's weird… Sure, call the vendor now. I definitely want to get a look at this place… 'Kay, thanks Phil. Bye."
She hung up and then, slipping the cell phone into her pocket, Sarah clambered over the planks of wood blocking the front door and went into the house. She went through to the back of the building, where two young men in hard hats were knocking down a wall that divided a fair-sized dining room and a small kitchen.
"Need any help?" asked Sarah.
"If you want to," one of the builders replied amiably, handing her a powerful looking hammer. "Still no sign of those plasterers?"
"No," replied Sarah, beginning to take her frustrations caused by the plasterers out on the dividing wall. "They were supposed to come yesterday! Still." She stepped back to survey the work in progress, which seemed to cheer her up. "The kitchen/breakfast room is looking good, isn't it? Once we've got some units in here and some French doors out onto the patio it'll be… oh, hold on," as her cell phone started to ring. She whipped it out of her pocket, glanced at the caller ID and answered it: "Hi, Phil."
"I just called my client," Phil's voice buzzed down the line. "He's said he'll let you view the pwoperty in about an hour."
"An hour?" echoed Sarah, surprised. "Boy, this guy doesn't beat about the bush, does he? He must be pretty desperate to get rid of it."
Phil didn't respond to this remark. Instead he asked, "Can I call the vendor and tell him you'll be wound to view the pwoperty this afternoon?"
"Um…" Sarah glanced at her watch. "Yeah, sure. I mean, I'm waiting for some plasterers, but they should be here in less than an hour. Tell the guy I'll be there."
After Sarah had hung up, she continued her work on the wall. She was later summoned to the roof in order to examine an unforeseen leakage problem, and by the time that was dealt with fifty minutes had passed and there was still no sign of the plasterers.
"Bill," said Sarah, addressing the man who was fixing the gutters. "I have to get to an appointment. If those plasterers show up, can you deal with them for me?"
"Sure thing," said Bill. "But they're not coming, Miss. I'd try to find someone else to do it if I were you."
Sighing with exasperation, Sarah pulled off her hard hat and made for her car.
When Sarah pulled up outside the small motel, Jason Bates was already sitting on the terrace, waiting for her. He rose to his feet as she climbed out of the car, and they greeted each other with a handshake and a pleasant smile.
"Miss Bentley?" Jason asked nervously. "Jason Bates."
"It's nice to meet you," said Sarah, smiling. "And call me Sarah, please. Wow." Turning slightly, she looked up at the tall, dark house that loomed in ruins above them. "I'd sure have my work cut out for me, wouldn't I?"
"Well, it s-suffered a pretty nasty fire some years ago," Jason gabbled. "You'd practically have to rebuild the whole thing. There's nothing wrong with the motel, though. I think, considering it comes with the house, you'd be getting it very cheap."
"I quite agree," said Sarah. "Still, the motel can't do much business, away from the main highway like this…"
"Well," shrugged Jason, "it did ok, but my f-father hasn't run it for about twenty-five years. You should be fine, though, if you run the place right."
"Oh, I don't want to run the place," said Sarah. "I'm a property developer. I want to fix up the house over there, and then sell it on at a profit."
"Fix up the house." Jason smiled slightly, beginning to lose some of his nervousness as they talked. "That'll be interesting to see. My father talked about it a lot… still does, in a way… but it burned down before I was even born. Would you like to go up and look at it?"
"Sure."
Jason led Sarah up several fairly steep stone steps to a charred front door. This swung open at the lightest touch, and they stepped inside. Sarah ran her eye appraisingly over the long corridor, the tall staircase to her right and the door at the back of the hallway.
"This was the living room," Jason told her, gesturing to a door on their left. "And there's a nice big kitchen at the back. I can't take you upstairs, I'm afraid. It's not safe."
"That's all right," said Sarah. "The first thing I'll do is replace those stairs. How many bedrooms did it have?"
"Two. My father's room was a good size, and my grandmother's room was a huge en-suite. You could probably turn it into two rooms. Isn't that the kind of thing you property developers do?"
"Yes, that's the kind of thing," said Sarah, still smiling, finding that she liked this young man. "May I see the kitchen?"
The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was burnt to a cinder, but Sarah could easily imagine it restored to its former glory, and even better.
"This could be a nice place," she remarked. "I mean, I know it needs a lot of work, but… I'm sorry." She smiled apologetically at Jason. "I have to ask…"
"Why has it been on the market so long? Well." He seemed to consider. "It probably didn't help, all the complications we had. My father was trying to sell it for years, but then he started suffering from – er – a little senile dementia. I was only fifteen at the time, so I couldn't sell the place myself for quite a while. And my father, during that time… he was… h-h-he refused… it was just that little part of him that could never quite let the place g-g-go. Well… not so little, really. He'll be mad when he finds out I've been showing a prospective b-b-buyer around."
"But that's not all," pressed Sarah. "Why would no one buy it from your father?"
"Do you know who my father is?" Jason asked carefully.
Sarah shook her head.
"The name Bates, or the Bates Motel, doesn't ring any bells?"
She shook her head again.
"Well," Jason went on hesitantly. "There's a lot of history in this place, from when my father used to live here. Bad things happened. I think… I think if you really want to buy this place, you'd be happier not knowing."
"It's ok," said Sarah. "You don't have to tell me if it's difficult. But I want you to know that I'm not afraid of ghosts."
Jason's mouth twitched nervously; he seemed to be considering telling her more. However he soon changed his mind, saying instead, "There's a cellar. It didn't come out of the fire too badly. I can't take you down the stairs because there aren't any now, but there's a hatch outside if you want to see it."
"I'd love to," said Sarah, so Jason led her back outside and round to the side of the house.
"You really want to buy this place?" asked Jason, as he followed Sarah down into the cellar. "Only, you were talking about new stairs, and…"
"It's a bargain at the asking price," said Sarah. "I'd be crazy not to buy it. I could do a great cellar conversion in here. I'd have to get some heating in, and…" – she stopped, noticing Jason's distant expression. "You don't look all that pleased. Are you afraid of what your father might say?"
"I'm scared to tell him," said Jason. "They're mostly down here, you know… the ghosts. Maybe I should tell you before you find out some other way…"
"It's ok," Sarah insisted. "You won't put me off. I'm not scared of ghosts, remember? Particularly if they're somebody else's."
"They're my father's," said Jason. "He did some terrible things. He went a little crazy… a few times, and he… um… killed some people."
"Oh!" Sarah looked shocked.
"He's safely locked away now," Jason went on hurriedly. "They put him someplace… Almost all of it happened before I was born. He got better, and he married my mother. It was all fine until I was fifteen – he was a really great guy, and a great dad – but then he got confused again. And he did something really terrible."
"Did he kill somebody else?"
Jason looked at the floor. "He broke my heart. I didn't talk to him for so long, but a few months ago he took a turn for the worse. I almost lost him. I see him now as much as possible. He's… what's the expression? He isn't quite himself – and with him being so old and confused he's probably never going to be himself again, but as long as there's still something left I have to… to…"
"You don't need to tell me this," said Sarah, when she saw that tears were coming to his eyes. "I don't care what happened here in the past. Right now, it's just an old house that needs fixing up."
"Oh, yeah, that's the other thing I should probably tell you," Jason said nervously. "It's not very old – early twentieth century or something – but I'm afraid it's grade two listed all the same. Before you do anything, you'll have to talk to the c-c-conservation officer."
"Conservation officer, huh?" Sarah pulled a face. "Man, I hate conservation officers. I mean, the place is ruined anyway. Surely now I can do whatever I want with it."
"Well, they told me that they might want whoever fixes it to rebuild it just like it was. That doesn't put you off, does it?"
Sarah shook her head. "No, it's fine. I'll take it. I'll call the agent and get him to draw up some paperwork, ok?"
"Ok, great," Jason grinned boyishly. "Man, that's a relief."
"I'm glad I could help you," said Sarah.
"I know you'll do a great job. And I know, after you've fixed it up good as new, someone will buy this house and be really happy here."
"No more ghosts, huh?"
"Right. No more ghosts."
x x x
Norman Bates had decided not to return to his motel after he was released from his second spell in the mental institution. Instead he had married his wife Connie, a psychologist who had worked with him, and they had bought a new house in Fairvale together. Jason, having heard the stories about the Bates Motel, didn't want to run the place either. Norman had tried to interest him in some of his own hobbies – piano, which he had learnt in the asylum, and even taxidermy – but in recent months Jason had found that hobbies didn't appeal to him much and he preferred working in the bar close to the apartment he rented with some friends.
Following his mother's murder, Jason had lived with his maternal grandmother, though he'd spent most of the next three years in counselling. He had decided to find somewhere else to live when he finished school, and he thought that he was as over the horrible events of the past as he would ever be. He couldn't bear to go back to his parents' house after what had happened there – especially knowing what had happened to his father when he returned to the scene of his awful past – and fortunately the modern semi-detached had seen a much quicker sale than the motel and the burnt shell of a house.
"Can you cover the rest of my shift?" Jason asked his friend Beth Wells, who was sitting at one of the tables, as he emerged from the gents' holding his cell phone. "I've just had a phone call. My dad wonders why I haven't been to see him today. I ought to go and see him before he does something… before he does something."
"Aww, Ja-son," pouted Beth. She was a barmaid, but this was a Thursday, and she didn't do Thursdays. "It's my night off."
"I'll do Saturday lunchtime for you," said Jason, who was already at the exit. "Thanks, Beth – you're a pal. I'll see you later."
Beth, a short, slim and somewhat vacuous blonde, was one of the people who shared Jason's apartment. She had asked Jason out a couple of times while they were still in school, but he had always refused. He had reasons for wanting to stay single. As it happened he wasn't particularly attracted to Beth, but even if he had been he still would have thought it would be safer for them just to be friends.
He went out to his car, and drove to where his father was kept. Norman lived in a darkened room, and didn't often move from the chair in the corner. He said he liked the darkness. Or rather, his mother said she liked the darkness. Norman had barely resurfaced at all in the six years since Mother returned and her jealousy drove her to kill her daughter-in-law.
"Jason," Mother sighed sadly, as Jason strained his eyes through the darkness to see Norman. "Why haven't you been to see me? You know how lonely your old Grandmother gets."
"Can I talk to Dad?" asked Jason.
"Your father is not here, boy," Mother returned obstinately. "Jason, I wish you could see that what I did to your mother was best for you. You probably would have ended up doing it yourself anyway, if you're anything like your father. The way he killed my sister when she claimed to be his real mother… He should have asked me about it – I would soon have set him straight. Stupid boy."
Jason blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. "I'm not like him… like you!" he yelled. "I loved my mother!"
"As Norman loved me."
"No. Not like that. I'm not insane."
"You will be," Mother chuckled softly. "As I was, my sister was, your father was…"
"Dad," said Jason, close to tears. "I know you're in there somewhere. Please talk to me."
"You talk to me, boy!" snapped Mother. "Why have you not been to see me recently? You seem afraid. Have you got some bad news for your old granny?"
"Good news," Jason said shakily. "I've sold the house, and the motel."
"What? To whom, boy?"
"N-no one. Just a woman."
"A woman?" raged Mother. "A filthy whore?"
"She's not a whore, Da-… Grandmother," Jason said desperately. "She's a property developer."
"A money-hungry little whore."
"Dad, please," Jason almost sobbed. "It's not her I want to talk to. She's the sickness inside you. She's what k-k-k-k… what killed Mom. Please, Dad…"
"Your father is not here. He hasn't spoken to me in years. And now you want to leave me as well! You'd better come to see me tomorrow, Jason! If you don't, I'll find you myself!"
"Stop! I can't talk to you when you're like this."
"You know your dear old granny loves you, Jason." Her tone suddenly changed, and became dangerously calm. "You wouldn't sell your dear old granny's house, would you?"
"It's just a burned up shell… Grandmother. It's no good to you."
"But it is to this property developer?"
"Well… yes."
"Kill her."
"Dad!"
"Then I'll kill her for you. Don't lock the door behind you, Jason. I'll show that property developer what happens to whores who try to buy my house…"
"I'm going now, Dad," said Jason. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Jason left, careful to lock the door behind him. He had thought about not telling his father… his grandmother… either of them, about selling the house. But he still loved his father, in some way, and he still hoped to be able to reach him. For sixteen years, Norman Bates had been free of his ghosts after burning them away inside his mother's house. He knew it was a vain hope, but Jason had held onto the idea that perhaps he could reach his father with news that the house would soon be off their hands altogether, and the ghosts with it.
x x x
When Jason was covering Beth's lunchtime shift on Saturday, he had served about a dozen meals and countless drinks when he looked up and saw a familiar face.
"Hi, Mrs. Wells," he greeted Beth's mother, with a nervous smile. "How are you?"
"Just fine, Jason, thank you," replied Judith Wells. "You?"
"Oh, fine. Um, Beth isn't working today, if you came to see - "
"It's all right," Judith interrupted. "Actually I'm meeting her here for lunch. I feel like I never see her anymore these days."
"Well, she's a busy girl," Jason said apologetically. The way his friend's mother was looking at him made him feel somehow responsible for Beth's apparent lack of commitment to her family.
"Is she all right at home?" Judith demanded. "Happy, and everything?"
"She's fine," said Jason. "Look, Mrs. Wells – I know you've been worried about her since your husband, um, d-died, but - "
"Well that's in the past now," Judith cut in. "You would tell me, wouldn't you, if there was something wrong?"
"O-o-of course."
"So. How's your father?"
Jason's polite smile faltered slightly, and his eyes looked suddenly sad. "No better," he said.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Yeah, well… Oh, hi!" This as Sarah Bentley came in and walked smilingly over to the bar. "Is everything all right? You haven't changed your mind about the motel, have you?"
"No," said Sarah, sitting down on one of the bar stools. "I'm still very keen on that place. Actually, I was hoping you and I could arrange a meeting with the estate agent – you know, to sit down and sign some paperwork and stuff. Can you do Monday?"
"Monday?" echoed Jason. "Um, s-sure. Monday's fine, as long as it's the morning. I promised my father I'd visit him in the afternoon."
"Oh, your father." Sarah smiled sympathetically. "How is he?"
"No better. No worse either."
"You're buying Norman's motel?" Judith cut in, looking sharply at Sarah.
"Um… yes," Sarah replied cautiously.
"This is Judith Wells – she's the mother of a friend of mine," Jason provided.
"Do you know what happened in that place?" asked Judith.
"Jason's told me everything that happened there," lied Sarah. "I think it's sad when a beautiful old building falls into disrepair because it has some bad memories for someone. I'm really looking forward to fixing it up so someone can move in and make some brand new memories. Happy ones," she added with a smile.
"Well, aren't you just sweet?" Judith said sourly.
"Mom!"
Judith turned, and saw Beth waving her over to a table. She turned back to the bar and said, "I'll have a cheese salad, and Beth will probably have her usual salmon concoction."
"I'll bring them over," said Jason, with an apologetic smile at Sarah.
Judith stalked over the table and sat down opposite her daughter.
"So," Beth began curtly. "How are you?"
"All right," said Judith. "You?"
"I'm fine. Look, Mother, I know you worry about me, but I really am all right. And Jason's fine too."
Judith shook her head despairingly. "I just think it's so dangerous, you and him living under the same roof. We know it runs in his family, and after what happened to your father last year…"
"Look," Beth said sharply. "Dad may have been a little funny in the head, but I'm absolutely fine, and so is Jason. His mother was a psychologist, remember? She always said that if they loved Jason and brought him up right, he'd be fine. And she was right."
"He came home from school and found that his father had killed his mother – in a dress and a wig, I might add!" Judith said in a stage whisper. "Don't you think that might make anyone a little crazy?"
"Mom," Beth said patiently. "If he was going to go crazy, he would have done it by now."
"Maybe you're right," sighed Judith. "Jason's a sweet boy. I just worry about you. I still think you're at risk from your father's illness, and - "
"Mother, please. Dad's fine."
Judith looked up sharply, and stared at her daughter. "What?"
Beth stared back. "What did I say?"
"You said, 'Dad's fine'."
"Did I?" Beth looked surprised. "That's not what I meant. I meant to say that I'm nothing like Dad. Oh, Mother – don't look at me like that! I know he's dead, ok? It was just a slip of the tongue. I'm not crazy."
Judith looked down at her hands, just as Jason appeared with their meals.
"Thank you," she mumbled, as Jason dumped the cheese salad in front of her.
"Hi, Jason," Beth smiled winningly up at him. "Who's your friend?"
"What?" queried Jason.
"You've been talking to a girl at the bar."
"Oh. That's Sarah. She's going to buy my father's house, that's all. Enjoy your meals."
Beth watched him go, her eyes narrowing. She saw Jason smiling at Sarah as he went back behind the bar, going to serve two young men who had just walked in.
"What do you think?" she asked her mother. "Is she twinkling at him?"
"Twinkling at him?" echoed Judith. "I don't know, Elizabeth. But so what if she is? I've told you before how dangerous it would be to get involved with - "
"Save it," said Beth. "I've heard it before, and you're wasting your breath. He isn't interested in me anyway."
x x x
It was getting late, and a tired Phil Allsopp was waving his last clients out of the door when his co-worker Kirsty decided it was time for her to go home for the evening.
"Not still here, Kirsty?" he said.
"I was just leaving," replied Kirsty. "Actually, I was going to meet some of the others for a drink. Do you want to come with me?"
"I might join you in a little while," said Phil. "First there's a bit of paperwork I want to finish."
"Oh, Phil – you've worked late for the past three nights!"
"Well, I didn't want to work late again tonight, but this is important. I've finally sold the Bates place!"
"Oh, well done! I guess you want to get the paperwork done before whoever it is changes their mind."
"Wight," smiled Phil. "I'll see you in a little while, Kirsty."
Kirsty left, and Phil retired to his office at the back of the building. He opened a drawer and pulled out the deeds to the Bates property. Reading them through, he smiled with satisfaction; all that was left to do now was wait for Miss Bentley's cheque to clear.
Phil sat back in his chair, relieved to have sold the property at last. It wasn't a great deal of money, he reflected – normally he would expect something more for a fully furnished motel, a house (albeit a dilapidated one) and several acres of land – but he knew that Jason would just be glad to have the place off his hands, and for the small windfall he would shortly be receiving in exchange.
Yawning, Phil got to his feet and lifted the jacket from the back of his chair. Then he paused, listening cautiously, for he could have sworn he heard the front door to the building opening.
"Hello?" he called, assuming that Kirsty must have forgotten something.
No answer.
Shaking his head, Phil decided that he must have imagined it, and started climbing into his jacket. As he slid his arms into the sleeves, the office door creaked slowly open and a large figure appeared in the darkened doorway.
"I'm sowwy, ma'am, the office is closed for today," Phil smiled apologetically. "If you call tomowwow and make an appointment we - "
He broke off suddenly, terrified, as the woman raised a long, sharp knife in her right hand. The blade shone in the glare from the desk lamp as the woman charged towards Phil, brought the knife down to his chest and grinned maniacally as the blood spurted onto her chin. She withdrew the knife, and then slammed it into him again… and again… until he slumped lifeless on the desk. Then she charged out of the room, not even bothering to close the door behind her.
x x x
Once all of the paperwork was signed and the property was practically hers, Sarah arranged a visit to the house with the conservation officer. She had called Jason to let him know she was doing this, and had also asked him to come to the motel at four o'clock, when she thought her appointment would be over.
The conservation officer was a tall, middle-aged man named Douglas Bryant. He was of medium build with a bushy moustache and a surly expression. He frowned up at the towering house, shaking his head sadly over the appalling state of the exterior woodwork.
"There's no saving those boards," Sarah stated the obvious.
"No," Bryant said grudgingly. "You'll have to totally rebuild all of these walls. You'll have to go to a reclamation yard for some original nineteen twenties beams."
"Original nineteen twenties beams," Sarah said flatly.
"Yes. And I want you to maintain the original layout of the house."
"No extra bedrooms?"
"Absolutely not."
"Right," Sarah sighed resignedly. She had heard it all before when working on other listed properties. She had never known a conservation officer to change his or her mind. "What about the cellar? Can I do a conversion?"
"You'd better show me."
"All right. It's this way."
Sarah took Bryant down to the cellar through the hatch, which was directly underneath the window of the master bedroom. The cellar was dark and damp, as cellars tend to be, and Bryant wrinkled his nose when he caught sight of some dry rot on one of the walls.
"I think you'd better do something with this," he remarked dryly. "All right, Miss Bentley… yes. You may have your cellar conversion."
"Thank you, Mr. Bryant," Sarah smiled weakly. "And what about the attic?"
"You haven't been up there, have you?"
"Of course not. But I know there's one there."
"Well…"
"It's practically a room already. Norman Bates and his mother used it for storage. It would just need heating installed, really."
"All right," said Bryant. "But you'll have to keep the window as it is."
"All right, I will."
As they climbed back out into the open air, Sarah caught sight of a figure approaching from the direction of the motel.
"Jason!" she called, waving enthusiastically.
"Is that Bates?" asked Bryant.
"Sure is."
"Well, be careful."
Bryant sidled off towards his car as Jason approached.
"Hi," Jason smiled boyishly at Sarah. "Who was that?"
"The conservation officer." There was a distinct note of distaste in her voice.
"What did he say?"
"Well, he said I can have my cellar conversion."
"Great," Jason smiled weakly. "My dad's gonna hate that."
"So don't tell him."
"Ooh, bad idea. He can always tell when I'm lying, and when I do he gets really upset. It's always best to tell him the truth, even if he's not gonna like it."
"Well, I've got something that might make him feel a little better. Come on."
Sarah started leading the way towards the motel, and Jason followed, curious. He still didn't know why she had called him out.
"So is the deal ok and everything?" he asked, as Sarah unlocked the office and led the way in. Jason had given her the keys even before he had sold the place to her. "I haven't heard from Mr. Allsopp in a couple of days."
"We're just waiting for my cheque to clear, I think," said Sarah. "It should be fine. I haven't heard from him in a while either, though. How weird is that? Well…" – she stepped into the parlour behind the office, and gestured around her. "I assume all of this stuff was your father's. I thought maybe he'd want it back."
Jason gazed at the surrounding room. He had never been in the motel before, and wasn't aware that his father had left any personal possessions behind. The furniture, Norman had decided years before, was to be included in the sale of the property, as he had no need for it. But he had also left behind several framed paintings – most of them depicting birds of various species – as well as a few stuffed owls, crows and woodpeckers.
"There are some other pictures in the cabins," said Sarah, "and some books and things if you want - "
"Keep them," Jason said quickly. "Every good motel has a few books and pictures lying around. And I don't think my dad would want to see too much of his old stuff. It might make him r-r-r-remember."
"Oh." Sarah looked at the floor. "Well, what about those stuffed birds? Not to be rude or anything, but they're kind of…"
"Creepy?" Jason suggested, and he flashed her a crooked smile. "Yeah, I know. He used to have them at home as well. My mom hated it – they really used to freak her out."
There was silence. Sarah noticed Jason's use of the past tense, and assumed that this must mean his mother was dead. He was some years younger than she was, and certainly far too young to have lost his mother.
"I'll take them," said Jason. "And some of these pictures too, if you like."
"Take whatever you want," said Sarah. "It's your family's stuff. I brought some boxes if you need them. Shall I run out to my car and bring a couple over?"
"Thanks," smiled Jason.
As Sarah went outside, Jason wondered how his father would feel about seeing some of his old stuffed birds again. He glanced up, and saw an owl that looked about to swoop down on him, its beak open in a silent screech. Jason's stomach contracted as he pictured his grandmother like that, lifeless and staring while Norman gave her a voice. It had been horrible to witness even without the stuffed body of Norma Bates… or Emma Spool, come to that. Jason shook his head despairingly. If what the doctors said was true, and Norman's condition really was genetic…
"Hey," Sarah said brightly, appearing in the doorway with a cardboard box in each hand. "Want me to help you pack?"
"Thanks," Jason smiled weakly.
"Are you ok?"
"Just thinking."
"About the stuff that happened here?"
"Right on the other side of that wall is Cabin One," Jason told her, as he lifted the swooping owl down from its tall shelf. "My father… well, he sort of k-k-killed someone in there. And that's where my grandmother was when she had her bad turn. And I think Dad said a nun tried to commit suicide in there once."
"Oh."
"Sorry." Jason carried one of the cardboard boxes through to the office. "I think you're right: it might be a good idea to show some of this stuff to my dad. It might help him to remember… um… t-to be more, er, h-h-himself. I think this one was special, from what he told me."
Sarah followed Jason into the office, and saw him taking one of the larger pictures from the wall. Most of the bird portraits were not much bigger than CD jackets, but the painting behind the cash register looked about eighteen inches by twelve. It did not represent any kind of bird, but rather a curious scene that showed a nude woman being molested by two animalistic looking men in front of a tall tree. The woman didn't seem to mind; her expression was positively serene against the lovingly painted rural background.
"Oh," said Jason, when he pulled away the painting to reveal that a huge patch of the plaster behind was missing, and a small hole had been drilled into the wall. "I didn't know about that."
"I'll just have to get it fixed," shrugged Sarah, walking over to the hole and putting her eye to it. "Or stick a picture in front of it like your father did. Man, you can see everything from here. Why would anyone drill a hole in the wall?"
"Maybe he used to watch the guests undressing," muttered Jason.
"I'll fix it," Sarah said brightly, pulling away from the hole to smile at him. "Not a problem. So, have you got everything you need?"
"I think so," said Jason. "Thank you for letting me know about this stuff."
"Well, it's yours," reasoned Sarah, as Jason turned to go. "Hey, wait – where are you going?"
"Home, I guess."
"Well, if you don't have any plans, maybe we could go out for a drink. You know – to celebrate."
"That's it?" Jason asked warily. "Just to celebrate?"
"Sure," Sarah replied slowly. "If that's all you want it to be. I do like you, though. I'd like to see you sometimes."
"See me sometimes?" Jason looked alarmed. "Um, look… I like you too, Miss Bentley."
"Sarah."
"But I… I d-don't d-d-date."
"Why not?"
"It j-j-just… it m-might not be s-s-s-s-…"
Sarah frowned. She had noticed that Jason only stuttered when he seemed to be nervous, and even then it was just slight. But this conversation seemed to be making him very nervous indeed.
"…-s-s-safe."
"Safe?" echoed Sarah, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"I'm sorry," said Jason. "I can't explain. Well, I could, b-b-but - "
"It's ok," Sarah interrupted. "Don't worry about it. But you've got my number, right? If you change your mind?"
"Oh… s-s-s-sure."
"I'll see you around, then."
She left, looking slightly dejected. Jason let out a deep sigh as he watched her go. It wasn't that he didn't want to join her for a drink. He did want to, in fact, very much. But at the back of his mind constantly lurked the fear of the madness in his family. His father had suffered from it, as had Norma Bates and her sister, Emma Spool. There were doctors out there who thought that it was inevitable in Jason. And his family's problems, he knew, had been greatly exacerbated by affairs of the heart. Getting emotionally attached to Sarah Bentley, or to anyone, just wouldn't be wise.
x x x
"Sarah called me out to the motel today, Dad."
"The whore!"
"To give me some of your old stuff. Would you like to see it?"
"Not especially. Your father kept a lot of his junk in that motel. Stuffed birds and filthy pictures, is it?"
"Well, yes, that kind of thing," said Jason.
"I'm not interested," said Mother.
"Dad… might want them."
"Bah. Burn it. It'll do him good to learn the meaning of sacrifice."
"You really are very cruel, aren't you?"
"Just strict, Jason. Now tell your dear old Grandmother what that whore is doing to my house."
Jason sighed deeply. "Must I?"
"Don't you take that tone with me, young man! Now tell me what she's doing, or do I have to beat it out of you?"
"Well, she said… she said she was thinking of doing a…" – he never got away with lying in these situations, so he didn't even try – "a cellar conversion."
"CELLAR CONVERSION?"
"Dad…"
"Grandmother!"
"Grandmother, please!"
"No whore is going to do a cellar conversion on my house!"
"Grandmother! How many more times? She is just a property developer!"
" 'Grandmother, she's just a property developer!'" Mother retorted mockingly. "As if men don't desire property developers! As if… oh, I refuse to talk of disgusting things because they disgust me!"
Jason sighed again. "Dad, you're obsessed."
"I am not your father!" snapped Mother. "You're as crazy as he is. Go on, walk away," as Jason turned to go. "I know your old Grandmother is too bothersome for you to take time out of your busy schedule."
"You're not my grandmother!" yelled Jason, rounding on her suddenly. "You're my father! Why don't you remember?"
"Stop crying, you pathetic child! So I'm your father, am I? You're madder than he ever was. I shall tell him you said that."
Jason was momentarily stumped. Then, barely audibly, "What?"
"I am going to tell your father what you just said."
"You… you've seen him lately?"
"Certainly I have. I… spilled something. Your father cleaned it up for me."
Jason didn't seem to notice the oily leer in her voice. He edged closer to his father's chair and begged, in unsteady tones, "Can I see him? Dad, please… it's me!"
"How many more times, boy? Your father isn't here! Ooh – I tire of this! If all you can do is stand there weeping, you had better just get out, boy! Do you hear me? Get out!"
Jason didn't argue. He left, clutching desperately to this faint new straw of hope. If he could just catch his father at the right time…
x x x
Beth was slumped on the sofa watching a reality TV show when Jason arrived home. He sat down heavily beside her, asking disinterestedly, "Where is everyone?"
"They've all gone out," replied Beth. "I didn't feel like it. But if my mother calls, tell her I'm not here, ok? She's worried I'm becoming agoraphobic like Dad."
Jason looked at her. "Aren't you?"
"Oh, c'mon – one night I don't go out…"
"I'm sorry."
"Maybe next time you leave me here alone you'd better make sure there aren't any sharp objects lying around," Beth went on heatedly.
"I'm sorry," Jason said again, somewhat irritably. "Can you blame me for worrying sometimes? You're not the only one with a crazy dad, you know."
Beth was silent.
"I just went to see him," Jason went on. "He said… his Mother said that she'd seen Dad recently."
"Oh," Beth reacted in surprise. "Well, that's good news. You think maybe he'll, er… pay you a little visit."
"God, I hope so." Jason exhaled heavily. "I'll tell you something, Beth: he… she… whatever, is so pissed about me selling the house. I didn't want to tell him about the cellar conversion, but he wanted to know what's going on there and you know how I am with lies."
"Your grandmother doesn't sound like a very nice person," remarked Beth.
"She used to kill people," Jason reminded her. "I do appreciate your talking to me about this, Beth. There aren't many people I can tell."
"Don't sweat it."
"Whenever I go to see him, he just keeps going on and on about Sarah."
"The lady who's buying your dad's house?"
Jason nodded. "I've told him I'm not interested, but he always seems to know when I'm lying, even if I manage not to stutter. I don't know what to do about it, Beth. She wants to go out with me, but if I agree…"
"What – you think you'll end up killing her?" Beth asked disdainfully. "That was your excuse for not going out with me, remember."
"Oh, Beth – that was years ago."
"So, what – you like this property developer person?"
"Yes," said Jason. "Maybe… maybe I could go out on a date with her, just to see how it goes. Maybe I'm not even going to go crazy. It seems silly not to have a life just in case I go mad."
Beth looked him in the eye and said, "I don't think you'll go mad. You've come through what happened to your parents, and you've even forgiven your dad. Jason… you're the strongest person I know."
x x x
Sarah had her builders start on the exterior of the house as soon as she had her original nineteen twenties beams, and Douglas Bryant was eager to see her progress. He drove down to the Bates Motel early on Friday morning, only to find the place deserted. He tutted disapprovingly, shaking his head. According to Miss Bentley's information, the builders should have arrived to start work an hour ago.
Bryant turned away from the dilapidated house and looked towards the motel. He thought he saw the door to Cabin One swing shut, which struck him as odd. There were no cars around, and the place was a long walk even from the diner, which was the place closest to the motel in which one was likely to find any form of civilisation. Perhaps he had imagined it. Frowning confusedly, Bryant made his way towards the motel building. Sure enough, the door to the first cabin was unlocked.
"Hello?" he called out boldly, pushing the door open a few inches and peering round it. "Miss Bentley, is that you?"
Silence. But then, quite suddenly, a large figure in a long black dress emerged from the bathroom. Bryant gasped as he saw the gleaming knife raised high above the person's head. He backed hurriedly out of the cabin, stumbling when his heels hit the edge of the terrace, and he fell back onto the hard ground below. He cried out as the woman loomed over him, and then fell silent as she plunged the knife deep into his heart.
Mother looked down at her kill, feeling satisfied. But then, quite suddenly, she was Mother no longer. The knife dropped to the ground, and there stood Norman, aghast. In a few moments he undoubtedly would have begun disposing of the body in the usual way, by bundling Bryant into the back of his car and driving it to the swamp. But then the sound of another car engine came into earshot. Left with no choice, the figure stole quickly and quietly into the motel, reaching up to tear the wig from his head.
x x x
"Hello?" Sarah had been about to drive down to the building site, and was just walking through her front door when her cell phone started to ring.
"Um… Miss Bentley?" a male voice asked uncertainly. "This is Bob, the builder."
"Hello, Bob the builder," said Sarah. "Is everything all right?"
"Well, not really," Bob replied. "The police are here. When we arrived to start work a few minutes ago - "
"You were late?"
"Well… maybe a little. But Miss Bentley, I'm calling to tell you that we found a body. A man was murdered down here."
x x x
Jason drove quickly to the house after receiving Sarah's call. He found her sitting on the terrace outside the motel, a Styrofoam cup of coffee held precariously in her shaking hands.
"Sarah!" he exclaimed, running over to sit by her. "What happened?"
"Douglas Bryant – the conservation officer… he was killed, Jason," Sarah replied absently, staring out to the distance. "Stabbed."
"What?" exclaimed Jason, horrified. "Here?"
"Right outside Cabin One."
In less than a second, so many thoughts flooded through Jason's mind. "I haven't heard from Mr. Allsopp in a couple of days," he heard himself saying. And then his so-called Grandmother's chilling voice: "No whore is going to do a cellar conversion on my house! …I spilled something. Your father cleaned it up for me."
"It's not possible…" murmured Jason.
"I don't understand," said Sarah. "Why would anybody kill him? I mean, he was a conservation officer, but… Why was anybody even hanging around here?"
"You h-h-haven't heard f-f-from Mr. Allsopp recently, h-h-have you?"
"No." Sarah looked at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"N-n-no one's seen him, have they?" Jason persisted. "Not for days. Is anyone looking for him?"
"I don't know, Jason. What's the matter with you?"
But Jason wasn't listening. He stood up suddenly and announced, "I have to g-g-go, Sarah. I'm s-s-s-sorry."
"Go?" Sarah stood up and followed him to his car. "Go where?"
He didn't answer. He just apologised again, and then climbed into his car and drove off.
x x x
"How did you get out?"
Mother chuckled softly to herself as Jason charged around the room, eyeing every inch of the wall for a means of escape. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Did you kill Mr. Allsopp too?"
"That estate agent? I might have done. Stop that, Jason. You'll never guess how I escaped."
"That's why Dad came back, isn't it?" demanded Jason. "To cover up what you did! He didn't have time to hide that conservation officer before the builders showed up, but he cleaned up the mess you left after Mr. Allsopp and dumped the body in the swamp!"
Jason hurried over to the window and yanked open the curtains. However he pulled them quickly closed again as Mother yelled, "Stop that! Do you want people to see us? What if somebody guessed what was going on?"
Jason stood with his back to his father for a few moments, trying to catch his breath, for his efforts to discover Norman's means of escape had been frenzied and tiring. Then he turned slowly round, and began pleading with his father once more: "Dad, please. I know you're there – you cleaned up after your mother. Remember?"
"He isn't here, Jason. Why must you hallucinate your father in this room every time you visit? You're the one who should be locked away – not me!"
Scowling, Jason grew angry once again. "You did it for nothing!" he yelled. "Sarah already owns the house!"
"Then I'll kill her too! Where's my knife?"
"The police have it. You left it behind. And killing Sarah won't do any good. If she dies, the house goes to her next of kin. You can't kill everyone in the world until the stupid house passes back to you!"
"Can't I, boy?"
"Of course you can't! And I'm never coming to see you again, Dad – you understand? Not unless someone calls and tells me you're yourself again!"
"I don't think that will happen, Jason."
"Goodbye, Grandmother."
To be continued...