Jason didn't go to see his father again for over a week. He tried not to think about him, which was difficult; Norman was practically alone in that place. However, Jason tried to get on with his life. He decided to call Sarah and make a date with her, and he was getting ready to see her on Friday night when he received a visitor.
Beth still wasn't going out much, so she answered the door, as Jason was in the shower. She expected to find Sarah on the threshold (though she would have been very early), and was therefore surprised when she opened the door to Doctor Leo Richmond. He was an elderly man, perhaps in his eighties, but he was still fairly mobile. The skin on his face creased as he smiled at Beth, and said pleasantly, "Good evening, Elizabeth."
"Did my mother send you?" Beth asked sharply.
"No," said Richmond. "Actually I came to see Jason."
Jason hadn't seen Dr. Richmond since his father's incarceration, following the murder of Connie Bates about six years earlier, and was surprised to see him now. His hair was still wet from the shower when he emerged from the bathroom to find the psychiatrist sipping coffee at the kitchen table.
"H-hello, Doctor," Jason greeted his guest politely, sitting down beside him. "What can I do for you?"
"Well," Richmond smiled disarmingly, "I was just wondering how you were, Jason. I heard about the murder at the motel."
"Oh."
"The police think that was your father's original knife the murderer used, apparently. I wondered what had happened to it."
"I asked D-Dad once what happened to that knife, after he t-told me what he d-did. He s-s-said he thought he left in the cellar after he b-b-burnt down his m-mother's house."
"I see."
"Anyone c-could have gone down there and f-f-f-found it. B-before that," Jason went on, "he had it stashed in a s-secret c-compartment underneath his m-m-mother's wardrobe. I guess he must have l-left it there after he attacked M-Mrs. Spool's c-c-corpse with it, r-right before he got p-put away again. He remembered it was th-th-there, and b-before I was born he tried to kill M-Mom… and m-m-me, I g-guess. You didn't know that, d-d-did you, D-D-D-Doctor?"
"I knew he planned to kill her, partly because she tricked him into making her pregnant, and partly because he was afraid of what you would become if he let the pregnancy go ahead. But when no murder occurred I assumed he changed his mind." Dr. Richmond's eyes narrowed on Jason's face. "You seem nervous."
"You m-mean my, my s-s-s-stutter?" asked Jason, trying desperately to disguise the nervousness he was feeling. If Dr. Richmond guessed that Norman had somehow escaped… "Oh, w-well, I guess it's because I'm w-waiting for a d-d-date."
"That's good," Richmond approved. "I think it might have helped your father, if he'd gone out more. I'm glad that you don't seem to be going down the same road as he did, Jason. I was very concerned about what might happen to you, after you found…"
"I try not to think about that."
"Well… perhaps your father should have stayed locked away for good. When he got old, he was bound to - "
"Dr. Richmond, p-please," Jason interrupted. "I d-don't want to talk about my p-p-parents."
"I think you should talk about them."
"Well, I d-d-d-disagree." Another knock came at the door. "And now I think you should l-l-leave, b-because that'll be my d-d-d-d-…
"Your date?"
"Um… y-yes."
When Jason went to the small entrance hall, he found that Beth had already answered the door to Sarah. On calling to arrange a date, Jason had warned Sarah not to dress up, but she had clearly made some effort as her usual tomboyish jeans and shirt had given way to a fayed denim skirt and a smart leather jacket.
"W-w-wow," stammered Jason. "You look g-g-great."
"Thanks," beamed Sarah. Then, as Dr. Richmond appeared, "Oh, hi."
"I was just leaving," the doctor smiled politely. "Goodbye, Jason. You'll let me know if you have any problems, won't you?"
"Yes," muttered Jason, frowning angrily at Richmond's retreating form. The last thing he wanted right now was for Sarah to think that he had problems.
"Nice getup," Beth remarked dryly, with a false smile.
Sarah missed the sarcasm in her voice. "Thanks," she said. "So, Jason – where do you wanna go?"
Beth practically shoved Jason out into the hallway, and then kicked the door firmly shut behind him with a loud bang.
"Is she all right?" asked Sarah, quietly thinking that Beth hadn't looked at all well.
"I don't know," said Jason. "She's been acting weird all day, but it's probably nothing to worry about. C'mon – I know a great c-club a couple of b-b-blocks away."
Sarah felt a little out of place in the small yet noisy and crowded nightclub to which Jason had brought her. Though she was out with a twenty-one year old, she considered herself a little too old for nightclubs, and it was a few years since she had been in one. Not for some time had she had to shout quite so loud to make herself heard.
"SO!" she yelled in Jason's ear, over the heavy sound of the music, as they sipped cocktails at one of the space age silver round tables. "ARE YOU OK?"
"SHOULDN'T I BE?" Jason shouted back.
"SURE, ONLY – THAT MAN…" – but she caught the look that passed over his features, and finished weakly, "SORRY – IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS."
Jason looked thoughtful, shaking his head, as though battling with some decision. But the music was distracting him. He leaned closer to Sarah and asked, "CAN WE GET OUTTA HERE?"
Sarah nodded, only too happy to go. Admittedly she'd had fun there, but it was impossible to talk. She suggested that they go to the former Bates Motel and take a little walk through the land surrounding the house. It was the quietest place she could think of that was close by. Jason looked surprised, but agreed quite readily.
They took a cab. Throughout the journey, Jason was aware of the uneasy feeling of being followed. While Sarah chattily recounted some tale of shoddy building work on one of her previous developments, he glanced out of the back window. There were quite a few cars behind them – they were still on the main highway. When the cab turned in to the smaller road that led to the motel, Jason couldn't help worrying slightly when another car followed. He thought it looked familiar, but it was dark, and frankly it could have been any old car. He breathed out, finally able to relax, when they lost it not far from the motel.
"Will you wait for us?" Sarah asked the cabbie, before climbing out of the taxi after Jason.
The driver shrugged. "Meter's running," he warned.
"I know," said Sarah. "We won't be long."
"Wow." Jason felt Sarah's hand slip into his as they wandered up the steps to the house. "This place is looking so much better."
"Even in the dark?"
"It has almost all of its walls."
"Yeah – that is an improvement. It's a great house. I'm enjoying this project a lot. The cellar conversion is going to be great. I just need my architect to finish drawing up the plans, and then we can get started."
Jason winced at the mention of the cellar conversion. His father – his grandmother, rather – would hate it. He knew that cellar held a lot of bad memories for Norman. Jason also knew that Mother would hate him being out with Sarah. He had no idea whether the Mother half of Norman's mind would object to him going out on a date, as it had whenever Norman himself felt attracted to a woman. However he knew that she would be furious if she found out he was on a date with the woman who had bought her house, and was changing it so drastically.
Jason still felt uneasy about that feeling he'd had of being followed. In the nightclub too, he had occasionally been gripped with the feeling of being watched. He couldn't help wondering: just how had Norman escaped to commit those two murders?
No, surely not. Surely he was just being paranoid.
"You were asking about that man," he said, as he and Sarah walked slowly to the back of the house. "It was Dr. Richmond – a psychiatrist who worked with my father years ago. He was wrong about me having problems. I don't. Well… not yet, anyway."
"You're as sane as I am," Sarah said bracingly. "I'm sorry about what happened with your father, Jason."
"You don't know the half of it."
"How is he?"
"Bad."
"I'm sorry."
"I don't think Richmond helped him very much," Jason went on. "I never really liked the guy. Richmond, I mean – not my dad. He came to see me straight away when he heard what… when he found out I was having counselling. He didn't have any idea what he was talking about – he sure as hell didn't help me. My dad's problems… they were all to do with his mother. I'm sure Richmond thinks they used to have sex."
"What – your dad and his mother?" asked Sarah.
"Yeah. They didn't, though. I'm sure of that. Richmond says my father always denied it, and I don't think he'd lie."
It came as a relief to Jason when he realised that he hadn't stuttered once since leaving the cab. He was really learning to relax around Sarah. He was telling her things that he had only ever confided to Beth, as his closest friend and someone with similar problems to his. He wondered how soon he would feel ready to tell Sarah everything.
Sarah thought it was a beautiful night, particularly where they were, out of the city. She would have liked it to continue, but she was mindful of the waiting cab. She squeezed Jason's hand and said gently, "Meter's running, remember. We should go."
"Right," said Jason, who was only too glad to leave, for once again he had that strange, unnerving feeling that they were being watched.
x x x
"So." Jason gazed up at the impressive two-storey house. "This is how property developers live."
Sarah smiled. "Only the really successful ones."
"Is it just you here?"
"Yeah. Just me. It, um… it can get pretty lonely sometimes."
Jason saw that she was gazing longingly at him from under her eyelashes. He felt his heart rate accelerate and his cheeks colour. He caught his breath sharply as Sarah leaned in and kissed him. It was incredibly nerve-racking. He had never been kissed before, nor initiated a kiss, he had been so afraid of what might happen.
"I'm s-s-sorry," he stuttered, when Sarah pulled away. "I've n-n-never…"
"It's all right, Jason."
He didn't know what to say.
"Would you like me to come in?"
"D-do you w-w-w-w-want me t-t-t-t-to?"
"Yeah," Sarah smiled suggestively. "I do."
Jason, his heart pounding, followed her into the house. He was relieved when she seemed to want to take things slowly. She offered him a seat on the sofa and a cup of coffee, both of which he accepted. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned minutes later with two coffees, one of which she handed to Jason. She then sat down and cuddled up next to him.
"I had a really good time tonight," she murmured.
"M-m-me too," said Jason, wishing he could feel as relaxed as she sounded.
"I'm really enjoying working on your house. Well, my house. It must have been a really lovely place once."
"It p-p-p-p-probably was f-f-for a while."
"The motel is newer than the house, isn't it? When was the motel built?"
"I d-don't know." Jason wrinkled his nose. "I'm a bit conf-f-fused about that, to be honest with you. Mom always said that Dad told her he and his mother struggled to run the motel after his father died. And you remember that hole in the w-wall? Now that I think about it, Dr. Richmond once said something about his father – Dad's father, not Dr. Richmond's father – making holes in the walls."
"It can't have been that much newer, then," said Sarah.
"But," Jason went on, "Dad always told me that his mother's boyfriend persuaded her to build the motel after her husband died. If you follow."
"Oh."
"Well, my father is very confused. He can't even remember whether stuff happened when he was twelve or sixteen. You make a mean cup of coffee, by the way."
"Thanks." There was a short pause. "Would you, um…?"
"Would I what?"
"Would you like to see the en-suite wet room I had installed in my bedroom?"
"Wet room?" Jason pulled a face. "What's a wet room?"
A wet room, Jason soon discovered, was basically a giant shower unit contained within one fairly sizeable room. There was no toilet; Jason supposed that one just did one's business while the shower was running and let it drain away with the water, but he didn't like to ask.
"Would you like to, um…?" Sarah began nervously. "Would you like to take a shower, Jason?"
Jason looked blank.
"With me."
"Oh!" His eyes widened. "W-w-w-w-well, I, I…"
"It's ok," Sarah said hastily. "I'm not going to ask you to do anything you don't want to. Maybe I'm being a bit forward but I… I just really want to."
"I d-d-do t-t-t-t-t-t-too," Jason confessed. "I'm s-s-s-s-s-sorry, I'm j-just really n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n…" – he took a deep breath, and started again: "I'm really nervous."
"It's ok," Sarah said soothingly. "We'll just… take it slow."
She started to kiss him seductively, and Jason began to feel more nervous than he had ever thought possible. In spite of her promise to take it slowly, she very quickly had him stripped to the waist, and was making a pretty fast job of getting out of her own clothes. Jason was so nervous he couldn't speak, even though he rather needed to. He pulled his head away and took a deep breath, knowing that he was almost certainly about to stutter more severely than he ever had in his life.
"What's wrong?" Sarah asked anxiously.
"I n-n-need to use the t-t-t-toilet. You d-do have one…?"
Sarah laughed. "Of course I have one. If you go out of the bedroom, there's a family bathroom just on the right."
Jason cocked an eyebrow. "A f-family bathroom, huh?"
"It's a property developer expression."
Jason found the bathroom easily enough, and did what he had to do. He thought he heard movement outside, but quickly dismissed the notion, putting it down to nerves. Who would be wandering around Sarah's house at this time of night? As he flushed the toilet he heard the sound of the shower running in the wet room, and assumed that Sarah must have slipped out of the dregs of her clothes.
Taking a deep breath, he wandered over to the mirror at the basin and looked at himself, and found himself wondering why she wanted him quite so badly. He didn't consider himself handsome. He had boyish features framed by a mop of untidy, equally boyish dark hair, much like his father had in his youth, according to his police profile pictures (living like a hermit with his mother's corpse in his twenties, there hadn't been much opportunity for any other kind of photographs to be taken). Perhaps Sarah thought he was cute. Perhaps he appealed to her maternal instincts. She was significantly older than he was, after all.
The train of thought was cut short when he heard a shrill scream coming from the wet room. All sorts of terrible thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant: they really had been followed; Norman had escaped, and Mother had been watching them the whole time; she had followed them to Sarah's house and was now parodying the murder of Marion Crane in nineteen sixty…
Jason shot from the room and flung open the door to the wet room. His guess was close, but not quite correct; it was not Norman in a dress that Sarah was currently trying to hold at bay underneath the running water. Rather it appeared to be a slight woman with a nasty looking meat cleaver in her hand.
Jason leapt forward and grabbed the smaller woman's wrists. It was fairly easy to overpower her, but he was forced to retreat when she started trying to hack his fingers off with her meat cleaver. Sarah, however, had already made her escape, and quickly returned with a fairly small sledgehammer. As the attacker turned to make another attempt, Sarah swung the handle of the hammer onto the side of her head. She knew that using the head would certainly be more effective, but more than likely a little too effective. However a hard blow with the handle was evidently enough to knock this woman out.
"Oh m-m-my G-G-God!" exclaimed Jason. "S-S-Sarah! Why do you have a s-sledgehammer in your b-b-b-bedroom?"
Sarah had dropped her weapon and was now hastily wrapping a towel around herself. "It's for knocking down walls," she said defensively.
Jason shook his head incredulously. "What the…?"
"Jason!" said Sarah, seeing clearly her attacker's face for the first time as she lay on the floor of the wet room, the water still running. "Isn't that…?"
Jason nodded grimly. "Beth."
x x x
Judith Wells ran into the police station in the middle of the night exclaiming, "Where's my daughter? I want to see my daughter!"
Fortunately Jason was waiting near the front desk. He approached Judith and said soothingly, "Calm down. She's in a cell right now."
"A cell?" shrieked Judith.
"She was a little crazy, Judith. She tried to kill Sarah in the shower."
"No! She wouldn't!"
"Judith," said Jason. "She had a meat cleaver."
"Oh God," said Judith.
"Perhaps you'd better sit down."
"No, no, I'm fine. Oh God. I never thought she'd do anything like this, Jason. I was worried about her state of mind, but not even her father was ever that sick!"
"I'm sure she'll be fine," Jason said weakly. "She just went a little mad. We all go a little mad sometimes."
"Ha! Not that mad."
"Well. Some people do."
"I know, I know." Judith shook her head despairingly. "It's terrible, Jason. Just terrible. I should never have married him. At least I never should have had a child with him."
"Oh, look, you weren't to know…"
"Well. He told me before I married him that he had a history of mental illness. Of course, it wasn't until after he died that his parents told me… I couldn't know this would happen to Beth, though. It wasn't until she was a teenager that I knew just how bad it was for Andrew. You should have seen him at the end, Jason. He was a gibbering maniac." Judith sniffed, blinking back tears. "Why did she try to kill your girlfriend anyway?"
At that moment, a door flew open and Ralph West, the local sheriff, emerged with Sarah, who had just given her statement.
"Sarah, hi, are you all right?" asked Jason, going over and embracing her.
"I'm fine," said Sarah. "Absolutely fine. Don't worry about me."
"Sheriff," said Jason, keeping one arm around Sarah's shoulders. "This is Judith Wells, Beth's mother."
"Oh, you're here already," West said in surprise. "Well, we're going to start questioning your daughter in the morning. Mr. Bates and Miss Bentley have told us their side of the story already, and I gotta admit it doesn't look good for Beth. We'll also be questioning her in connection with the disappearance of Philip Allsopp and the murder of Douglas Bryant."
Jason caught his breath sharply just as Judith said, "Who?"
"The estate agent and the conservation officer," offered Sarah.
"Funny thing," said the sheriff, stifling a chuckle. "Some of the builders we talked to said they thought you looked like you wanted to kill the conservation officer, Miss Bentley. You don't like conservation officers very much, do you? I think they were joking, though. But Jason, there were some people really did think that you might have… well, you know…"
"Me?" Jason frowned. "Why the hell would I kill an estate agent and a conservation officer? I was desperate to get that house of my hands."
"Well, yes," West said smilingly. "But with what's happened in your family, there always have been folks who thought maybe you'd… Well, the last sheriff liked your father, Jason, and he felt terrible when he had to arrest him for all those murders in 'eighty-two. And he said to me: 'One day I'll be hauling in that boy of his too – just you wait.'"
Jason's frown deepened. "I didn't kill anyone."
"No, no, of course you didn't. I mean, if we had any actual evidence you'd have been brought in for questioning a long time ago."
"Excuse me, Sheriff," Judith cut in. "Are you suggesting that my daughter killed those men?"
"It's possible, ma'am."
"Why? What on earth would she have against an estate agent and a conservation officer? What is a conservation officer anyway?"
"Excuse me," Jason said timidly. "May we go now?"
"Of course you can," said the sheriff. "We may be in touch if we need anything else, and we'll let you know what's happening."
Sarah and Jason walked out of the police station and into the night, still holding onto each other.
"You're shaking," remarked Sarah, once they were outside. "Are you still feeling freaked out?"
Jason shrugged. "Not inordinately. What about you? Will you be ok?"
"I told you, I'm fine. I don't really feel like going home, though."
"You can stay at my place. Well, there isn't a lot of room… but I guess Beth's room is free tonight…"
"It's ok," said Sarah. "I thought I'd just stay at the motel."
"The motel?" echoed Jason, his voice rising in alarm. "Are you sure?"
"Why not?"
"W-well, I…" – he didn't really want to tell her that he was afraid of the possibility of his father finding her there. He knew Beth hadn't committed the previous two murders, and he knew that Mother hated Sarah more than any estate agent or conservation officer. "People have died spending the night there, you know."
"Not recently they haven't. There's no danger there now – don't be such a panic merchant."
"Well, yes, you're r-right, but… well, it's sort of cold and creepy alone at night, especially with that half-finished house looking down on you. I'd imagine."
"Are you offering to spend the night with me?" asked Sarah.
"I think… perhaps… I'd better," Jason said slowly.
"Great." Sarah squeezed his waist. "We can pick up where we left off."
"You s-s-still w-w-want to?"
"Don't you?"
"I'm not s-s-s-sure."
"Well. Let's just see how you feel when we get there."
x x x
Jason filled the sink and splashed the water over his face a few times, hoping it would encourage him to wake up. He and Sarah had spent the night in Cabin Ten. Sarah had said she was happy to sleep in separate rooms if he'd rather, but – besides there being no other source of heating except each other's bodies – he had wanted to keep an eye on her. In fact, he had hardly slept all night. His father had as much as admitted to killing Allsopp and Bryant, and if Mother should happen to find Jason in her motel with the very woman who was bastardising her house…
He surveyed himself in the mirror above the basin, looking into his own boyish big blue eyes in utter disbelief. Last month, last week, even yesterday, he wouldn't have believed that he'd ever have the courage to spend the night there.
The door to the bathroom clicked open and Jason jumped a foot in the air, terrified it might be his father. He relaxed, however, when he saw Sarah in the mirror. She caught his eye and smiled, and then walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"See?" she said, nuzzling his shoulder. "Nothing bad happened."
"No."
"Are you ok?"
"I just can't believe I spent the night here."
"I think you're a lot braver than you realise."
"Yeah, well." Jason turned round and put his arms around her. "We should have brought toothbrushes and a razor and stuff, shouldn't we? And food. I'm starving."
"Me too. Isn't there a diner or something not far from here?"
Jason winced visibly.
"Don't tell me stuff happened at the diner too."
"Some stuff happened at the diner. My father worked there for a while after he was released from the institution, and he was driven mad again by a couple of people. Three, actually. One of them was his aunt. She'd come straight from the asylum too. They must have some sort of care in the community scheme or something going on."
"You mean we'd be served by a load of mad people?"
"Possibly. I've never been there before. My dad used to avoid it because everybody knew his history, but I guess there's no reason I shouldn't go there. No one would even know me."
"Ok then," Sarah smiled encouragingly. "Let's go."
Sarah drove them to the diner, and it transpired that Jason was quite wrong about not being recognised. A couple of people he knew from Fairvale were in there for some reason, sitting at the counter with a curly-haired woman who looked to be in her fifties. They waved, and one of them called out, "Hi, Jason!"
"Hi," Jason responded weakly, slipping into a seat behind one of the tables.
"Are you ok?" asked Sarah, sitting down opposite him.
"Everyone's looking at me."
Sarah glanced over her shoulder. He was right. Everyone was looking at him.
"Those guys must have told them who I am."
"Look, don't worry about them. I'll go order. What would you like to eat?"
"Oh… I don't know."
"I'll get you a sandwich or something."
"Thank you, Sarah."
Almost as soon as Sarah had left the table, the curly-haired woman from the counter was in her seat.
"Jason Bates?" she said. "I'm Tracy Venable."
"Um, hi," Jason said awkwardly.
"I knew your father."
"Yes, your name does sound familiar."
"I'm an investigative reporter."
"Oh yes, that's right," said Jason. "You wrote an unkind article about him at one point, didn't you?"
"A lot of journalists did that, Mr. Bates," Tracy smiled disarmingly.
"Jason."
"Mine was in nineteen eighty-two. You know – after he murdered Emma Spool, stuffed her corpse and pretended it was his mother?"
"Not to be rude or anything, Ms. Venable, but what do you want?"
"I want to talk to you about the recent murders in Fairvale."
Jason scowled. "You think I did it, don't you?"
"No, no, not at all," Tracy said hastily. Then, "Well, I admit it did cross my mind when I learned that Norman had a son. But equally – or more likely, even – it could have been a copycat killer. People are fascinated by the story of Norman Bates, you know, and those two murders were just like most of his."
"What could I possibly tell you?" Jason asked warily.
"Well," said Tracy, "I don't expect you to know anything about these latest murders. Well, not necessarily. But perhaps you could give me some background about your father. I never had any dealings with him after he was put away for the second time. We were told he'd never be let out, but… well, he killed your mother, didn't he? I read that he became his mother again and killed his wife. That must have been very difficult for you."
At that moment Sarah returned, and Jason slid over on his seat to make room for her. She looked at Tracy, expecting an introduction; however Tracy ignored her and ploughed on: "What about you? How did your father treat you? Was he ever abusive? Did he ever dress up when you were around?"
"Excuse me," Sarah jumped in. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but Jason and I are trying to have a nice quiet breakfast together, so do you think you could piss off please?"
"Is this your lady friend?" asked Tracy, undeterred. "Were you at all apprehensive about getting involved with Norman Bates' son, Miss? I mean, when you consider his family history…"
"Piss off," Sarah said again.
Tracy Venable didn't look like she had any intention of going anywhere. She didn't turn round when the door to the diner swung open, but looked up with mild interest when the sheriff approached the table and said bracingly, "Good morning, Miss Bentley. How are you feeling?"
"All right," said Sarah.
"Are you sure?" pressed the sheriff. "Because we can organise for you to see a victim support counsellor."
"I'm fine," Sarah said irritably.
"What's this about?" asked Tracy.
"Nothing," said Sarah.
"Miss Bentley was attacked last night by a young woman with a meat cleaver," said the sheriff.
Tracy raised her eyebrows. "Really? A meat cleaver? It probably wasn't the same murderer as those property people, then…"
"Well, it might be," the sheriff replied chattily. "After the second murder the weapon was found by police, so the killer would have to use a different one."
"Indeed," said Tracy. She looked significantly at Jason. "The previous victims both had something to do with the Bates place, didn't they?"
"That's right," said the sheriff. "And Miss Bentley here owns the place now, which is why we think there's a connection."
Tracy smiled enigmatically at Sarah. "Really?" she said airily.
"Sheriff!" exclaimed Sarah. "You can't just tell people this kind of stuff!"
"And who's the suspect?" asked Tracy.
"Well," the sheriff began, "she - "
"Sheriff!" Sarah said again. "You're being very unprofessional here, you know. I'm almost tempted to make a complaint and have you suspended from duty."
"Um, well," the sheriff back-pedalled hastily. "I am not at liberty to divulge that information, Mrs. um…"
"Miss. Venable. Well then." She flashed Jason and Sarah a synthetic smile. "I'll be off, then. Thank you for your help."
"Well done," Sarah said sarcastically to the sheriff, once Tracy had shot out of the diner like lightning. "She's a journalist. She's going to go straight to the police station and get someone else to tell her who the suspect is. And then she'll find out she's a friend of Jason's, and… God, you are such an idiot!"
"Sarah." Jason put a calming hand on her arm. "It's ok."
"It is not ok, Jason!" Sarah turned to face him, and the sheriff took the opportunity to slope away. "You don't want that kind of libel all over the papers!"
"I'm used to my family being in the papers. It'll be in the papers whether she writes it or not. And we can't stop her from finding out anything – she might as well hear it from the sheriff as anyone else."
"Well I still say he's being unprofessional. He's breaking confidentiality. It's a breach of human rights. He and all the other police should figure out exactly what they can and can't say, and then they should wait for the press conference."
"Sarah," Jason said soothingly. "I don't mind. If I don't mind, you don't need to get worked up about it."
Sarah sighed deeply. "But you do mind. I saw the way you looked when she was asking you about your father."
"Yeah, well," said Jason. "I didn't tell her anything. She can't put very much about him in the papers."
x x x
Judith Wells, after a long night of hanging around the police station, was finally allowed to see her daughter. Hunched in the corner of her cell, Beth looked small and vulnerable to her mother.
"What ever were you thinking, Beth?" Judith asked despairingly.
Beth sniffed. "I don't know."
"Why did you do it?"
"I didn't mean to, Mom! Only Jason seemed so keen on her, and… and he always said he wouldn't be my boyfriend because he was afraid of the illness but then she, she… It must just have been an excuse! He just isn't interested!"
Judith raised her eyebrows. "You were jealous."
"Well, that's one way of putting it."
"Beth, for pity's sake…"
"But I love him, Mother!" wailed Beth. "It isn't fair! He let me think there might be a chance for us, but he was lying to me all along!"
"Well that's hardly the girl's fault," Judith pointed out.
Beth hung her head. "I know."
"Now then Beth, I've been told that they're going to get a psychiatrist to talk to you. They seem to think you're mad."
Beth sighed. "I am mad, Mother. I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't mad."
"Well, at least you didn't dress up as your father before you did it or anything like that."
"What's going to happen to me, Mom?"
"You'll probably be institutionalised, dear."
Beth scowled. "Great."
"Well, I told you to go to a doctor when you had the chance, didn't I! I said you weren't right in the head!"
"All right, all right, there's no need to rub it in!"
Judith took a deep breath, and then said calmly, "The sheriff has said I can go and get a few things from your place. A change of clothes and a toothbrush, stuff like that. Is there anything special you'd like?"
Beth shook her head.
"I'll be back soon, dear."
Beth said nothing, so Judith simply left, and no sooner was she outside the police station than a curly-haired middle-aged woman was standing in her path.
"Mrs. Wells, isn't it?" the woman said brightly. "I'm Gretchen Venables. I'm a support counsellor."
"You're a what?"
"A support counsellor. For the family members of criminally insane people. The sheriff thought you might like somebody to talk to, and gave me a call."
"I saw you in the station when I arrived, didn't I? You were pestering somebody at the front desk."
"I wasn't pestering anybody, Mrs. Wells – I was just signing in. And then I was asked to wait out here until you had seen your daughter."
"Look," said Judith, "I don't know…"
"It's up to you, of course," the supposed support counsellor said. "But if you don't mind my saying so, you look as if you could use someone to talk to. And who else is going to listen? Your only child is locked up, facing a charge of attempted murder and two charges of murder one; your husband is dead; from what I hear you don't really have any friends…"
"Yes, well," Judith said awkwardly. "You're very blunt, aren't you?"
"I find it's much the best way of getting to the root of people's problems, Mrs. Wells."
"Yes, well, I'll think about it. At any rate I can't talk now – I'm going to Beth's apartment to pick up some things for her."
"Great! I'll go with you. I mean, you might find it very difficult going through your daughter's personal belongings. It should help you to have a trained professional close by."
x x x
"Where have you been?" demanded Mother.
"I've been busy, Dad."
"Do not call me that! You are utterly insane, boy. You should be the one locked up in here, not me!"
"How are you feeling?" asked Jason. "How's your bells palsy these days? Can you move the left hand side of your face at all?"
"You haven't answered my question, boy. Where have you been?"
"I told you, I've been busy."
"Oh yes? Doing what? Helping that whore to gut my house?"
"The house is nothing to do with me anymore."
"And the property developer? She's still plenty to do with you, isn't she! You spent the night with her, didn't you! You and she played hide the sausage, didn't you! DIDN'T YOU!"
"D-D-Dad, please!"
"GRANDMOTHER!"
"G-Grandmother, please! I, I, I…"
"Ha! I knew it! Where was it? It wasn't in my house, was it? You didn't screw your filthy whore in my house, did you?"
"Grandmother, please, language," muttered Jason.
"I shall say whatever I like to my own grandson! Answer me! Did you do it in my house?"
"No."
"You're as bad as your father," said Mother. "He couldn't keep his fly zipped either. I've half a mind to put you in a dress and lock you in the cupboard! That would teach you! Now you're going to forget once and for all about that filthy thing of yours, you hear? You are never to do that again!"
"I'm twenty-one," bristled Jason.
"So? You aren't married, are you?"
"You weren't married to your boyfriend and you still slept with him," said Jason, and instantly regretted it. He didn't like encouraging his father to believe that he really was Norma Bates.
"Insolent boy! We are talking about you, not me! And I am telling you never to see that property developer again!"
"You're just a crazy old man!" fumed Jason. "You can't tell me what to do!"
"Kill her."
"No!"
"Then I'll kill her."
"No you damn well won't! You stay away from her! You hear me, Norma? YOU STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HER!"
x x x
Tracy Venable, alias Gretchen the support counsellor, nodded along to Judith's tale of woe:
"I blame myself. I should have recognised the signs. My husband… well, he was never criminally insane like Beth is. But his mother…"
They were in Judith's house now, where she had lived alone ever since her husband killed himself the previous year.
Tracy raised her eyebrows. "His mother?"
"His birth mother, I mean. She was a murderer. My parents-in-law told me that, after Andrew killed himself. They never told him. Well, you wouldn't, would you?"
"Never mind all that." Tracy flapped her hand around dismissively. "Who was his mother?"
"I don't know."
"Did your husband know?"
"I don't know. Perhaps. Probably. Just before he killed himself, he'd been trying to find her. He received a letter from the adoption agency on the morning it happened. When he killed himself, I mean. I never saw the letter."
"Did you ever try to find it?"
"Of course I did."
"Would you mind if I had a look around for it?"
Judith looked at her sharply. "Why?"
"Oh," Tracy said casually. "No special reason."
x x x
"Come on." Sarah dragged Jason into the house by his wrist. "It's looking really good. I just have to get the cellar conversion done and install the heating in the attic, and then it'll be finished!"
"Great," said Jason, smiling benevolently. "How much are you hoping to sell it for?"
"Well, I don't know." She turned left, and took him into the large living room. "It's hard to say. It's a brand new big refurbished house that comes with a potentially profitable motel, but the location is terrible. I was thinking somewhere between three and four hundred – maybe four-fifty, if I'm lucky."
"Thousand? Wow. You'll make a big profit, won't you?"
"Should do," said Sarah. "I've put a lot of money into it – the cellar conversion alone is going to cost me two thousand dollars. But it should add five thousand to the value of the property. So what do you think?"
"It looks… better."
"It was burnt to a crisp, Jason, – I should damn well think it does!"
"I'm sorry," said Jason. "It's lovely, really. It's just that everything's a bit white and wood and boring."
"Well," said Sarah, "it's foolish to alienate buyers by decorating the house to your own tastes. Everything is neutral so as not to put anybody off, and then when they move in they can do whatever the hell they want with the place. I've just put a few bits of furniture here and there to demonstrate how the rooms can be used – it doesn't need to be fancy."
"Oh come on, is that really necessary?" asked Jason, raising dubious eyebrows. "Don't people have any imagination?"
"Some, possibly," Sarah said airily, "but people are so damn lazy, some of them just won't buy a house if they have to go to the trouble of figuring out for themselves how to fit their furniture in. Come on – I'll show you my family kitchen/breakfast room. Look!" as she led him through to the kitchen. "After Douglas Bryant was murdered I had to get a new conservation officer round here, and he let me put in French doors!"
"That's really nice," remarked Jason. "You could sit round the table and have a nice family meal, and in the summer you can open the French doors and look out onto all that nice countryside."
"Exactly. Would you like to see upstairs? You've never been upstairs before, have you?"
"Not since I was a foetus, and then the stairs fell in because of the fire on the very same day."
"Right then – let's go."
Though Sarah seemed too excited about her French doors to notice, Jason was feeling extremely uneasy. Sarah didn't know all of the terrible things that had happened in that house, of course: first the double murder of Norma Bates and her lover; then the murder of a slutty teenage girl, and Arbogast the private investigator… one of Norman's numerous psychiatrists… a nun, as Jason recalled, though Norman had always insisted that was an accident. And Jason knew at least two other people had killed in that house – his own great-aunt and the niece of one of Norman's victims – shortly after Norman was first declared sane. And that niece of a victim was shot dead by police. Even knowing all that, Jason thought he probably hadn't even been told about all of the awful goings on in that house. There were just too many to list.
"Here's the smaller bedroom," announced Sarah, taking Jason to the back of the house. "Not much to see in here. I just rebuilt the walls, really."
"My dad's room," said Jason.
"Yeah, well, it's a big house for just two bedrooms," said Sarah. "That's why I want to put an extra one in the attic, so people can have more than one kid here."
"Good idea." He wandered out into the hallway, and stopped in front of a door that was slightly ajar. "So this must be the, um, the…"
"The bathroom."
"Yeah."
"Go ahead in. We had to take the old bath out to the skip because it was all burnt. It had the shower attached, but there's enough room in here for a separate shower unit. People love that. I had one installed – should add value."
"You like money, don't you?"
"Not especially. I just don't see the point in throwing it away. Come on." She grabbed his wrist again. "Let me show you the piece de resistance."
"This was my grandmother's room," Jason said absently, when they returned to the room on the left at the top of the stairs. "This is where he… where she died."
"I'm told the fire was started in this room," said Sarah.
Jason nodded. "Sounds about right."
Gazing around the infamous room in awe, Jason knew it wouldn't have looked much like this when his father used to keep his mother's corpse in it. It was bare but for a large double bed, two oversized wardrobes and a couple of armchairs in the corner. The walls and the curtains were white, and Jason was faintly surprised to see that there was no carpet.
"No carpet," said Jason. "I don't think I'd want a bedroom with no carpet."
"Oh, people hate carpets nowadays," Sarah said airily. "It's all solid wood flooring and white leather sofas and funky radiators. See that radiator?"
"That's a radiator?" Jason's eyes followed her pointing finger to a tall, thin, twisty metal device in one corner of the room. "If my father could see this place now he'd go even madder."
"This is such a big room – I hardly knew how to dress it to make it look full," said Sarah. "What would people do with all this space? I was very surprised when I found out this room had an en-suite bathroom. I didn't think they even had en-suites when this place was built. And you wouldn't think there was room back here, would you, looking at the outside of the house. But nevertheless…"
She pushed open a small door and stepped aside, inviting Jason to look inside. He stepped through the doorway, and couldn't help smiling.
"A wet room," he said.
"Yep," said Sarah. "Isn't it cool?"
"You weren't put off by the Beth incident, then."
"Not at all." She followed him into the wet room and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Do you want to try out the shower?"
"I, um…"
"Come on, Jason – there's no need to be shy. I've seen it all before."
"Isn't there a d-danger some builders might turn up or s-s-something?"
"No, they're not coming until this afternoon. Come on – do me!"
Jason tensed as Sarah started to kiss him. He thought guiltily of his father, sitting alone in the dark, completely convinced that he was his own mother. He… she… would be furious. Jason Bates, making love to the woman who had done all of this to his grandmother's precious house, in her own room…
Well, it was close enough to her room anyway, and it stirred something inside Jason. He pushed Sarah away with some force, exclaiming, "No! S-Sarah… I'm sorry… I just can't." He caught sight of her hurt and puzzled expression. "N-n-not here," he said more gently. "I'm sorry."
"Jason, are you all right? You seem…"
"What?"
"Weird."
"God, Sarah, for a minute there I almost wanted to… I think I need to leave."
"All right."
She took his arm and led him out of the room, down the stairs and through the front door. Once outside, Jason started down the concrete steps that led to the motel, gasping for breath.
"Jason!" called Sarah, running to catch up with him. "What's the matter with you?"
"I'm sorry," panted Jason, skidding to a halt somewhere between the house and the motel. "I don't know what came over me back there. I really scared myself."
"Oh," said Sarah. "I thought maybe you were having an asthma attack or something."
"It's that house…"
"I'm sorry." She slipped an arm around his waist and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly with her free hand. "I shouldn't have brought you here."
"Don't apologise," said Jason. "It's hardly your fault. I should be able to handle it. I've never even been up there before."
"Not since you were a foetus."
"Exactly. Jesus, maybe I really am going mad."
"You aren't mad, Jason," said Sarah. "You're wonderful."
To be continued...