"Hello." Tracy Venable smiled benevolently at the young man at the front desk. "I wonder if you can help us. My name is Gretchen Venables, and this is Judith Wells."

Judith smiled weakly.

"She's the widow of Andrew Wells," Tracy went on. "Andrew Wells killed himself shortly after receiving a letter from the authority overseeing his adoption as a baby, and we know it must have had something to do with this place because Andrew's birth mother was in this asylum when he was born."

"Right," said the young man. "I'm with you so far."

"Well," Tracy said impatiently, "we need to know who his mother was."

"Oh, I don't know…"

"She's the man's widow! Surely she has a right to know!"

"I don't see why. How do you know his mother was in here when she gave birth to him anyway?"

"His adoptive parents told his wife shortly after Andrew killed himself," said Tracy.

"Who the hell told them?"

"How should I know?"

"Adoption laws around here are crazy. If you ask me, when you adopt a baby you shouldn't be told anything about its biological parents. Imagine being told you're being given the baby of a mental patient…"

"My parents-in-law told me," said Judith, "that they were warned Andrew might be predisposed to mental illness. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

The young man shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

"Nobody bothered to tell me, of course, before I had a child with him…"

"Look," Tracy cut in. "The woman's husband killed himself because of what he found out about his mother. Doesn't she have a right to know what drove her husband to suicide?"

The young man sighed deeply. "Just wait a minute while I call my boss." He picked up the phone on his desk, muttering audibly, "Shouldn't have to deal with this kind of shit… not in my job description…"

x x x

Sarah drove Jason to her big house out of Fairvale and made love to him in her master suite with spectacular views and adjoining wet room. Jason still seemed to get nervous when they made love, but then again he seemed nervous most of the time.

"Are you feeling better now?" asked Sarah.

"Mhm," Jason smiled serenely, lying with his head on her chest while she stroked his hair, listening to her slowing heart. "Look, I'm sorry about…"

"Let's not talk about that now, baby."

"Ok."

"Ugh," said Sarah, as she glanced at the clock by her bed. "I'd like to stay here all day, but I really should go and check on my cellar conversion."

"Should the builders be there yet?"

"In ten minutes, which means they'll probably get there in about an hour, so I guess we've still got a little time."

Almost as soon as she finished speaking, the high-pitched, lingering sound of a doorbell filled the whole house.

"Goddamn it!" exclaimed Sarah. "Who the hell is that?"

"Maybe you'd better go answer it."

"Maybe I better not."

She lay there obstinately, the mood well and truly killed, until the bell sounded again.

"Jesus Christ!" yelled Sarah, jumping out of bed as though she had received an electric shock. "Can't people take a hint?"

She pulled on all of her clothes in about five seconds, and then stormed out of the room. Jason, thinking of the possibility that the visitor might be Sarah's mother or somebody, slid out of bed and climbed into his clothes at a more leisurely pace. As he was fastening the belt around his jeans, he heard a vaguely familiar voice coming from downstairs:

"Do you know where Jason is?"

"He doesn't want to see you. How the hell did you get my address anyway?"

Jason started down the stairs.

"Miss Bentley, please, I've found out something that he really should know."

"He doesn't want to see you."

"Look, it's very important, and surely it's his decision whether or not he - "

"He doesn't want to see you and he doesn't want to listen to any of your stupid shit, you nosy interfering - "

"Sarah." Jason approached, and placed a calming hand on Sarah's arm. "It's ok. I'll talk to her."

"Oh, you're here," Tracy said in surprise. "I've been looking all over Fairvale for you. Am I… interrupting something?"

"Yes," Sarah said curtly.

"Look, don't worry about it," said Jason. "What's this about, Ms. Venable?"

"It's partly about you," said Tracy, "and partly about your friend Beth. I fully intend to write this information into my article. Now, wouldn't you rather hear it from me than read about it in the paper?"

Jason sighed. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I would. We'd better go to my apartment."

"Stay here," Sarah said grudgingly, "if you want to. It sounds like the sort of thing you wouldn't want your roommates overhearing."

"Are you sure?" asked Jason.

"Yeah, yeah, no skin off my nose. I'm just going to nip to the bathroom, and then I'll go check on my cellar conversion."

Sarah disappeared upstairs, and Jason led Tracy through to the large kitchen/breakfast room at the back of the house with French doors onto the patio.

"You and she really are an item, then?" asked Tracy, as they sat down at the table.

"Why would you assume that?"

"Well… you both look a bit… dishevelled."

"Right," said Sarah, marching into the kitchen. "I'm going. Here's a key, Jase – will you lock up when you're done? Thanks." She stooped to give him a long, sloppy kiss goodbye. "And don't give that evil bitch any of my food."

"Well," Tracy said dryly, as Sarah closed the front door behind her. "Isn't she just charming?"

"What did you want to tell me?" asked Jason.

"Well," said Tracy. "How much do you know about your father?"

"I don't know. A lot. Maybe all of it."

"Tell me."

Jason looked suspicious. "Why should I?"

"I already know everything he did, Jason. There's nothing you can tell me about your family I don't already know. For example, do you know what he did to Emma Spool?"

"Yes," said Jason.

"I suppose you know she was a waitress working at the diner when your father came out of the asylum and took a job there. She was Norma Bates' sister. Did you know that?"

"I know all about Emma Spool. While the sister and niece of one of my father's victims were trying to drive Dad crazy again, Emma Spool exacerbated matters by hanging around the house, killing some people – three, I think – and then calling my dad to tell him she was his real mother. So then when she went to the house to see him, Dad gave her a cup of tea, hit her over the head with a big shovel, stuffed her corpse and did all the usual stuff with it."

"That's right," Tracy confirmed. "He dressed up as his mother and tried to kill me, right before he was recommitted."

"Dad didn't only dress up to kill people, you know," said Jason.

"He didn't?"

"Not at all. People seem to think he did, but he didn't. He dressed up as his mother all the time just to do all the mundane things, like eating and doing housework and stuff – all the things the corpse couldn't do. Before Marion Crane he hadn't killed anybody for years – not since those two girls when he was a teenager – but he dressed up every day. You see?"

"Yes," Tracy said uncertainly, catching a dark look in his eye. "Yes, I see."

"So anyway." Jason visibly relaxed. "That was you, was it? He told me he was in the middle of trying to kill some reporter when he learned that Emma Spool wasn't really his mother at all."

"Yes, that was me. I told him that Mrs. Spool – well, she was Miss Spool really, apparently – but anyway she wasn't his mother; she just liked to pretend she was. I told Norman that Emma Spool was in love with his father, and when Norman was little she kidnapped him and killed his father in a jealous rage."

"She did?" asked Jason.

"Ah, you didn't know that, did you?" Tracy smiled smugly.

"Dad always said his father was killed by bees."

"Yes, he was. Emma Spool shoved his face into a honeycomb."

Jason blinked. "You are kidding."

"Come on, Jason, I wouldn't joke about this."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

Tracy shook her head. "No, no, there's more. The first time I investigated Emma Spool, I missed something. She didn't actually concoct the fantasy about being Norman's mother until after she was put away. She had a baby in the asylum, which was taken away from her and adopted by another couple."

"Emma Spool had a baby? Who was the father?"

"No one knows. They say at the asylum that it almost certainly wasn't your grandfather, though – they think she got pregnant after she was committed."

"She must have been screwing a counsellor or something."

"Yes, well, anyway, after her son was taken away from her, she made up this fantasy that her sister had taken him in. By the time she came out, she was convinced she was Norman's mother. But she wasn't."

"Yes, you said."

"Her son went to a loving childless couple called Samuel and Elizabeth Wells. They named him Andrew."

Jason was silent for several long moments. Then at last he said, "So you're telling me Emma Spool was Beth's grandmother?"

"Yes."

"Beth is my second cousin?"

"Yes."

"This is all getting a bit far fetched."

"It does sound rather ludicrous, I admit," said Tracy. "But it's true, Jason – all of it. The letter from the asylum that prompted Andrew Wells to kill himself told him that his mother was murdered by a lunatic in nineteen eighty-two."

"That's not much to kill yourself over," remarked Jason.

"No," said Tracy, "but as I understand it he was a very disturbed man."

"Well," said Jason.

"Well?"

"I wonder if anybody's planning on telling Beth about this."

x x x

"So have you heard the latest?" asked Beth, staring at her mother across the width of a small table. "They found the body of that estate agent Philip Somebody in Jason's swamp. That's a long way for me to take a body, all the way from Fairvale."

"Did you do it, Beth?" asked Judith.

"I don't know. I don't think so. But maybe I did it and then forgot all about it. I don't remember following Jason and that property developer to her house, you know, and I don't remember trying to kill her."

"Really, honey?"

"There was talk of putting me in a straitjacket. They don't seem to have done it yet."

"Well. You wouldn't do anything to me."

"Don't worry, Mother. They're watching me."

Judith looked around. No cameras or mirrors or any kind of surveillance equipment were visible to the naked eye; she could see only clinical white walls. "How?" she asked.

Beth shrugged. "I don't know."

"Darling… I found out why your father killed himself. At least, I found out what was in the letter."

"Oh?"

"His birth mother has been dead for years. Killed by Jason's father."

"Wow, that's a coincidence," said Beth. "Still, lots of people were killed by Jason's father, weren't they? So who was she?"

Judith took a deep breath and said, "It was… Emma Spool."

Beth looked blank. "Who?"

"She was Norman Bates' aunt – his mother's sister."

"Ha!" exclaimed Beth. "Now that is a coincidence! So that would make Jason my…?"

"Second cousin."

"Well, that's not so bad. I know it's legal to marry your first cousin in this state, but that's a bit too close if you ask me. So. I'm a Bates, am I? That explains a lot."

"Actually you're a Spool."

"Right, right – Norman's craziness came from his mother's side."

"If only I'd known," Judith said shakily. "If I had any idea your father came from that family I never would have…"

"What?" Beth's expression darkened. "You never would have had a child with him? Is that it? You wish I'd never been born, don't you!"

"Beth, I…"

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!"

Suddenly Beth leapt to her feet and dived across the table, grabbing her mother's neck in both hands. The furniture was nailed down, there was nothing sharp in the room and nothing that could be used as a noose. But Beth still had her hands. She pushed until she and Judith both fell to the floor, all the time squeezing the life out of her mother's throat.

The door flew open and three burly men in white coats charged into the room. Beth was a small woman, and they were able to prise her away from her mother without too much trouble. Sitting up on the floor, Judith gasped to catch her breath, staring at her only child in horror.

"YOU BITCH!" screamed Beth, kicking and thrashing against the men's grasp. "I HATE YOU!"

She was dragged out of the room, kicking and screaming, and Judith was left stunned in the middle of the floor.

x x x

"You come to see me less and less."

"I'd come more often if you'd let me talk to Dad."

"Oh, but you've been coming rather a lot lately, Jason, haven't you! With that whore of yours!"

"Dad, that's disgusting!"

"DISGUSTING!" Mother screeched maniacally. "You're disgusting, boy! There's no excuse for staying away! I know you've been spending time with that whore, satisfying her lust and helping her to destroy my house!"

"You destroyed the house, Dad. She's been rebuilding it. And I never did anything to help. Why do you mind so much about the house anyway? Surely you would have had it fixed after it burnt down if you were… you know… around."

"Of course I would. I would have fixed it up good as new if you hadn't had me committed! You had no right to sell it! No right at all! It's my house!"

"Look," said Jason. "Let's not argue about the house again."

"You could buy it back."

"What?"

"When the whore puts the house on the market, buy it back."

"No," said Jason. "How dumb would that be? She's going to sell it on for more than twice what she paid me for it."

"What are you going to do with the money?" asked Mother. "Spend it on drink and drugs and whores?"

"No. I might use it to move you someplace where they'll take better care of you. I still can't figure out how you escaped. They found the body of the estate agent, you know, in the swamp."

"Ah yes, the swamp. My Norman is a good boy."

"Please, Grandmother… won't you let me talk to him?"

"He isn't here, Jason. You are an extraordinarily stupid boy. Don't you have eyes in your head?"

"Listen," said Jason. "Are you… are you still planning on killing Sarah?"

"Of course," said Mother. "If I can get out."

"Don't," said Jason. "Please don't. What if I stopped seeing her?"

"Ha! Why would you do that?"

"Not because of you, that's for damn sure. I just think maybe… you might have been right, Dad. I'm not safe. It's better if I don't get close to anyone."

"Oh yes? What made you change your mind?"

"Nothing. Well. I talked to a reporter. You remember Tracy Venable?"

"Tracy Venable… Was she the whore who told Norman about my mad sister and made him try to kill me for the third time?"

"Yes," said Jason.

"What's she doing, sniffing around again?"

"She's interested in those last two murders you committed. I think it would be better for you if you kept a low profile from now on."

"How can I not?" Mother said softly. "You haven't let me out of here in weeks."

"You're dangerous, Dad. I love you, but I can't let you out – not ever again."

"Are you really going to stop seeing the whore?"

"Yes. Now will you leave her alone?"

"Well. That all depends on whether I can get out of here."

"Dad… Grandmother… please. If I stop seeing her…"

"I may have to see what she's done to my house before I make up my mind."

"No freaking way," said Jason. "You are never going to that house again."

x x x

Bob Morrissey arrived bright and early for work the next morning, planning to fill in that hole he and his team of builders had left in the middle of the cellar whilst installing under-floor heating; he wanted it dealt with before their employer found it. They were getting a bit behind with the cellar conversion, and if they didn't catch up quickly Sarah was going to be very unhappy.

Bob activated his small orange cement mixer and began shovelling in dry cement with some vigour. He was venting a few frustrations in doing so; he had told the rest of the team to get there before Sarah that morning, and yet he seemed to be the only one present.

Due to the noise of the cement mixer, Bob didn't hear the footsteps treading through the house above him. He was only aware of someone's presence when he heard the door to the cellar click open, and saw a figure dressed in black slowly descending the stairs.

"Jesus, a trannie," muttered Bob. "Look, buddy, I don't know if you're some kind of sick-ass Norman Bates fanatic or what, but this is private property. You're gonna have to leave."

The wigged man lifted his right hand to reveal a long, thin, very sharp knife. It wasn't the original, of course, but it would do.

"Whoa!" Bob exclaimed in alarm. "You really are some kind of sick Norman Bates fanatic! Look, I was just making a start on this cellar con- "

He was cut off as the knife was plunged deep into his chest. Mother slashed at him a few times, just to make absolutely sure he was dead. At first she planned to leave straightaway, thinking that Norman would probably clean up for her like he usually did, but then she remembered Jason's news of the discovery in the swamp. Norman was so unimaginative – why should he hide the body any better this time?

Mother picked up the builder's bloody corpse, threw it into the conveniently placed hole and then started piling on the cement from the mixer.

She was interrupted before she finished. Mother threw down the shovel when she heard the cellar hatch opening, and ran for the door. She just missed Sarah, who went straight for the rotating cement mixer.

"Jesus – has this thing been on all night?" muttered Sarah, switching it off. Then she noticed the wet cement in the hole. It looked like a pretty bad job so far, but quite obviously it wasn't finished. Sarah thought there must be a builder or two about, and set off to look for them. She went to the stairs, ascended to the hallway and looked towards the kitchen, assuming they were already having a tea break.

"Hello?" she called. "Is someone here?"

No answer, of course.

Utterly perplexed, Sarah went back down to the basement and frowned down at the hole. Someone had been there that very morning, attempting to fill in that hole. It made absolutely no sense. Sarah crouched, and began to reach down towards the drying concrete.

"Sarah."

She turned and saw Jason, one leg slung over the hatch that led to the outside world.

"Jason, hi," said Sarah, smiling broadly and going over to meet him as he dropped down into the cellar. "I missed you last night. Where were you?"

"S-Sarah, d-d-don't," he said with difficulty, taking her hands and moving them away as she attempted to put her arms around his neck. "I d-d-don't think… I have to, to, to… l-look, let me tell you what that j-j-j-j-j-journalist said. Ab-b-bout Beth. She's my s-s-second c-c-cousin."

Sarah frowned confusedly. "She's what?"

"T-T-Tracy V-V-Venable found out Beth is r-r-r-r-related to me. And she's crazy. Obviously. Because she comes from the s-same gene pool as my father and his mother and… don't you see what that m-m-m-m-means?"

Sarah shook her head.

"I'm d-dangerous, Sarah. Not right now, maybe, but I will be. Someday I'll go mad. Dangerously mad. I… I c-c-can't keep s-s-seeing you."

"What?"

"Look… S-Sarah… I'm s-s-sorry. Please try to, to, to, to understand. I… I love you, I really d-d-do, but… you might be in d-danger from me. I j-just don't think it would be s-s-s-s-safe."

Sarah's frown deepened. "That's what you said when I first asked you out. What the hell does it mean, Jason?"

"I t-t-told you about my f-f-father. About how he's c-c-c-crazy – you know?"

"Sure, but… you're not crazy."

"W-w-w-well… not y-yet. See, it… it runs in my f-f-family. My grandmother was c-crazy too, and her sister Emma. Emma was d-d-desperately in love with her sister's husband – my grandfather – and killed him when Dad was five… or was he six? Anyway, she did it by setting b-b-bees on him. Can you believe that? Bees! And now it turns out Beth's father was Emma Spool's son. That's what Tracy Venable told me. Don't you s-see? It must be genetic – the madness, I mean. Everyone in my family has gone insane, regardless of their upbringing. And most of them were dangerous. Beth tried to kill you. Her grandmother killed four people, including her own brother-in law. And my father! He killed his mother, and my mother, and a lot of other people t-too."

"My God."

"I know. See, Sarah… he killed the people he cared about. So I think maybe it's s-safer if I don't get close to anyone."

"Oh, Jason. You'll never be happy living your life like that."

"Doesn't matter. I'm almost definitely going to go crazy eventually anyway, and then they'll l-l-l-l-l-lock me up."

"He… killed your mother?"

"Yeah."

"That's terrible! My God, Jason – I'm so sorry."

"Well, he's insane. His mother treated him very badly when he was growing up. My mother, Connie… she was a psychologist. She worked with Dad after he was committed for the second time. That was how they met. He told me once that he was worried about having a baby with her, because of the illness, but Mom always said that if they loved me and treated me well, I'd be f-fine. And they were really good to me – they would never do any of the things Norma Bates did to my f-father."

"Well… maybe your mother was right. You seem to me like a really great guy."

"I try to be. But they only treated me well until I was fifteen. That was when he k-k-killed Connie. I came home and found my father dressed in his dead mother's clothes, brandishing a knife, and I found my mother dead in the bedroom. My father followed me upstairs, c-calling to me in his mother's voice, and I had to jump out the window to escape. I don't know if he wanted to kill me or not, but… well, if that doesn't drive me crazy, nothing will."

"Maybe nothing will."

"Sarah, I…"

"No, Jason, please – you can't do this to me! To either of us! Did you mean what you said? Do you really love me?"

"Yes."

"Well I love you too!"

"But Sarah, I might end up killing you!" Jason said heatedly. "My father killed twelve people." He did not include the two more recent murders that only he knew about. "He killed his own w-w-wife and m-mother! He might even have tried to k-kill m-m-me…"

"Jason, this isn't fair," said Sarah. "Not on anyone. You can't just not live your life on the off chance!"

"But Sarah," said Jason, "think of Beth, and her father. He went mad and killed himself; she was always a bit weird anyway, and now she's gone completely loopy! There were absolutely no environmental factors in their upbringing that could have done that to them. It happened to my father, his mother, her sister, his son and his daughter. Why should I be the exception?"

"Because…" Sarah said weakly. "Because it has to stop somewhere."

Jason nodded. "Right. And it stops with me. Sarah… this is really difficult for me. I wanted it to work between us, I really did, b-b-but… look, you need to go and find yourself somebody else. Somebody with no b-b-b-baggage. Somebody who'll give you children. God knows, I never can."

"I don't care about children."

"You'd be such a wonderful mother, Sarah. I can just see you coming out to all your building sights, almost bursting out of your sweater because you're so pregnant…"

"Jason, come on. You aren't crazy. Couldn't we… couldn't we just keep going and see what happens?"

She reached out and pressed her palm against his face. Jason grabbed her hand and said, almost in a whisper, "I want to, Sarah. I really do."

"Well then…"

"I n-n-need to th-think about this." He stopped as he heard the sound of some large vehicle or other parking outside the house, close to the cellar. "That'll be your builders. You stay here and deal with your cellar conversion. I have to…"

He backed away without finishing, turned and climbed through the hatch into the world outside. Sarah watched him go, tears pricking the backs of her eyes, and then pulled herself together. She couldn't get emotional in front of the builders. That would just be unprofessional. Dealing with crying women wasn't in their job description.

She spun on her heel and returned to that baffling hole. The cement had dried.

x x x

Tracy Venable was about to enter the Fairvale Hotel, where she was staying, when she caught sight of Jason heading for the adjacent bar. Coincidentally it was the very bar where she had met Duane Duke, the deceptively charming young lothario who had been working for Norman during his second bout of murders. Duke had been one of Norman's victims, Tracy had discovered, after Norman was arrested and the police had dragged the swamp to see who might be down there.

"Jason," she said, racing over to him and taking his arm in an iron grip. "I don't suppose you'd be prepared to answer a few more questions?"

"You don't suppose correctly, Miss Venable."

"Oh please. I want to write you into my article. Wouldn't you like to have your say?"

"I'll be late for work."

Tracy glanced up at the garish neon sign above the bar. "You work here?"

"Yes."

"This won't take a minute, Jason. I was just wondering what you were planning to do."

Jason raised his eyebrows. "Do?"

"About your illness. I mean, with all five known members of your family being homicidal maniacs…"

"They may all have been maniacs, Ms. Venable, but only three were homicidal: my father, my great-aunt and her granddaughter. Hey, maybe it skips a generation."

"Well, aren't you going to take any precautions? Get yourself some medication, something like that?"

"Leave me alone."

Jason disappeared into the bar. Tracy toyed with the idea of following him, but eventually decided to go to her hotel room and work on her article as planned. She thought it would be unwise to antagonise Jason. He seemed like a nice, gentle man, but then again so had his father. Besides, Tracy well remembered the look that had passed over him the day before, when she was delivering the news about Beth and happened to say something about Norman that Jason didn't seem to like.

For some minutes Tracy sat back on the bed in her hotel room, looking over her notes. She had come back to Fairvale in order to ascertain whether the latest murders were the work of some kind of Norman Bates wannabe, or if Norman's son really had inherited the sickness. What she had discovered, however, was that the prime suspect in this case was one Elizabeth Wells – Norman Bates' unknowing cousin. Cousin once removed, to be exact. It made a good story, Tracy had to admit. She had already written the chapter on Norma Bates' even madder sister; now here was the sequel.

She was up until one o'clock planning her article. True enough, she had unearthed a lot of fascinating facts, but still she wanted more. She wanted something from Jason, be it some kind of statement from him or, even better, proof that he was as mad as the rest of them.

Tracy knew that the bar stayed open until late, and Jason's shift might not have finished yet. She got off the bed, slipped into her shoes and made her way downstairs. She ventured onto the street outside, and then into the smoky, dimly lit bar.

"Hi," as a young barmaid approached. "Is Jason Bates still here?"

"Sorry, honey, you just missed him," said the barmaid.

"Damn it," muttered Tracy. "Well, thanks anyway," and she went straight out of the bar again.

As soon as she was out on the street, somebody grabbed her around the shoulders and clamped a hand over her mouth so tightly that she couldn't utter a sound. Tracy flailed and kicked frantically as she was dragged into a small, filthy, dustbin-lined deserted alley behind the bar. The hand was taken off her mouth, and in the same moment a sharp knife sliced into her throat. Again she tried unsuccessfully to scream, staring up into the eyes of her killer, her face registering surprise and recognition in the few moments before she died.

x x x

Jason sauntered out of the gents' and almost collided with the barmaid who had spoken to Tracy when she came in.

"Jason, you're still here," the barmaid remarked, a dark green bin bag clasped in one hand.

Jason smiled crookedly. "I know."

"There was a woman here looking for you."

"Oh." It occurred to him that this woman might have been Sarah, impatient to talk in spite of his insistence that he needed time to think. "Who was she?"

"She didn't say. She looked kind of old. More than fifty anyway, and she had all this curly dark hair."

"Oh." Jason scowled. "That sounds like the journalist who's been pestering me."

"Ah. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't know you were still here."

"Yeah." He glanced down at the bag of rubbish in her hand. "Would you like me to take that? It's pretty dark and deserted in that alley."

"Oh yeah?" she said, raising her eyebrows, but passing him the bin bag anyway. "And it's safer for you because you're a man?"

"No. Just because everybody thinks I'm crazy, and you should never attack a crazy person."

The barmaid evidently didn't know what to say. She turned round and headed back to the bar, and Jason made for the back door that led out into the alley behind the building. The only light out there was what filtered through from the heavily lit streets surrounding the bar, and at first Jason didn't notice anything amiss. He lifted the lid of one of the large metal dustbins and dumped the bag inside. Then he happened to look down, and noticed a trickle of shiny dark liquid leading further into the alley. Jason stooped and touched the liquid, which was still warm and wet. Lifting his hand, he sniffed at the substance on the end of his fingers.

"Shit," he muttered, and began to follow the trail of blood to a large dumpster that was parked against the side wall of the Fairvale Hotel. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the lid and rose onto his toes to see inside.

When he saw Tracy's body, he immediately dropped the lid again. He took two steps back, fully intending to go back into the bar and call the police. But then a thought occurred to him. If he called the police now, he might never get away from them. He had no alibi, something of a motive and even a copious and ever growing history of dangerous mental illness in his family.

Jason turned round and stole quietly out from behind the bar, onto the streets of Fairvale. Let someone else find the body and call the police. They would probably come after him eventually, of course, but there was something he had to do first.

x x x

"Why did I tell you Tracy Venable was around?" Jason cried shrilly, bursting into Norman's room. "Why? I should have known you would have… How did you get out? Tell me how you got out!"

"Calm down, Jason," said Mother. "She was bothering you, wasn't she? I tried to kill her once before, you know, all those years ago. And once Mother has made up her mind to kill you, you never escape. She gets you within the next couple of chapters of our story: Lila Crane, Tracy Venable… your whore mother."

"Don't talk to me about her! I'll never forgive you for what you did to her – never!"

"She was a whore."

"She was my mother, you fucking bitch!"

"Jason! How dare you speak to me that way!"

"I'm never speaking to her again Dad, you hear me? Not ever! If you don't talk to me right now… that's it. I'm leaving and I'm never coming back."

"He's not going to talk to you, Jason."

"Dad, please, fight her!"

"You understand now, don't you?" Mother said softly. "When I first killed her, you couldn't accept that Norman had nothing to do with it. But now…"

"Dad, please." Jason's voice was shaking, and he was blinking back tears.

"You want to know how I got out of here? You can figure it out. It was you, Jason. You let me out of here because you're crazier than he ever was."

"SHUT UP!" yelled Jason, striding towards him. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"Jason…"

Jason stopped short. "Dad…?"

"You have to stop this, son. Now."

"Norman!" exclaimed Mother. "Stop that!"

"YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE!" screamed Jason, the tears flowing freely now. "YOU HEAR ME, BITCH? YOU LEAVE US THE HELL ALONE!"

With this he flew at his father, grabbing the front of Mother's long black dress in two tight fists. He shook violently, and then stopped and backed away when he realised… the only movement that body was making came from him. He stepped back, gasping for breath, and Norman Bates' dead, stuffed body fell to the floor.

"No," whispered Jason. "Shit. Fuck! This can't be happening. Please, God, tell me this isn't happening…"

"Jason…"

"No!" Jason clamped his hands over his ears in some vain attempt to block out the voice inside his head. "Get out of me!"

"Jason, it's me," Norman's voice insisted.

"No." Jason shook his head frantically. "It's not you. Get out of there. I don't want you here."

"You must."

"I don't! Get out! I forgive you, Dad. I love you and I forgive you. You know that now, don't you? That's all I wanted to say to you. Now get out of me… please…"

He stopped talking and rose suddenly, taking his hands away from his ears as a disturbing thought occurred to him. For all this time he had been convinced he was visiting his father at the asylum. But he couldn't have been. So where the hell was he?

Jason stepped outside, leaving Norman's corpse to its own devices, turned and through the darkness saw the faint outline of the abandoned warehouse looming over him, surrounded by miles of deserted highway. He was mortified. Had he really stolen his father's corpse, stuffed it, brought it out here and walked all this way every time he came to visit, seeing the asylum on every occasion?

"I taught you how to stuff things," Norman's voice reminded him. "You didn't stuff anything for years, but then you remembered."

"Jesus, Jason, get that voice out of your head. It isn't Dad. Dad's dead."

He remembered it now… scrambling to his car… breaking the speed limit to get to the hospital… being just too late to talk to his father – really talk to his father. Norman was back for the first time in just over five years, dying, asking to see his son, and Jason just hadn't got there in time.

"Jason…"

He turned round and began to trudge back towards Fairvale.

"Jason… talk to me… please…"

x x x

Sarah hadn't had the best day. No one had been surprised when Bob didn't show up for work; builders often did that. She had tried calling him on his cell phone several times throughout the day, and really began to worry when he didn't answer for about the fifth time. Her mind kept going back to that hole, and the running cement mixer, and the recent murders connected with that house…

It wasn't until five o'clock that Sarah finally decided she wanted all the concrete hacked away and the hole exposed again, at which point the builders all said they were going home unless she was prepared to pay them overtime. Sarah didn't have to consider for long; overtime possibly leading to a murder investigation was an unnecessary expense she hadn't budgeted for – unnecessary because the job could keep until morning.

After making the decision not to act on Bob's disappearance just yet, Sarah realised that the worry had been a welcome distraction from Jason. She began feeling pretty desperate to hear from him, and wondered just how much time he was going to need to do his thinking. He had said he loved her, which was nice to hear. He was quite a few years younger than she was, which didn't matter to her a bit, but even if he did decide continue their relationship he would certainly never agree to have children. Right now she didn't care about that, but maybe one day in the future she would change her mind. But of course, she didn't really have time for that. Maybe their breaking up was for the best after all.

It certainly didn't feel that way, though.

Sarah found herself unable to sleep, and was up deliberating for some time. Finally she noticed, to her extreme surprise, that it was getting on for three o'clock. She pursed her lips, remembering that Jason worked until two o'clock on Friday nights/Saturday mornings. He would probably be home by now, but he might not have gone to bed yet.

She quickly made the decision to drive out to Fairvale and see him. It wasn't until Sarah was in her car and driving through the artificially lit streets that she thought it might be proper to call first, so she endangered herself and every other motorist on the road by whipping out her cell phone. Her call was answered by one of Jason's elusive roommates – one of the three who tended to be out most of the time while Jason and Beth were at home being slightly agoraphobic.

"Hi," said Sarah. "Is Jason there, please?"

"Sorry, sweetheart," a male voice slurred drunkenly. "He's not back yet."

"What time does he normally get home on a Friday night?"

"Usually about two thirty, I guess. Don't worry about it, though – he's been staying over with his girlfriend a lot recently."

There was nothing to be gained from telling him that she was Jason's girlfriend, so Sarah simply thanked the drunken youth for his attempt to help and hung up. She returned both hands to the steering wheel and her full attention to the road, beginning to worry slightly. Jason hadn't gone home, he hadn't gone to her and he couldn't very well visit any of his mad friends and family at this time of night. So where the hell was he? Sarah knew Jason was a grown man, of course, and she should probably stay out of his business; but she remembered how upset he had been when she saw him the previous morning, and it gave her an uneasy feeling.

Jason hadn't many regular haunts, and the only place that Sarah could think of was the house. She didn't hold out much hope of finding him, but she drove there anyway. She got out of her car and approached the house even after she saw that no lights were on, and then cursed quietly to herself when she realised that she hadn't brought her key.

She was about to leave, but then had a strange urge to try the cellar hatch. It wasn't locked, which Sarah found extremely surprising because she always remembered to lock up (not that any burglars would find much of interest on a building sight, of course).

"Hello?" Sarah called timidly, as she dropped down into the cellar. "Is someone here?" She saw some movement in the shadows. "Jason, is that you?" It better be or I'm in trouble, she added silently.

"Sarah. Shit." It was Jason's voice. Just. He sounded drained and deflated. "I really thought I wouldn't be found down here. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for you."

"Oh God, why? Look, I was right the first time: we can't keep seeing each other. Please go away."

"No way."

Sarah crossed the room to the light switch and flipped it on. Light flooded the cellar, revealing a dishevelled looking Jason standing there with a bottle of vodka in one hand and an open box of aspirin in the other.

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Sarah. She ran over to Jason and wrenched both items from his hand. "Is that vodka? How many of these have you taken?"

"Four," said Jason.

"Just four? Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a headache, or were you trying to kill yourself?"

"Both."

"Jesus Christ, Jason, you fucking moron." She felt her knees buckle, and slumped to the floor. "So what, was I or one of my builders just going to find you dead here in the morning?"

"I'm sorry, Sarah." Jason sat down next to her. "I didn't think about that."

"So what in God's name were you thinking?" She looked down at the small box of aspirin in her trembling hand, and saw that she and Jason were sitting amongst quite a few identical boxes. "Tell me you weren't doing this just on the off chance you might go crazy."

"No, no, no." Jason shook his head, speaking slowly and deliberately. "Not on the off chance. I'm already crazy."

Sarah looked at him. "You aren't."

"Oh yes I am."

She put down the aspirin and the vodka, out of his reach. "Tell me."

"I've been completely off my rocker," said Jason, "for the last seven months. Ever since my father died."

"I thought your father was still alive."

"Ha!" He turned his head and stared at her with wild, red-rimmed eyes. "So did I! See… Sarah… what happened was that I hated my father for killing my mother and I never talked to him again. He was convinced he was his mother forever after that, right up until just before he died. I'd forgotten all this, but now I remember that I got this phone call from somebody at the institution. They told me Dad was back, he was dying and he wanted to see me."

"Did you go to him?" asked Sarah.

Jason nodded. "When I heard he was dying, I couldn't stand it. I had to see him before he went – let him know I forgave him, and I didn't hate him. But I was too late. He died thinking I hated him."

She touched his hand. "Oh, Jason…"

"Don't feel sorry for me." He snatched his hand away. "I don't deserve it. You'll run out of here screaming when you hear what I did."

"I won't."

"You will. Oh, Sarah!" He started suddenly, as a terrible thought occurred to him. "You've been in so much danger from me! I could have… oh God!"

"Whatever you did," said Sarah, "I hardly think it can be worth killing yourself over."

"Oh yes it can. But I'm not going to tell you. You're such a lovely girl, Sarah. You don't deserve to know what kind of a monster you've been fucking."

"It was more than just fucking, Jason."

"Yeah." He paused. "Can I have my vodka and my pills back now, please?"

"No," said Sarah. "I'm not going to give these back to you. If you tell me what you did, I'll tell you why it's not worth this."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I love you and I want to help you."

Jason just stared at her for well over a minute. Then he said, "How much did I tell you about my dad? I told you he killed as his mother, didn't I? He only consciously killed four people. The nun was an accident and the other seven times, he was her. He did it because he had to be her in order to convince himself that she was still alive. Did you know he stole her corpse and stuffed it, and gave it a voice?"

Sarah blinked. "I don't think you told me that."

"I did the…" – he collapsed forward, burying his head in his lap. "Oh God, I can't!"

"You… you did it too?"

Jason looked up, his eyes even wilder and redder than they had been moments before. "It worked for him," he said. "He managed to convinced himself that he still had his mother. And I wanted my dad back. I thought: Hey, I'll try it and see if it works. And you know what?" He laughed maniacally. "It does!"

"Christ," muttered Sarah.

"Dad… before he died… he taught me how to stuff things. I forgot I'd done it straight after, but I remember it all now. I took him to this abandoned warehouse and convinced myself it was the asylum. I actually saw the asylum every time I went there. I even thought I talked to people on the front desk." He cut a glance at Sarah. "I kinda thought you'd be gone by now."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jason. It's ok."

"It's only ok because I haven't told you the half of it."

"Go on."

"Well, like I said, Dad spent the last years of his life convinced he was his goddamn bitch mother. And when I gave Dad a voice, I just did what he did. And then suddenly he wasn't there anymore. It was just her. I was Norma Bates. He came back a couple of times, but I wasn't there. I wasn't in my own mind. They pushed me out. I can't be three people at once. But I could never just be him and me. She was always there. Always has been, even after Dad was better. She's never going to go away. Not until I'm gone."

"Jason…"

"What are you thinking, Sarah?"

"Right now I'm pretty much just thinking: shit."

"You should get out of here now, Sarah. You're in danger from her. From me. Always have been, ever since you bought her house."

"Don't be ridiculous. How can I be in danger from…? Oh God!"

"Go on, ask me."

"You killed Allsopp and Bryant, didn't you? And Bob? Did you kill him?"

"Who?"

"Bob the builder. I've got a sort of feeling he's under that patch of cement," and she jerked her head towards it.

"Oh… God, probably." Jason was no longer looking at her. "Still love me now, Sarah?"

Sarah looked at him. If he looked any different to her now, it was only because he seemed so vulnerable. "Yes," she said.

Jason sighed. "Don't do that, Sarah. Don't lie. Not about that. If this is some attempt to persuade me not to kill myself…"

"Jason, I'm not lying. I love you, ok? I fucking love you! And I can give you a perfectly good reason not to kill yourself: you can beat this thing. You're already getting better."

"I'm not. I can't beat it. It's unbeatable. Dad got rid of his mother twice, and she always came back. Always!"

"Jason, come on, look at this sensibly. The first time, how long was your father convinced that he was his mother?"

"Ten years out of the nuthouse, twenty-two years in."

"And what did it take to make him realise she was dead?"

"I don't know. A lot of doctors, I guess."

"Over twenty-two years."

"Yes."

"But you've remembered what you did, and realised your father's dead all by yourself after only seven months. I really think that means you're better at fighting it than he ever was."

Jason was silent.

"You need help, Jason, of course you do. You need to wipe out the sickness. But there's more to you than just the illness, and you mustn't take the rest of you with it. I'm not going to let you die."

x x x

It was mid-morning. Jason stared up at the tall, looming building, feeling like a terrified child. But then Sarah squeezed his hand, and he knew he wouldn't be leaving everything behind.

"This is absolutely the right thing to do," she said. "I'm so proud of you for having the courage."

"Yeah, well, it's probably better than killing myself."

"I'll come and see you every day."

"No, don't, you don't have time. And look, if you meet someone else…"

She turned and grabbed his face in both hands. "I'll cross that bridge if and when I come to it," she said, and kissed him.

"Mmm. I'll miss that," said Jason.

"Oh, come on. Surely they'll give me conjugal visits."

"I think you only get those if you're married."

"Oh. Damn."

"Well." Jason took her hands and moved them down from his face. "There's only one way to find out."

"I'm right here with you, babe."

They both turned back to face the asylum and, hand in hand, they went inside.

THE END