I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
Forgive Me, Norma
Whether or not Norma Louise Bates had really killed herself or not, she was dead and buried.
Moldering away in the ground.
She would never come back.
He would never see her again.
Hear her voice. See her face.
She was out of this physical world forever.
So why do I feel like she's watching me here?
Dylan Massett had a major case of the creeps.
Norman had wandered off to lay down, like a ninety year old grandma or something instead of a twenty year old young man.
Leaving Dylan was alone.
He wandered the reminder of the house, leaving the neglected kitchen . . .
"Hey, Dylan, want some toast?"
"Yeah, sure, thanks."
"No problem."
. . . behind.
And the laundry room.
"Dylan, I washed your shirt for you. Here."
"Oh. Thanks, Norma. You didn't have to do that."
"Don't be silly, I don't mind."
The dining room.
"Smells great!"
". . . Marsala. I thought we could eat dinner here tonight. Make it special."
"Oh, okay."
And eventually . . .
I do not want to do this.
. . . slowly up the stairs.
Across the landing.
Hand skimming the smooth wood railing.
Past Norman's closed door.
Every quiet footfall heavy as lead.
Being pulled along by an invisible string.
Norma? Mom? You in there?
To Norma's room.
Crossing over the threshold.
And she was here.
Norma Louise Bates.
Every square inch of the cool, still air was permeated with her.
Her knickknacks.
Her beauty supplies.
Her pictures in frames.
Her robe.
Everything was exactly the way she would have left it had she simply stepped out for the day.
He half expected her to appear in the doorway . . .
"Hey, Dylan. What are you doing, honey?"
. . . all smiles and lingering subconscious suspicion.
But she wasn't there.
She was gone.
And she would never be there again.
What assailed Dylan then were not the many, many times the two of them fought and argued and railed at each other.
The times she had pushed him aside for Norman.
The times she had blamed him for things he had never understood until Caldbeck appeared out of the blue.
What assailed him as stood there in the dusty, dim light of Norma Louise Bates' sanctuary were the good memories.
"I'll stay with him."
Her comforting mom hands running through his hair, gentle and sweet because he was offering to watch over Norman.
"Thank you, Dylan. I don't know what I'd do without you. I feel so alone I all this."
The times when she was almost a mother.
"You don't understand what it means to me to have a family finally."
Gentle hug, so gentle in her soft bathrobe.
"Oh, Dylan."
The best she could be for him.
". . . tree we talked about. Would you come over? Please?"
"Yeah, okay, we'll figure something out."
"Great!"
They washed over them, those memories.
"People are generally disappointing, honey. You can't let it kill you."
Casually offering life advice over coffee and Caleb's gifted guitar.
"Yeah, okay."
They enveloped him, saturated him.
"Dylan, thank you for finding Norman. It means so much to me."
"Yeah, sure."
Sent him reeling.
"Why don't you stop by before you leave for Seattle?"
"Okay."
Every sound, every smell, every taste on his tongue.
". . . good, thanks, Norma. Mom."
Happy smile at being called Mom.
"Well, I'm glad you like it."
Every simple sensation, every nuance of every syllable of every word.
"You're a miracle and I wouldn't give you up for anything."
He was overcome, overwhelmed.
And he lost his composure, sinking down onto the aged Oriental rug at the foot of her bed.
And fell completely apart.
Crying, weeping, for the mother she had attempted to be.
The woman she had strove to become.
Now dead and gone.
Forever.
He had deadened his heart and his mind to her, pretending to move on and let her go to her own fate.
And now, she had.
And Dylan Massett cried.
I tried so hard.
I thought I did all I could.
But I didn't. I abandoned her.
I abandoned her and left her alone and now she's dead.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Norma."
What else could I have done to save you from this?
"Please forgive me."
He sat on the floor at the foot of his dead mother's bed and cried alone for a long time.
When he was sufficiently cleaned out and numb, Dylan got up off the floor and left the room with one last longing look at her robe, bathed in the aura of lightly curtained sunlight.
He washed his face in the bathroom.
The past echoing even in this tiled washed room.
"I don't want anything to happen to you, Norma!"
"I know, Dylan. It'll be fine."
Returned downstairs.
Left a note for Norman.
Gone to pharmacy. Back soon. -Dylan
And left the house of the dead.
He drove into the village, blindly staring past all the familiar places he had lived for nearly three years, the longest span of time he had ever lived anywhere in recent memory.
Parked the truck in front of the pharmacy.
And went in.
"Hello. May I help you?"
"I hope so."
". . . couldn't speak to him."
No, don't tell me.
". . . missing just over a year ago. Apparently he's presumed dead."
A year ago? But-
". . . he saw him a few days ago."
Dammit, Norman, did you do something to him too?
"But that's why he needs the meds."
I've got to stop this. Please help me.
". . . soon, then something very bad will happen."
Again.
He texted Emma again, eager to make contact.
Unable to call.
For fear . . .
Norman's in bad shape. I'm going to stay here for a couple of days to help him.
. . . of breaking down from the sound of her voice alone.
Okay. Do you think it's safe?
Staying a few days, get him on his meds, figure out how to get him back into Pineview or something.
Yeah, I think so. How's Katie?
Fine. We miss you. Are you okay?
Yeah, I'm a little freaked out but I'm fine.
Then go back home.
Kiss his baby girl. Work things out with his wife.
Please be careful, Dylan.
I will. Hug Katie for me.
I will. I love you.
I love you.
Thanks to everyone who's been reading!