My Town

3. Brothers

It felt as if a great weight was crushing Norma Bates' chest, stopping her from drawing breath, restricting her breathing to the point where she felt light-headed. As Sheriff Romero's car disappeared down the long road to town, she reached out and grasped once more at the handle of her cleaning cart, using it to steady herself.

Oh God, he knows something.

The thought danced across her mind, accompanied by the image of the Sheriff sitting in his office, plotting and speculating, pulling the strands of the web he had woven across White Pine Bay. His enquiry into Norman's black eye had been too casual.

But… there wasn't anything to know. Was there? Yes, Norman had gotten a black eye from one of the boys at school. And yes, Miss Watson had offered to give him a lift home. And now the woman was dead. But that didn't mean anything. It didn't mean Norman was involved. He was just a boy. A gentle boy, who'd been heart-broken when the first girl he'd been intimate with had later spurned his affection, who'd cried genuine tears of grief when the stray dog he'd gotten attached to had been hit by a car and killed. He was a sensitive boy. He had never hurt anybody who hadn't deserved it.

A chill breeze blew over her bare arms, causing her to shiver, her skin to turn to gooseflesh as she recalled the night she'd come home from the dock and found Norman running in the rain as if the hounds of hell themselves were after him.

"Mother…" he'd said, his clothes drenched, hair plastered to his head, eyes fearful and confused. "Emma left, and Miss Watson said she'd drive me home, but all I remember is running in the rain."

It didn't mean anything. Yes, Norman had blacked out after he'd attacked his father in defence of his mother, and after he'd lunged at Zack Shelby, allowing Dylan the opportunity to grab the man's gun. It was as if violence flipped a switch inside him, shutting his mind down completely. He didn't rage. He didn't get angry. Not like so many other men she'd known. Instead he grew calm, detached… and incapable of remembering his actions afterwards.

He wasn't a bad boy. He wasn't. He just wanted to protect his mother. That was why he'd attacked his father, and Shelby. There was nothing malicious about it… just defence of the person he loved most in this world. Yes, Norman had killed, but he was not a killer. He had nothing to do with Miss Watson's death. Nothing at all.

Unsure that she'd fully convinced herself, she set to the task of completely stripping out one of the bedrooms. In less than thirty minutes, room number one was as clean as it had ever been, the former occupant's clothes and personal effects dumped in one of the other rooms. Part of her hoped that the trimmers Dylan had brought home would complain about doubling up, just so she could tell them what Romero had said, about speaking to him.

It was so strange. For weeks she'd been certain that Romero was out to get her. He'd been convinced, and rightly so, that she'd killed Keith Summers. He'd hounded her constantly, having her house watched, bringing her in for questioning, requesting a search warrant, even arresting her when Keith's watch had been found in the harbour. She'd hated and feared him, and even when she'd explained to him what had happened, how Summers had attacked her, how Shelby had blackmailed her, how the pair of them had used the motel to keep and groom girls for sex, she was certain that he still disliked her. When Abernathy had shown up, and made further threats, Romero had barely done anything, seemed entirely unconcerned by the whole situation, calmly explaining that he didn't have enough information to go on.

She'd thought he was a bureaucrat, too concerned about red tape and his own badge to care about helping a woman in need. Then, she'd watched him calmly, even coldly, offer Jake Abernathy a 'new' business deal, lulling the man into a false sense of security with the same detachment that he'd listened to Norma's tale of the sex-traffickers. Now, Jake Abernathy was sleeping with the fishes, quite literally, and Norma was frightened for a new reason. She didn't know who's side Romero was on, or if he was even on any side at all. She was also left with the distinct impression that he could see right through her, discerning every thought as it passed through her mind.

Halfway through putting out fresh towels for the occupant of room seven, she heard the roar of a car engine, and the screech of tyres on loose stone, and she froze, her heart thudding in her chest. Once, something as innocuous as a car pulling up would not have given her a moment's concern. But that was before White Pine Bay. Before her life had been turned upside down and inside out.

Peering out of the window, she saw Dylan climb out of his huge car, and a man familiar to her by sight disembarked from the passenger side. Norma let out the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, and smoothed down her pale blue shirt before stepping out into the crisp morning air. When Dylan's eyes fell on her he pursed his lips briefly, but she was used to his expressions by now. Her eldest son had always been headstrong and independent, with little regard for anybody but himself. Granted, he seemed to have become more mature with age, but at twenty two, she still thought of him as a boy. That view, she suspected, was what caused most of the friction between them. Dylan didn't like to be mothered, preferred to find his own way through life. She just hoped the path he was on wouldn't take him into unnecessary danger.

"Hey Norma," he said, and she bit her tongue. His refusal to refer to her by her matriarchal title rankled, but she didn't want him to know it. After everything he'd done for her recently, she was willing to let him win this one. "Do you mind if Remo grabs a cup of coffee?"

She glanced at the elder man who seemed to shadow her son everywhere these days. The whites of his eyes were red, and he looked like he was a week overdue for a shave. If there was anybody in need of coffee, it was 'Remo.'

"There's a fresh jug on the machine in the office," she said, gesturing back to the building behind her.

"Thanks Mrs. B." Remo croaked, before staggering off.

"Is he stoned?" Norma hissed at her son, when she judged Remo safely out of hearing range.

"Nah, Remo doesn't smoke. He's just hung over."

"Oh, well, that's fine then."

Dylan rolled his eyes at her tone, but quickly became more sober.

"What did Romero want?" he asked, his eyebrows lowering into a frown, casting shadows across his grey eyes.

Norma felt her own eyebrows rise up in opposition. "What's that supposed to mean?" She demanded. When he didn't respond, she continued. "Less than a week ago, you were telling me that 'he's the man' and that I needed to trust him. And now you're quizzing me on why he's talking to me? Don't you trust him?"

He took her by the elbow, leading her back into room seven before she could even think of protesting, and then put the door to after checking to make sure Remo wasn't loitering nearby. Judging by the look of the man, Norma suspected he was likely passed out in one of the office chairs.

"Listen," Dylan said, his voice quiet, patient, the same as it had been when he'd been teaching her how to shoot the gun he'd given her last Friday. "I know what I said. And I still think it was the right call at the time. But I've been asking some questions of Gil. And you know what he said?"

Norma shook her head, almost afraid to ask.

"He said, 'You're a good worker, Dylan. But if Romero decides that you're no longer welcome in this town, you better get your stuff and get out within an hour of hearing that rumour, and forget you ever heard my name.' And I'll tell you something, Norma; Gil isn't a man who spooks easily."

She clutched at the neck of her shirt, then lowered her hands when she realised what she was doing. "You think he knew about Keith Summers and Jack Shelby's whole… operation?"

"I don't know. But I've been thinking it over. Remember when you told him about Summers, and how and why I shot Shelby? He didn't even blink. Think about it; if he knows everything that's going on in this town, how did this escape his attention? And why was he covering for us? And how did he know where to get the money from, that he threw in the harbour?"

"We don't know what was in that bag, Dylan," she countered. She wanted to believe that Romero was on the right side, that he wouldn't be the type of man to sit by and do nothing whilst others trafficked girls for sex, because she was fed up of liars, and cheaters, and men who wanted nothing but personal gain. She wanted to believe the best of somebody. Anybody.

"What was he talking to you about?"

"Nothing. Just small talk." He gave her a look which suggested he didn't believe her, and she sighed. "Okay, fine. He said he found a woman camping out on the highway, and he wanted me to give her a room."

"Did you tell him we're fully booked?"

"Oh, so it's 'we' now?" she said. "I thought you were moving out?"

"Norma…"

"Of course I told him," she said, rankled by his warning tone. "And he said your friends wouldn't mind bunking together for a while. And that if they had any problems with that, they could go and speak to him. Do you want to do that?"

"Why was he looking so strange at Norman?" he asked, ignoring the question she shot at him.

"He just wanted to know how Norman got his black eye."

Dylan merely looked at her, his grey eyes showing more wisdom and maturity than they should for a man his age, and she felt her resolve waver. Dylan knew that Norman was her soft-spot, her one weakness, and he knew she would do anything to protect him. Luckily, Dylan was just as protective of his younger brother; it was the one thing Norma and her eldest son had been able to bond over.

"I'm… concerned," she admitted. "Romero told me that one of Norman's teachers was found dead in her home last night."

Dylan barely batted an eyelid, proof of how hard he'd become since tracking his family down to their new motel business. "That sucks," he said. "Have they caught whoever did it?"

"I don't know. I don't think so." A familiar pain twisted through her heart, and she felt her face soften against her will. "Dylan, that night on the docks, that night when I went to meet Abernathy, and Romero shot him…" He nodded for her to continue. "Norman went to the winter dance at the school, with Emma. And when I got home, I found Norman running along the road, with no memory of how he got there. He said Emma was upset and she left, and Miss Watson offered him a ride home, but he has no memory of how he got back to the motel."

Dylan let out a long, slow breath, briefly clasping his hands together at the back of his head as a thousand questions flickered across his youthful face. Norma didn't even give him chance to speak the words she feared to hear.

"It doesn't mean anything," she said.

"You told me that when Norman attacked his father, to protect you, he blacked out. Had no memory of the event." Norma nodded, praying her eldest son wouldn't continue drawing the same conclusions which had passed through her own mind. "Once, when we were in the kitchen here, Norman got angry with me, and he came at me with a cleaver. Later, he claimed he couldn't remember having ever done such a thing."

Norma closed her eyes. Dylan had never told her that before. What had he done, to anger Norman so greatly?

"And the last time he went catatonic and lost his memory," Dylan continued, "was when he flipped and attacked Shelby."

"The man was holding a gun on us!" she said, in defence of her son.

"But still. If it's happened again, if Norman's forgotten how he got home from that dance… then God knows what he's done." He shook his head. "This is some serious shit, Norma."

"Don't you think I know that?" she asked, unable to help the tone of despair that crept into her voice. All she'd ever wanted was to live a normal life, and provide for her family. Now, she had one dead husband, one of her sons was working for a drug dealer, and the other was a volatile amnesiac. Where, oh where had she gone wrong?

"Hey," Dylan said, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. For all we know, this is all just a coincidence. With a bit of luck, it will all blow over."

"And if it doesn't?" she asked with a shiver.

He looked at her for a long moment, in which she felt every single beat of her heart.

"I won't let Romero take Norman," Dylan said, and she heard the promise in his voice. "I'll take him as far away as necessary, to keep him safe."

"We'll take him," she said, feeling her son's courage stiffen her back, straightening her posture.

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's what I meant, Norma. We'll take care of him together."