Shattered 3
It was nothing short of revelation. From deepest despair came the desperately needed epiphany.
He returned to Cabin One with the jar, and lay on his stomach to spill the contents out onto the mattress. He eagerly picked through the marbles, read the notes, studied the photographs--- all there and unchanged after 40 years. This was evidence that there had been a happier time, however naïve and long ago. The final piece made him smile more broadly than the rest.
A mismatched pair of socks. One was his, the other Laney's, folded together as if an actual pair and belonged that way-- her idea, tough he doubted she got in as much trouble as she did for 'losing' a sock. He laid them out and sighed as a slender hope, indistinct and frail, filled his thoughts.
Mother is dead. Because of her, others are dead, too. And now Connie is dead to me. Maybe even Laney, by now. But not me.
There was hope.
From the moment he returned home that afternoon, he nurtured and explored that hope. For the next six months, he kept his thoughts private. The contents of the jar were carefully moved to an inconspicuous cardboard box, tucked into the back of a desk drawer. Connie was much too busy with her own things to suspect anything was seriously wrong, or that there was any reason to rummage through her husband's private things.
Meanwhile, there was plenty for Norman to think about, and to do.
Gradually, things took shape. He obtained a post office box in his name, and later established a personal bank account that Connie need never know about. There was that parcel of land to sell off, with the motel ruins and house. Something else to be kept from his 'wife'.
I'll need a lawyer, eventually. One who can dissolve a marriage for….. irreconcilable differences.
He was surprised to find enjoyment in the intrigue. Perhaps it was the realization that he was no longer the victim, used by over-bearing women. Women who lied in the name of love to get what they wanted.
He would not kill Connie, though the notion was appealing to consider from time to time. That sort of end would be very unpleasant, but no less than she deserved for her crime, in his estimation. It would be completely justified, and would give him a great deal of satisfaction. Even a certain amount of peace.
No.
Connie would have the distinction of bearing a child whose existence he would never acknowledge. They would both be cut from his life, but this time without a knife. He would not fall prey to her influence again, even if it was forcing his hand to murder.
They'll never lock me up again-- no hospitals, no prisons-- and especially not because of what she's done.
He had long months to consider the options, thinking it was time to strike out alone, to live whatever was left of life on his terms.
He was never really fond of lying, but in this particular case it eventually turned into something almost exquisite.
"Norman?"
Connie stood in the doorway behind him, calling him for the third time.
He clicked the remote through a few more channels before answering.
"What?"
"Norman, your dinner's getting cold." There was that annoying whine in her tone, meant to be persuasive.
"In a minute." His reply was abrupt and cool. He continued to click the remote until something suitably mind-numbing drew his attention. Connie crossed her arms and slowly wandered toward the couch.
"Norman, what's wrong?" That whine was beginning to grate on him.
"Nothing's wrong. What makes you think anything's wrong?"
She was near enough now for him to see her from the corner of his eye. She had rested her arms on the swell of her belly, but Norman turned his head away to keep it out of sight.
"For one thing you're being so distant today."
With a sigh she took the remote from his hand and turned off the television. He was forced to look at her now with an accusing glare.
"We hardly see each other these days, with work. You shut yourself up in your study every night, and play games on that computer of yours."
"I'm not playing games."
"Supper's the only chance I get to see you. And tonight we're having pot roast."
Norman plucked the control from her hand, turned on the television, and went back to clicking.
"I'm not hungry right now. Go on and eat without me, I'll have something later."
She wouldn't press the point, and retreated without another word. She could allow these occasional moods-- he was probably just feeling neglected with all the attention she gave to the pregnancy. He couldn't still be doubting, could he?
She sat at the table, glancing at his empty chair. Perhaps she could tempt him to a better mood later with his favorite dessert? For the time being, he could sit in front of the TV and lose himself for few hours with the History Channel and detective shows. He would come around and be himself again in no time.
She should know her husband, after all. She knew him before they married, including all the evils of his past--- evils committed against him as well as those done by his hand, through no fault of his own. She knew the risks, and the rewards. She was a psychologist, the best in her field, they said. She believed she knew him better than anyone else ever could. He would be alright.
Connie was certain she had convinced him that his fears were unfounded. She had won him over to accepting that their child would be a blessing, and have a normal, well-adjusted life. He was usually happy and supportive-- he was 'hers'. It would not do any good to dwell on any unpleasant thoughts, in her condition. They would talk later and everything would settle back to normal.
It was late. Connie had gone to bed with a soft good night wished from the living room door. After awhile, Norman ventured into the kitchen and made up a plate for himself. He was just finishing when Connie reappeared in her robe.
"What's wrong?" he asked over the rim of his glass of milk. There was always the possibility that something might go wrong with a pregnancy.
"It's lonely in there." she smiled. "I miss having you in bed."
Norman's chair groaned across the floor as he got up to scrape off his plate.
"We've already discussed that, Connie." He tried to sound sympathetic for appearances sake. "It's best for you and the baby if I sleep on the couch. You know how restless I get."
"You hardly ever have nightmares anymore."
"And who knows when I might have one again? Last thing you need is to have someone flailing against your… against you."
Truth was, he felt he was living a nightmare. And restless sleep or not, he had decided long ago he'd never share her bed again. Connie walked to the fridge and took out two cups of chocolate pudding.
"I made it just the way you like it." She smiled as she passed him. "With crushed walnuts."
She took two spoons from the drawer and sat at the table, fully expecting Norman to join her. He stood for a moment, arms stiff at his side, flexing his hands into fists over and over when she wasn't looking.
"Don't you want to hear about work today?"
Not really.
With a sigh, he took his place, and devoted full attention and appetite to dessert.
"What about work?"
"Melanie Grover is getting married."
"Who's Melanie Grover?"
"You remember. The chubby little nurse with the buck teeth?" She seemed to find it funny, and giggled. "She's engaged to some man who owns a computer business." Norman had never liked the way she talked about people. He could only imagine what she'd said about him over time.
"Pudding's delicious."
Connie frowned. There was obviously something on his mind.
"Norman, what's the matter? Whatever it is, we can talk about it."
Just like we talked about NOT having children? I should waste my time talking so you could ignore what I say? It's a little late to be understanding. No, we can't talk about it.
He sighed and looked up from his cup with a forced smile.
"Everything's fine, Connie. I'm just tired. I didn't sleep much last night, that's all."
"It's that couch."
"It was the cabbage. Really, Connie. What could possibly be wrong?"
"It's going to be alright, Norman. You know it will." That cloying tone again, made even worse now by her reaching for and taking his hand. "You'll see."
"Yes, I know. It's all going to be fine." He slid his hand free and stood up with the empty cup. "I better get these dishes done before I turn in." He had managed to keep the phony smile on his face until he turned away. "You should get back to bed. You're sleeping for two now."
He ran the water and was starting on the dishes when Connie came up behind him.
"Oh Norman, I worry about you sometimes."
She snaked her arms around his waist and leaned against his back. Norman froze, hands immersed in soapy water, slightly sickened by her touch and the feel of her swollen belly pressing against him.
"Connie. Not now."
She giggled and started fussing with the buckle of his belt.
"Remember how it was after we first got married? We couldn't leave each other alone. We spent weekends in bed."
He leaned forward, pressing his hips against the counter, and making it impossible for her to loosen his clothing further.
"Go to bed, Connie." His voice was cold and firm.
"Norman! You're hurting my hands!"
"Go to bed!"
Connie managed to pull her hands free and staggered back.
"Alright, Norman," she agreed sheepishly. "Alright. Good night."
"Good night!"
She hurried away, half convinced that the trouble was his fear of hurting the baby in the course of 'romance' . They hadn't had sex in months, ever since the news of her condition was confirmed. As a first time father he was worried that making love would somehow be dangerous to a delicate condition--- but hadn't she explained to him that it wasn't the case? Connie believed that her husband's reluctance towards intimacy was due to those foolish misgivings.
Norman waited until he heard her steps retreat and the latch on the bedroom door close. Slowly he withdrew his hands from the water, staring at the white soap bubbles turning pink from blood. The milk glass had broken in his grip, and he hadn't even noticed.