Shattered 6
He didn't want to go home-- ever again. Shaking, and distracted, he almost didn't make it.
He was careless with his speed, and thought seriously of swerving into a tree to 'end it all'. My luck, I'd only end up crippled, not dead. Then I'd never escape---
When Norman reached the house, anger won out. He shouted and swore, broke vases and knocked over furniture. He wanted to destroy everything that woman loved-- anything Connie had ever valued or cherished. He smashed the glass of framed photos, and tore up the lying images of 'happy life'. He ripped the sheets off the bed, shredded them with bare hands and for a moment considered putting a torch to it all. Destroy the house, burn it down for every outrage committed-- annihilate everything connected to that hateful, selfish----
When the tempest was over, Norman was kneeling in the middle of the living room. He was surrounded by shards of his married life-- married 'lie'. His hands were bleeding under the bandages, and his vision was blurred by tears. How long had he been crying? And bleeding? He dropped to his side, curled in a fetal position, and wrapped his arms around himself.
Some hours later, Norman struggled to his feet.
He undressed and threw his clothes into the laundry room. After a vigorous scrub in the shower that left his skin red, he redressed in clothes that 'she' hadn't touched. Like so many times before, he would clean up the mess. He'd been accustomed to cleaning up after mother, wiping up the blood, getting rid the bodies. Oh, if it was only that simple. Cover up all the evidence, get rid of all the pain…
The idea made him grin a bit, but he put away the thought.
The bed was remade, the glass swept up, the vases pitched in pieces into the trash. He straightened and re-arranged as much as he could, hoping she wouldn't notice the wedding picture was gone, or the lamp base was cracked. The garbage bags were carried out, the rug vacuumed. It was almost 5 am by the time he climbed into his bed on the couch.
The bitter thought of what transpired at La Belle was still stinging him, though he clenched his eyes tight against the memory.
He had been so careful with people-- women-- and relationships--- just in case mother was right. It was perhaps too ironic to consider-- when he finally married, it was to one of those women he'd always been warned about. A dose of pain medication would help bring on sleep. He wouldn't have to think about the horror he was living, or feel like his mind was slipping again. For a few hours at least, he wouldn't have to think of anything at all.
He looked at the medicine bottle, on the table beside the couch. His lids were growing heavy and sleep would soon take him.
How many would I have to swallow, not to wake up again?
The next morning, Connie let him sleep.
Despite best intentions, she could not help but notice something about the place looked different. Things were moved and missing-- she wasn't sure just what, but she noticed the empty places on the wall and table. She left her bag by the door and peered into the darkened room, satisfied to hear Norman breathing through his mouth as he slept. She closed the door and left him alone.
Maybe -- just maybe-- she had pushed too hard the night before. As his wife, she felt she had a certain right to her husband's physical-- and sexual-- companionship. Still, if he was that much opposed for whatever reason, maybe she shouldn't force herself on him. Perhaps, in her condition, he no longer found her attractive?
But she was too tired to explore the subject further. He would just have to adjust to things, and she would try to give him the time and space he needed. She noticed the clean sheets on the bed and wanted to believe it was just Norman being thoughtful-- and perhaps forgiving-- of her earlier impulse.
But she paused before laying down, feeling a curious chill.
For the first time in their life together, she felt unsure. Quickly, she stepped to the bedroom door and turned the lock. There was a growing doubt, and the fear that perhaps something was wrong.
It worked very neatly; by the time Norman was able to pull himself up from the rumpled blankets of his 'bed', Connie had been asleep for a few hours. At least she wouldn't badger him-- wouldn't even look at him-- as he started his day. It was already noon by the time he had dressed and shaved.
It would be a special day, as he saw it. There would be no going back-- the point of no return. He had carefully selected a few things to take with him, including his favorite sweaters and comfortable jeans. These, along with a few pairs of shoes, and boots were carefully placed in an old suitcase and hidden in the back of the closet. It would eventually be removed to the little space at 'Store-It', the self storage business across town that he had rented the month before. It already held the few sad items he had purchased over the last weeks, personal effects he would need for his 'new life'. There wasn't much to show for all his efforts, but enough to fill a few pieces of luggage. He'd worry about other details when he had settled into a new home, safely removed from the present.
Today was the day he would plan his route; bus schedules, train schedules, car rentals all carefully considered. The only thing left to do was to decide where, and how far, would be considered safe. Taking his cup of coffee into the den-- his room-- he sat as his computer and eagerly went on line.
"You've got mail!"
The cheery voice alerted him, the moment he was connected. Expecting nothing more than the usual offers and advertisements, he opened his mailbox and was most pleasantly surprised. Stunned, in fact.
"News from Laney O'Donnell!" the subject header read. He nearly knocked his coffee cup over, when he saw the words. It was a message from God-- it had to be! He clicked 'read' and the note opened.
It was a notification, from Laney's website. He had joined the thousands of fans and added his email address to her page the day he had found it. Still, he hadn't signed the guestbook, or sent her a note even though the site encouraged-- what he would call--- 'fan mail'. How could he, after all? They'd only known each other for a matter of weeks, and that was decades ago. There was no way she'd remember him, and he'd feel pretty silly if she never replied. Well, he felt pretty silly anyway. His eyes scanned the post anxiously, though he knew that it was the sort of bulk mailing that went out on line whenever you signed up for something. It was exciting, anyway.
The announcement talked about the upcoming release of the third book in a current series of historical fantasies she had penned. Must get to the library today and find these. It also referred to a recent interview, in a small NY based magazine, and then his eye fell on the tour schedule.
A book signing tour. Coming to California, this week.
He gasped audibly, and then covered his mouth for fear of discovery. No, Connie wasn't spying on him; she was sound asleep on the other side of the house. Leaning intently over the screen, he studied the dates and locations where Laney O'Donnell would be making her appearances.
His heart skipped a beat, and again he looked up, fearful that he had heard something in the kitchen. After a few seconds of quiet listening, he was assured it had been nothing, and then refocused his eyes on what had so impressed him.
She would be appearing in Oakland, tomorrow.
Oakland!
He leaned back against the couch cushions, still staring at the computer balanced on his knees. It wasn't exactly next door, but it was a good deal closer than the east coast. Could he go?
Should he?
A dozen ideas fired through his brain at once.
What a coincidence! She's been on my mind-- but I couldn't! Look at yourself, Norman-- you're a skinny old man who's spent almost half his life in mental hospitals! What are you trying to prove, anyway? You can't go back to that innocent time-- you can never go back!
Connie's recent cruelty was almost forgotten-- as long as he focused thesmiling face of Laney in the website photo, Connie didn't matter. Just looking at the picture made him feel good, and filled him with a sense of purpose. It was a gift from God! A message, telling him that he had to go, had to see her again-- even if she didn't remember, he did. It was as if Laney and Connie were complete opposites-- the presence of one, and her treachery, was somehow negated by the memory of the other. Maybe if he actually saw her, it would have a lasting effect.
He signed off after making note of the date and times, and the bookstore location. He slid the laptop into its case, and fished a an old gym bag out of the closet. Some clean clothes, a few changes of underwear-- where was his tweed jacket? Had he already packed that? He'd stop at 'Store It' and drop off the newly packed suitcase on the way. For the time being, bus schedules and escape plans were forgotten-- this sudden opportunity was too good to pass up.
He put the suitcase, bag and computer in the trunk, then hurried back inside for one last thing.
Closing the door behind him, he stood quietly in the living room for a full minute. There was no sound inside the house except the ticking of a clock. Connie had not heard or been roused by his activity. He finally strode into the kitchen, and took up the note pad on the table, to hastily scrawl his intentions.
'Connie,
I am taking a few days to myself. Possibly up to Oakland, just
to take a break. Lots to think about, and I need some time alone. Back
soon.
Norman'
More of an explanation than she deserves. And this is one thing she's not going to get the chance to ruin.
He placed the pad conspicuously on the table, and read it over one more time to assure himself there was no hint of emotion, good or bad, it the brief message. He smiled and took an apple from the bowl, and headed determinedly for the door. He was running away from home, just for a little while. Perhaps just for practice.
Before he had crossed the living room, he had a sudden idea, and changed his course for the den. A moment more and he was finally on his way, with a small box of childhood mementos under his arm.