Shattered 21
He could be excused for speeding, just this once.
Norman reached home from the hospital in record time, slowing down only as he turned into his street. There were still police cars and homicide vans in front of Mrs. Harrison's house, with yellow police tape marking off the area. He eased the car around an unmarked vehicle that was partially blocking the driveway, and finally came to a halt in front of the closed garage. For a moment he sat and stared at the few strangers milling around the edge of his property. Most wore jackets and shirts emblazoned with the letters of their specific departments, and had certainly noticed his arrival.
Poor Mrs. Harrison. The morbid reality struck home, and trying not to appear in too much of a hurry, Norman climbed out and took a suitcase from the trunk.
"Norman Bates?"
The voice startled him, and he turned to see a tall young man who looked as if he had just stepped from some CSI TV show.
"Yes?" He managed that without a stammer, but his gut was already startong to churn. The man smiled and produced a badge.
"They told us you were on your way home. I'm Ted Carlton, with the crime lab."
Norman just looked at him, confused. What was he supposed to say? The man sensed the dilemma and nodded.
"We're still working at Mrs. Harrison's house. But I was to ask if you were alright. Do you want someone to go in with you?"
"G-go in with m-me?" Keep smiling, Carlton. I know I sound pathetic! But I really just want to get in so I can get out-
"They were concerned at headquarters. You've been under a lot of stress, and thought maybe, once you got here, the sights and commotion might be unnerving."
Norman forced a smile of his own.
"No, sir, I'm a-alright. Nice of everyone to be c-concerned. I'm j-just here to sh-shower and c-change." He cleared his throat and reminded himself that Laney was only an hour away. "I'll be p-picking up a few things and th-then I'll be on m-my way." For good!
"We'll try not to bother you. But if you feel ill or need anything, just give a holler."
"Alright, th-thank you."
Carlton watched as Norman turned and walked toward the door. He'd never met Norman Bates before, though like the rest of them, had been well aware of his reputation. Bates seemed like an awkward, nervous marionette of a man, uncomfortable in his own skin. Well, with that past, who wouldn't be? It washard to picture him as someone who could kill and elude the police for years, right under their noses. Once the door closed and Bates was out of sight, Carlton returned to his van, and radioed in that their former suspect and local celebrity had arrived safely.
Norman leaned against the door and sighed in relief. The house was quiet and showed little indication that paramedics had rushed to Connie's aid there in the living room. There were one or two discarded wrappers of some medical supplies on the floor, but he gave them no notice. For the time being he was on 'neutral' ground; the house had once been his home, and was again harmless, in Connie's absence.
Don't think about her. Don't even think about what happened to Mrs. Harrison.
Fighting off unpleasant thoughts, Norman concentrated on his own business, and immediate future. The suitcase was tossed on the living room couch and popped open. He fished out clean clothes, and kicked off his shoes. Then he grabbed up his travel kit, and quickly padded off to the bathroom. He never glanced into the other rooms, or even at the answering machine; he would have found no messages for him in any event. His mind was busy with thoughts of what he still needed to find in the den to pack in the car.
He dropped most of his clothes on the floor, and shaved in front of the mirror- for once not disappointed in the face that looked back at him. It was happy, with eyes bright, and full of hope. It came as no surprise when he found himself singing. Nothing in the world was going to thwart his mood.
He wasn't singing especially loud, but it was enough for someone else in the house to hear.
Someone who had been hiding in the master bathroom. Someone who was suddenly and instantly elated to hear that masculine voice raised in song down the hall.
Oh this is too perfect! Couldn't have been planned better! Jason Petrie moved to the bathroom window and eased the curtain aside with the point of his knife- just far enough to see the cops around the murder house next door. Only a few yards away- right next to you, you idiots! It might not have been what he'd originally intended; offing the neighbor had been on the agenda, of course, but then there should have been that miserable bitch, 'Dr. Connie'- and a nice little frame up for poor old Norman. Would have loved to orchestrate your suicide, Bates. But looks like the Fates had something more in mind- along the lines of poetic justice. How about a little stroll down Memory Lane?
Laney O'Donnell had made better time in the end, arriving at the police station just after noon. There were reporters in the lobby, largely unaware of who she was. The clerk was quick to let her in and usher her to a private room. Two uniformed officers and a detective there introduced themselves. Normally careful to remember names, Laney forgot there almost instantly. She could only think of Norman, but when she asked to see him, she was told he was at home and would probably be back before long. In the meantime, she'd be only too happy to give her statement and verify Norman's innocence once and for all.
She'd just missed Tracy Venable. The reporter had arrived at the station ahead of Ms O'Donnell, learned that Norman had returned home, and so she promptly headed out again. Tracy thought it might be easier getting to her 'old acquaintance' away from police headquarters. They might object to her line of questioning, and just maybe Norman would enjoy the opportunity to talk about his famous writer friend.
Norman was in excellent voice. He even smiled at his clean shaven face before turning to the shower. He reached in to regulate the water the way he liked it- and no fear of anyone complaining he was using all the hot water! Before stepping into the tub, he paused and closed the bathroom door out of habit. Finally he stepped into the hard jet spray, to wash off all the dirt of the last 24 hours- and 24 months.
Petrie stood in the open bedroom door now, musing over how much of a loser Norman Bates really was. He's alone in the house and he shuts the door! He'd been harboring a dislike for Norman since day one. Not just because the scrawny creep had a bigger body count to his credit, or because he was taller, or even a better liar- Yeh, you'd have to be, to have all those doctors think you're cured, you little freak- Norman had always avoided him, spurned his attempts at 'friendship', and acted like he was something and someone better then the other inmates- or at least this was how Petrie saw it. And once Norman was on the scene, suddenly Jason was no longer 'Dr. Connie's' star patient. He practically had that woman eating out of his hand before Bates showed up. This happy home, wife and freedom should have been his. He could have snowed and manipulated that bitch into believing anything. Then this old creep comes along and the game changes. It had taken another two years and some sharp legal wrangling, a new lawyer and more lies, but he managed. Now there was a private score to settle, and a few more bodies to tally up.
It was a simple plan, really. He'd been mulling it over since he got into the house hours ago. The police didn't bother checking his credentials- or the back of the handyman's van he'd 'commandeered' and parked half a block away. If they had, they would have found the former owner/operator in one of his own black trash bags back there. Jason had been too chatty and obvious to make them suspicious. And who suspects a handyman investigating the doors and screens of an empty house, in plain sight?
The shower was running now, and the singing continued. There was no way Norman would be able to hear anyone in the house, but his uninvited guest crept along the hall slowly and quietly just the same. He wanted to savor the moment, and seemed to be changed into something invisible- something other than a man. He felt about to burst from the tension and excitement welling inside, confident that whatever evil that had once possessed Norman Bates to commit his crimes, it was nothing compared to Jason Petrie.
The only thing that could ice the cake would be turning this into a suicide! Or having your darling Connie present to witness your grand exit- prior to her own, of course. Or would it be better to have that the other way around? Hope you aren't enough of an asshole to lock the bathroom door!
No, he hadn't locked it.
The door pushed open, slow and easy. The steam added a certain amount surrealism to the scene, with the shower curtain muting the view of a tall man singing away as he washed. Petrie paused again. One last long look at the final moments in the life of Norman Bates. Was this what you saw, what you felt, when you made that kill? Pretending to be your mother, outraged at that piece of ass that turned you on? Did you even recognize it as a woman? Of course not. It was a delicious meal ripe for the carving.
The stalker had the upper hand- and a sizeable piece of cutlery in it to keep it that way. A blitz attack was always the most effective- even Norman must know that. But it was even more important to enjoy the fear- the terror that came with the realization of what was happening, and who it was that had come to deliver this final justice.
When the curtain was drawn back suddenly, there was a gasp of horror. The song ended, and Norman fell back hard against the wall- hard enough to crack the tiles. The cold glint of an upraised blade, the glare of the vicious and gleeful animal eyes behind it- and the chilling smile that hissed the briefest of greetings.
"Hello, Norman."