It wasn't long before word of Bob Paris's sudden departure spread like a virus through the town. Romero was constantly under fire, bombarded with subtle accusations and surrounded by people whispering and sharing theories about what his role may have been in the disappearance. While Paris was certainly not the most liked guy in town, it would be a lie to say that the sheriff didn't have a few enemies of his own. There were people out to get him: people who could take him out with the slightest evidence against him.
He seemed to meet more and more with Norma, spending days with her more regularly and yet becoming increasingly on edge. Still, he insisted every time that they didn't talk about him, enthusiastically offering advice about Norman if only to change the subject. Around a week after they'd gotten him back home, the two of them sat in the Bates' kitchen, tossing around ideas.
"Maybe you could get someone to stay with him and watch out for him for a bit?" Romero suggested to a worried Norma, "You know, someone he trusts." She shook her head, blonde curls twirling, immediately seeing the problem in his suggestion.
"Yeah, I've thought about it, Alex," she lamented, sipping at another mug of coffee, completely devoid of energy, "At first I thought of Dylan, but he's got work and his own life: enough problems without having to constantly worry about Norman." She laced her fingers into her white-blonde hair, scratching at her scalp with concentration. Romero pressed on.
"Okay, well, it doesn't have to be Dylan," he offered, scratching his own head, "There are other people close to him, aren't there?" He couldn't imagine a kid Norman's age not having other friends, even a kid like Norman. Still, Norma still seemed uneasy about the topic; she had undeniably considered similar ideas in great detail.
"The only other option is Emma, and I couldn't ask that much of her," she reasoned, waving her manicured hand as if to dismiss the notion, "Plus she's not strong enough to handle Norman by herself if he lashes out." Her face morphed back into a lost expression, but Alex didn't think they had completely ruled out anything.
"Well she's his friend, so it shouldn't be too much trouble, right?" he shot back, staring at her with puzzled eyes, "And has he ever lashed out at her before?" Norma peered up briefly in thought.
"Well, no, but I just don't think it's a good idea," she replied, dismissing the suggestion once again, "I mean, they used to date. That would not be fun for either of them." Alex's nostrils flared, angry that she wasn't even considering any of his recommendations. He was doing everything he could to help her, including holding himself back from an exasperated outburst.
"Jesus, I'm just spit-balling here, Norma, but you have to do something," he growled, speaking forthrightly now, "I could tell you what I really think is best for him, but I know you won't like it." The room grew silent. That got her attention.
"Fine," she whispered after a few moments, accepting defeat, "I'll ask her next time I see her. I just don't want to put her in danger." Alex softened his expression, trying to reassure her that the situation would work out. He hated to see Norma so stressed out all the time.
"Just make sure they don't go off to far alone," he instructed sternly with his signature detached stare, "If there's trouble, call me. I honestly doubt he'd ever attack the girl, Norma. From what I can tell, it's the family craziness that sets the kid off." The blonde woman seemed offended for a brief moment, but she seemed to consider the statement, wondering if it may be true.
"You know what? You're right," she assured, more to herself than the sheriff, "All he needs is some safe separation for a little while, and he'll get over this whole new preoccupation with leaving. That makes sense, right?" She looked up at Alex with hopeful blue eyes that begged him for the slightest bit of reassurance. Romero didn't like to lie; he had none to offer.
"I've got to go, Norma," he replied, wrapping his jacket around his shoulders as he turned to leave the kitchen, "Good luck."
And with that, he was gone.
That afternoon, Norma called Emma over the phone to ask her about keeping an eye on Norman. The girl seemed more than happy to help, even agreeing to come that night during one of his shifts at the motel. Norma couldn't thank her enough, wondering to herself how they had ever been lucky enough to have someone who cares that much for their family. It was peculiar how eager Emma was to help them out, but Norma would never complain.
At around 7:30 at night, Emma's rickety old car rolled into the parking lot of the motel. The girl stepped out of the side door, the deep rolling of her oxygen tank following her as she skipped into the motel office.
"Hello, Norman," she piped as she swung open the wooden door. The skinny boy seemed startled by her voice, jumping before turning to face her with alarmed blue eyes.
"Oh! Hi, Emma," he replied, catching his breath between words. He unconsciously straightened his sweater and ran a hand through his brown, flyaway hair. He didn't look so good, she noticed.
"Can I help with anything?" Emma offered, walking towards him and resting her elbows on the front desk. It disappointed her to see how uncomfortable he was as he fumbled around with a stack of papers to try and appear busy.
"Uh, no, I'm just finishing up," he replied, seeming to stumble over his words, "What are you doing here? It's not your shift." She crossed her arms, wondering why her friend was acting so strangely- well, more strangely than usual.
"I'm just visiting," she responded, slightly hurt, "Do you want me to leave?" She was trying to be polite, but she quickly remembered that she promised Norma that she'd stay. Luckily for her, Norman was too polite to send her away.
"No, but…" he stuttered, seeming deeply uneasy. Emma tried to find some words that would ease the tension.
"Look Norman, I know things are probably still weird between us," she admitted, stepping closer to the boy, "But I want you to know you're still my best friend and you can tell me anything that's bothering you." The boy walked straight passed her, straightening the sign on the window as if it were the most urgent matter he had ever attended to.
"Yes, thank you, Emma," he replied bitingly, "Good to know." She watched as he paced around the tiny office, trying not to get angry with the way he was blowing her off. It was clear that he was very stressed out.
"I'm serious, Norman," she insisted, grabbing his shoulder, "What's wrong? You're not acting like yourself."
She watched as her friend turned to face her, noticing the tears that began to well in his eyes. His scrawny shoulders began to quiver, and he placed both of his hands into his pockets. Soon, he was trying to look anywhere but at her, a few tears fleeing his gleaming eyes.
"Norman?" she asked uncertainly, not used to seeing him like this.
"I'm sorry, Emma," he answered with repentance, wiping the tears from his eyes as he attempted to turn away. He was stopped by her gentle hand on his shoulder; her warm arm wrapped across his trembling back.
"Don't be," she urged, rubbing circles on his back for comfort "Just tell me what's going on." Norman tried to slow his own shaking, knowing where his emotions could take him if things got out of hand.
"You're right," he started with a crackling voice, "I haven't been myself. I don't even know who I am anymore." He wiped his eyes again, which seemed to supply fresh tears the moment he removed his hand. "I just know that I have to get away from Mother. I know we love each other but I don't want to hurt her, and I don't want her to hurt me." Emma shook her head at his statement, showering him with reassurances.
"She would never hurt you," she responded, "She's just trying to help you. She loves you." At this, Norman seemed to stop crying. He simply trembled, shaking his head back and forth.
"You don't know her like I do," he insisted, squirming out of the girl's embrace suddenly. He began to pace around the office again, with a perplexed Emma trailing closely behind.
"What do you mean, Norman?" she inquired. Never having seen Norma hurt a fly, she found his claim confusing. She didn't want to be nosy, but if Norman was in trouble, she needed to hear about it.
"Mother has done very bad things," he explained without really explaining, "I can't protect her for much longer." Emma shook her head, still confused and now a bit worried.
"Like what?" she pressed, walking closer to her friend. Instead of looking at her, though, he looked past her, addressing the empty space near the door of the office.
"I don't care," he shouted heatedly into the air, "I have to tell her!" Emma looked around, and then back to Norman with pure concern.
"Norman, you're scaring me," she cried, reaching out for his shoulder, "What is going on?" His gaze returned to her, as if he had finally decided to spill some big secret.
"Mother killed Bradley Martin," he confessed, trying to fight back the tears and appearing traumatized by a memory that couldn't be real, "I tried to stop her, but she just got so angry, Emma." The girl froze where she was, unsure of how to proceed.
"Norman, Bradley Martin committed suicide, remember?" she reminded him, hoping that the fact had merely slipped his mind.
"No, Emma, I mean last week when I ran off with her," he clarified, only to receive a worried look from his friend, "Mother was so upset; she said Bradley was no good." She had no idea what he was talking about, but she was actually scared. She was starting to regret agreeing to stay with him. She studied her friend, whose hair stuck out in all different directions, whose eyes flashed wildly and were lined with bags. She suddenly grabbed Norman by his shoulders, steadily moving him to the door.
"It's getting late," she reasoned, eager to change the subject, "Why don't we head back up to the house? The rest will do you some good." The look in his eyes was a heartbreaking blend of terror and confusion.
"Why does everyone keep acting like I'm crazy?" he asked in a cracked voice, "I saw what happened, but nobody believes me! She's scares me, Emma." She couldn't understand why he was so terrified of Norma now, but she wanted nothing but to help him.
"I know," she assured, holding onto his trembling form, "How about I talk to Dylan and we'll handle it?" Suddenly, Norman shook her off and backed away, his tone now trenchant.
"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he bit back with a scowl, "Alone time with Dylan?" Her jaw dropped in shock; she didn't think that Norman would suspect…
"Norman, I'm just trying to help," she pleaded, trying to get closer to him again. The glower lingered on his face for a moment, but soon his expression softened as his exhaustion got the better of him.
"I'm sorry. I know you are, Emma," he replied, allowing her to once again support him with an arm around his back, "Thank you."
"It's no problem," she replied, glad that he came to his senses and that he avoided a meltdown. With his shoulder in one hand and the handle of her rolling oxygen tank in the other, she piped, "How 'bout we get you up to the house?"
After about fifteen minutes of climbing the concrete stairs, Emma's tank clanking noisily behind them, the two teenagers finally made it to the door of the Bates house. When they entered they were greeted by Dylan, who helped Emma lead Norman up to his room and get him in bed. Luckily for them he went to sleep without a fight, seeming more exhausted lately than usual. After they were sure Norman was situated, the two of them left the room to talk.
"Dylan," Emma murmured, looking up at her best friend's brother, "Norman's really starting to worry me." The blond man nodded at her and sighed, understanding completely as he stared off into space.
"I know" he replied solemnly, rubbing his own tired eyes, "We're still trying to figure out what we're gonna do." Emma nodded, but the conversation that she and Norman had was still at the forefront of her mind, disturbing her.
"He said some really strange stuff to me down in the motel office," she began, brushing back her hair and looking to Dylan for assurance.
"What do you mean?" Norman's older brother asked, peering briefly back at the closed bedroom door. Emma inhaled deeply, unsure of how Dylan would take this information. It seemed like Norman had finally lost touch with reality.
"He said that Norma killed Bradley Martin," she explained, the horror flickering in her dark brown eyes. Dylan's expression became even more serious.
"Christ, he was babbling all about how he was gonna run off with her last week," he rambled, placing his hand on his forehead in frustration. Emma offered him a confused glance.
"But she's dead," she stated simply, wondering what this meant for Norman. If he was far gone enough to babble about leaving town with a dead girl, what's to say that he wouldn't hurt himself? Or worse, his family?
"Um…" Dylan offered, biting his lip. Emma was just getting more confused.
"What do you mean 'um'?" she pressed, recognizing that Dylan was withholding information. The taller boy rocked on his heels, clearly uneasy.
"I'm not supposed to tell you this," he began nervously, and Emma gave him an expectant look, "but she sort of… faked her suicide." The teenager's jaw dropped, unsure if she had heard the man correctly. Did he just say Bradley Martin is alive?
"Are you serious?" she gaped, still not believing what she was hearing. She didn't know what she could believe nowadays, to be honest. "Oh my god. Holy shit. Well, you don't think he… killed her? Do you?" She shivered, unable to imagine poor Norman killing anyone. But he did get pretty angry sometimes…
"Honestly Emma?" Dylan snapped, shaking his head doubtfully, "I don't think she was even here. We saw no sign of her anywhere when he left. Why would she come back to White Pine Bay, anyway? When I found him, he was standing alone in the rain, with no sign of a body around. He used to be obsessed with Bradley. He probably just fell into one of his states and imagined the whole thing."
"Poor guy…" Emma whispered, easily imagining her friend in the pouring rain, lonely and miserable. She couldn't even imagine how terrifying the whole ordeal had been for Norman, especially when she considered how innately fragile he was. Dylan seemed to be reading her mind, nodding in agreement.
"I know," he replied simply, staring off with a face lined in worry, "He's been going through quite a lot. He's a danger to himself, but there's no way Norma would send him away." The two of them stood in silence for a moment, taking in just how firmly wedged they were in their situation. Emma tried to offer anything she could to move them forward.
"I'm so sorry, Dylan," she consoled him, "If there's anything I can do, just call me. I love Norman, and I'll do anything to make sure he stays safe." Dylan nodded, smiling warmly down at her, loving her more than ever.
"Thank you, Emma," he whispered, "You have no idea how lucky he is to have a friend like you." She smiled back up at Dylan, and the feelings she had for him grew more rooted inside of her. She loved their family more than anything, and she felt something even more special for Dylan. If there was any way she could help him through this, than she'd be damned if she didn't give it her all.
"I'll probably see you tomorrow," she whispered, turning to glide down the hallway. And she was gone.