Psycho - Three Complete Novels (12 page)

“Forty thousand—”

“That’s right. Skipped town with the money. You can see it’s a serious business. That’s why everything I can find out is important. That’s why I’m going to insist on talking to your mother. With or without your permission.”

“But I’ve already told you she doesn’t know anything, and she’s not well, she’s not well at all.”

“I promise I won’t say anything to upset her.” Mr. Arbogast paused. “Of course, if you want me to come back with the sheriff and a warrant—”

“No.” Norman shook his head hastily. “You mustn’t do that.” He hesitated, but there was nothing to hesitate about now.
Forty thousand dollars. No wonder he’d asked so many questions. Of course he could get a warrant, no use making a scene. And besides, there was that Alabama couple down the line. No way out, no way at all.

“All right,” Norman said. “You can talk to her. But let me go up to the house first and tell her you’re coming. I don’t want you busting in without any explanation and getting her all excited.” He moved toward the door. “You wait here, in case anyone drives in.”

“Okay.” Arbogast nodded, and Norman hurried out.

It wasn’t much of a climb up the hill, but he thought he’d never make it. His heart pounded the way it had the other night, and it was just like the other night now, nothing had changed. No matter what you did, you couldn’t get away from it. Not by trying to behave like a good boy and not by trying to behave like an adult, either. Nothing helped, because he was what he was, and that wasn’t enough. Not enough to save him, and not enough to save Mother. If there was going to be any help at all now, it would have to come from her.

Then he unlocked the front door and climbed the stairs and went into her room, and he intended to speak to her very calmly, but when he saw her just sitting there by the window he couldn’t hold it back. He began to shake and the sobs came tearing up out of his chest, the terrible sobs, and he put his head down against her skirt and he told her.

“All right,” Mother said. She didn’t seem surprised at all. “We’ll take care of this. Just leave everything to me.”

“Mother—if you just talked to him for a minute, told him you don’t know anything—he’d go away, then.”

“But he’d come back. Forty thousand dollars, that’s a lot of money. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I didn’t know. I swear it, I didn’t know!”

“I believe you. Only
he
won’t. He won’t believe you and he won’t believe me. He probably thinks we’re all in on it together. Or that we did something to the girl, because of the money. Don’t you see how it is?”

“Mother—” He closed his eyes, he couldn’t look at her. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get dressed. We want to be all ready for your visitor, don’t we? I’ll just take some things into the bathroom. You can go back and tell this Mr. Arbogast to come up now.”

“No, I can’t. I won’t bring him up here, not if you’re going to—”

And he couldn’t, he couldn’t move at all, now. He wanted to faint, but even that wouldn’t stop what was going to happen.

In just a few minutes, Mr. Arbogast would get tired of waiting. He’d walk up to the house alone, he’d knock on the door, he’d open it and come in. And when he did—

“Mother, please,
listen
to me!”

But she didn’t listen, she was in the bathroom, she was getting dressed, she was putting on make-up, she was getting ready.
Getting ready.

And all at once she came gliding out, wearing the nice dress with the ruffles. Her face was freshly powdered and rouged, she was pretty as a picture, and she smiled as she started down the stairs.

Before she was halfway down, the knocking came.

It was happening, Mr. Arbogast was here; he wanted to call out and warn him, but something was stuck in his throat. He could only listen as Mother cried gaily, “I’m coming! I’m coming! Just a moment, now!”

And it
was
just a moment.

Mother opened the door and Mr. Arbogast walked in. He looked at her and then he opened his mouth to say something. As he did so he raised his head, and that was all Mother had been waiting for. Her arm went out and something bright and glittering flashed back and forth, back and forth—

It hurt Norman’s eyes and he didn’t want to look. He didn’t have to look, either, because he already knew.

Mother had found his razor . . .

— 10 —

N
orman smiled at the elderly man and said, “Here’s your key. That’ll be ten dollars for the two of you, please.”

The elderly man’s wife opened her purse. “I’ve got the money here, Homer.” She placed a bill on the counter, nodding at Norman. Then she stopped nodding and her eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter, don’t you feel good?”

“I’m—I’m just a little tired, I guess. Be all right. Going to close up now.”

“So early? I thought motels stayed open until all hours. Particularly on Saturday nights.”

“We don’t get much business here. Besides, it’s almost ten.”

Almost ten. Nearly four hours. Oh, my God.

“I see. Well, good night to you.”

“Good night.”

They were going out now, and he could step away from the counter, he could switch off the sign and close the office. But first he was going to take a drink, a big drink, because he needed one. And it didn’t matter whether he drank or not, nothing mattered now; it was all over. All over, or just beginning.

Norman had already taken several drinks. He took one as soon as he returned to the motel, around six, and he’d taken one every hour since then. If he hadn’t, he would never have been able to last; never been able to stand here, knowing what was lying up there at the house, underneath the hall rug. That’s where he’d left it, without trying to move anything; he just pulled the sides of the rug and tossed them over to cover it. There was quite a bit of blood, but it wouldn’t soak through. Besides, there was nothing else he
could
do, then. Not in broad daylight.

Now, of course, he’d have to go back. He’d given Mother strict orders not to touch anything, and he knew she’d obey. Funny, once it had happened, how she collapsed again. It seemed as if she’d nerve herself up to almost anything—the manic phase, wasn’t that what they called it?—but once it was over, she just wilted, and he had to take over. He told her to go back to her room, and
not
to show herself at the window, just lie down until he got there. And he had locked the door.

But he’d have to unlock it now.

Norman closed the office and went outside. There was the Buick, Mr. Arbogast’s Buick, still parked just where he had left it.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he could just climb into that car and drive away? Drive away from here, far away, and never come back again at all? Drive away from the motel, away from Mother, away from that thing lying under the rug in the hall?

For a moment the temptation welled up, but only for a moment; then it subsided and Norman shrugged. It wouldn’t work, he knew that much. He could never get far enough away to be safe. Besides, that thing was waiting for him. Waiting for him—

So he glanced up and down the highway and then he looked at Number One and at Number Three to see if their blinds were drawn, and then he stepped into Mr. Arbogast’s car and took out the keys he’d found in Mr. Arbogast’s pocket. And he drove up to the house, very slowly.

All the lights were out. Mother was asleep in her room, or maybe she was only pretending to be asleep—Norman didn’t care. Just so she stayed out of his way while he took care of this. He didn’t want Mother around to make him feel like a little boy. He had a man’s job to do. A grown man’s job.

It took a grown man just to bundle the rug together and lift what was in it. He got it down the steps and into the back seat of the car. And he’d been right about there not being any leaking. These old shag rugs were absorbent.

When he got through the field and down to the swamp, he drove along the edge a way until he came to an open space. Wouldn’t do to try and sink the car in the same place he’d put the other one. But this new spot was satisfactory, and he used the same method. It was really very easy, in a way.
Practice makes perfect.

Except that there was nothing to joke about; not while he sat there on the tree stump and waited for the car to go down. It was worse than the other time—you’d think because the Buick was a heavier car that it would sink faster. But it took a million years. Until at last,
plop!

There. It was gone forever. Like that girl, and the forty thousand dollars. Where had it been? Not in her purse, certainly, and not in the suitcase. Maybe in the overnight bag, or somewhere in the car. He should have looked, that’s what he should have done. Except that he’d been in no condition to search, even if he’d known the money was there. And if he
had
found it, no telling what might have happened. Most probably he would have given himself away when the detective came around. You always gave yourself away if you had a guilty conscience. That was one thing to be thankful for—he wasn’t responsible for all this. Oh, he knew all about being an accessory; on the other hand, he had to protect Mother. It meant protecting himself as well, but it was really Mother he was thinking about.

Norman walked back through the field, slowly. Tomorrow he’d have to return with the car and the trailer—do it all over again. But that wasn’t half as important as attending to another matter.

Again, it was just a matter of watching out for Mother.

He’d thought it all through, and the facts just had to be faced.

Somebody was going to come here and inquire about that detective.

It just stood to reason, that’s all. The company—something-or-other Mutual that employed him wasn’t going to let him disappear without an investigation. They probably had been in touch with him, or heard from him, all week long. And certainly the real-estate firm would be interested. Everybody was interested in forty thousand dollars.

So, sooner or later, there’d be questions to answer. It might be several days, or even a week, the way it had been with that girl. But he knew what was coming. And this time he was going to be prepared.

He had it all figured out. No matter who showed up, the story would be perfectly straight. He’d memorize it, rehearse it, so there’d be no slip of the tongue the way he had slipped tonight. Nobody was going to get him excited or confused; not if he knew in advance what to expect. Already he was planning just what to say when the time came.

The girl had stayed at the motel, yes. He’d admit that right away, but of course he hadn’t suspected anything while she was here—not until Mr. Arbogast came, a week later. The girl had spent the night and driven away. There’d be no story about any conversation, and certainly nothing about eating together at the house.

What he
would
say, though, is that he’d told everything to Mr. Arbogast, and the only part which seemed to interest him was when he mentioned that the girl had asked him how far it was from here to Chicago, and could she make it in a single day?

That’s
what interested Mr. Arbogast. And he’d thanked him very much and climbed back into his car and driven off. Period. No, he had no idea where he was headed for. Mr. Arbogast hadn’t said. He just drove off. What time had it been? A little after suppertime, Saturday.

There it was, just a simple little statement of fact. No special details, nothing elaborate to arouse anyone’s suspicions. A fugitive girl had passed this way and gone on. A week later a detective followed her trail, asked for and received information, then departed. Sorry, mister, that’s all I know about it.

Norman knew he could tell it that way, tell it calmly and easily this time, because he wouldn’t have to worry about Mother.

She wasn’t going to be looking out of the window. In fact, she wasn’t going to be in the house at all. Even if they came with one of those search warrants, they weren’t going to find Mother.

That would be the best protection of all. Protection for her, even more than for him. He’d made up his mind on it, and he was going to see that it worked out. There was no sense in even waiting until tomorrow.

Strange, now that it was actually over, he still felt fully confident. It wasn’t like the other time, when he’d gone to pieces and needed to know Mother was there. Now he needed to know she was
not
there. And he had the necessary gumption, for once, to tell her just that.

So he marched upstairs, in the dark, and went straight to her room. He switched on the light. She was in bed, of course, but not asleep; she hadn’t been sleeping at all, just playing possum.

“Norman, where on earth have you been? I was so worried—”

“You know where I’ve been, Mother. Don’t pretend.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Certainly.” He took a deep breath. “Mother, I’m going to ask you to give up sleeping in your room for the next week or so.”

“What’s that?”

“I said, I have to ask you not to sleep here for the next week or so.”

“Are you out of your mind? This is my room.”

“I know. And I’m not asking you to give it up permanently. Only for a little while.”

“But why on earth—”

“Mother, please listen and try to understand. We had a visitor here today.”

“Must you talk about that?”

“I must, for a moment. Because sooner or later, somebody will be around to inquire after him. And I’ll say he came and left.”

“Of course that’s what you’ll say, son. That’ll be the end of it.”

“Perhaps. I hope so. But I can’t take chances. Maybe they’ll want to search the house.”

“Let them. He won’t be here.”

“Neither will you.” He gulped a breath, then rushed on. “I mean it, Mother. It’s for your own protection. I can’t afford to let anyone see you, like that detective did today. I don’t want anyone to start asking you questions—you know why as well as I do. It’s just impossible. So the safest thing for both of us is to make sure you’re just not around.”

“What are you going to do—bury me in the swamp?”

“Mother—”

She started to laugh. It was more like a cackle, and he knew that once she really got started she wouldn’t stop. The only way to stop her was to outshout her. A week ago, Norman would never have dared. But this wasn’t a week ago, it was
now,
and things were different. It was
now,
and he had to face the truth. Mother was more than sick. She was psychotic, dangerously so. He had to control her, and he would.