Psycho - Three Complete Novels (16 page)

“No. Too dangerous.”

“Then let’s find Bates, show this to him. Maybe we can make him talk.”

“Yes, and maybe we can’t. If he
is
involved, do you think he’s just going to break down and confess? The smartest thing to do is go after the Sheriff, right now.”

“What if Bates is suspicious? If he sees us leave, he might run away.”

“He doesn’t suspect us, Lila. But if you’re worried, we could just put through a call—”

“The phone is in the office. He’d hear us.” Lila paused for a moment. “Listen, Sam. Let
me
go after the Sheriff. You stay here and talk to Bates.”

“And accuse him?”

“Certainly not! Just go in and talk to him while I leave. Tell him I’m running into town to go to the drugstore, tell him anything, just so he doesn’t get alarmed and stays put. Then we can be sure of things.”

“Well—”

“Give me the earring, Sam.”

The voices faded, because they were going back into the other room. The voices faded, but the words remained. The man was staying here while
she
went and got the Sheriff. That’s the way it was going to be. And he couldn’t stop her. If Mother was here, she’d stop her. She’d stop them both. But Mother wasn’t here. She was locked up in the fruit cellar.

Yes, and if that little bitch showed the Sheriff the bloody earring, he’d come back and look for Mother. Even if he didn’t find her in the cellar, he might get an idea. For twenty years now he hadn’t even dreamed the truth, but he might, now. He might do the one thing Norman had always been afraid he’d do. He might find out what really happened the night Uncle Joe Considine died.

There were more sounds coming from next door. Norman adjusted the license frame hastily; he reached for the bottle again. But there was not time to take another drink, not now. Because he could hear the door slam, they were coming out of Number Six, she was going to the car and he was walking in here.

He turned to face the man, wondering what he was going to say.

But even more, he was wondering what the Sheriff would do.
The Sheriff could go up to Fairvale Cemetery and open Mother’s grave. And when he opened it, when he saw the empty coffin, then he’d know the real secret.

He’d know that Mother was alive.

There was a pounding in Norman’s chest, a pounding that was drowned out by the first rumble of thunder as the man opened the door and came in.

— 14 —

F
or a moment Sam hoped that the sudden thunder would muffle the sound of the car starting in the driveway. Then, he noticed that Bates was standing at the end of the counter. From that position he could see the entire driveway and a quarter of a mile up the road. So there was no sense trying to ignore Lila’s departure.

“Mind if I come in for a few minutes?” Sam asked. “Wife’s taking a little ride into town. She’s fresh out of cigarettes.”

“Used to have a machine here,” Bates answered. “But there wasn’t enough call for them, so they yanked it out.” He peered over Sam’s shoulder, gazing off into the dusk, and Sam knew he was watching the car move onto the highway. “Too bad she has to go all that way. Looks as if it’s going to be raining pretty hard in a few minutes.”

“Get much rain around here?” Sam sat down on the arm of a battered sofa.

“Quite a bit.” Bates nodded vaguely. “We get all kinds of things around here.”

What did he mean by that remark? Sam peered up at him in the dim light. The eyes behind the fat man’s glasses seemed vacant. Suddenly Sam caught the telltale whiff of alcohol, and at the same moment he noticed the bottle standing at the edge of the counter. That was the answer: Bates was a little bit drunk. Just enough to immobilize his expression, but not enough to affect his awareness. He caught Sam looking at the whiskey bottle.

“Care for a drink?” he was asking. “Just about to pour a little one for myself when you came in.”

Sam hesitated. “Well—”

“Find you a glass. There’s one under here someplace.” He bent behind the counter, emerged holding a shot-glass. “Don’t generally bother with them, myself. Don’t generally take a drink when I’m on duty, either. But with the damp coming on, a little something helps, particularly if you have rheumatism the way I do.”

He filled the shot-glass, pushed it forward on the counter. Sam rose and walked over to it.

“Besides, there won’t be any more customers coming along in this rain. Look at it come down!”

Sam turned. It was raining hard, now; he couldn’t see more than a few feet up the road in the downpour. It was getting quite dark, too, but Bates made no movement to switch on any lights.

“Go ahead, take your drink and sit down,” Bates said. “Don’t worry about me. I like to stand here.”

Sam returned to the sofa. He glanced at his watch. Lila had been gone about eight minutes now. Even in this rain, she’d get to Fairvale in less than twenty—then ten minutes to find the Sheriff, or say fifteen just to be on the safe side—twenty minutes more to return. Still, it would be better than three quarters of an hour. That was a long time to stall. What could he talk about?

Sam lifted his glass. Bates was taking a swig out of the bottle. He made a gulping noise.

“Must get pretty lonesome out here sometimes,” Sam said.

“That’s right.” The bottle thumped down on the counter. “Pretty lonesome.”

“But interesting, too, in a way, I suppose. I’ll bet you get to see all kinds of people in a spot like this.”

“They come and go. I don’t pay much attention. After a while you hardly notice.”

“Been here a long time?”

“Over twenty years, running the motel. I’ve always lived here, all my life.”

“And you run the whole place by yourself?”

“That’s right.” Bates moved around the counter, carrying the bottle. “Here, let me fill your glass.”

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Won’t hurt you. I’m not going to tell your wife.” Bates chuckled. “Besides, I don’t like to drink alone.”

He poured, then retreated behind the counter.

Sam sat back. The man’s face was only a gray blur in the growing darkness. The thunder sounded overhead again, but there was no lightning. And here inside everything seemed quiet and peaceful.

Looking at this man, listening to him, Sam was beginning to feel slightly ashamed. He sounded so—so damned
ordinary!
It was hard to imagine him being mixed up in something like this.

And just what was he mixed up in, anyway, if he
was
mixed up? Sam didn’t know. Mary had stolen some money, Mary had been here overnight, she had lost an earring in the shower. But she could have banged her head, she could have cut her ear when the earring came off. Yes, and she could have gone on to Chicago, too, just the way Arbogast and the Sheriff seemed to think. He really didn’t know very much about Mary, when he came right down to it. In a way, her sister seemed more familiar. A nice girl, but too hair-triggered, too impulsive. Always making snap judgments and decisions. Like this business of wanting to run straight up and search Bates’s house. Good thing he’d talked her out of that one. Let her bring the Sheriff. Maybe even that was a mistake. The way Bates was acting now, he didn’t seem like a man who had anything on his conscience.

Sam remembered that he was supposed to be talking. It wouldn’t do to just sit here.

“You were right,” he murmured. “It is raining pretty hard.”

“I like the sound of the rain,” Bates said. “I like the way it comes down hard. It’s exciting.”

“Never thought of it in that way. Guess you can use a little excitement around here.”

“I don’t know. We get our share.”

“We? I thought you said you lived here alone.”

“I said I operated the motel alone. But it belongs to both of us. My mother and me.”

Sam almost choked on the whiskey. He lowered the glass, clenching it tightly in his fist. “I didn’t know—”

“Of course not, how could you? Nobody does. That’s because she always stays in the house. She has to stay there. You see, most people think she’s dead.”

The voice was calm. Sam couldn’t see Bates’s face in the dimness now, but he knew it was calm, too.

“Actually, there
is
excitement around here, after all. Like there was twenty years ago, when Mother and Uncle Joe Considine drank the poison. I called the Sheriff and he came out and found them. Mother left a note, explaining everything. Then they had an inquest, but I didn’t go to it. I was sick. Very sick. They took me to the hospital. I was in the hospital a long time. Almost too long to do any good when I got out. But I managed.”

“Managed?”

Bates didn’t reply, but Sam heard the gurgle and then the bottle’s thump.

“Here,” Bates said. “Let me pour you another.”

“Not yet.”

“I insist.” He was coming around the counter now, and his shadowy bulk loomed over Sam. He reached for Sam’s glass.

Sam drew back. “First tell me the rest,” he said quickly.

Bates halted. “Oh, yes. I brought Mother back home with me. That was the exciting part, you see—going out to the cemetery at night and digging up the grave. She’d been shut up in that coffin for such a long time that at first I thought she really
was
dead. But she wasn’t, of course. She couldn’t be. Or else she wouldn’t have been able to communicate with me when I was in the hospital all that while. It was only a trance state, really; what we call suspended animation. I knew how to revive her. There
are
ways, you know, even if some folks call it magic. Magic—that’s just a label, you know. Completely meaningless. It wasn’t so very long ago that people were saying that electricity was magic. Actually, it’s a force, a force which can be harnessed if you know the secret. Life is a force, too, a vital force. And like electricity, you can turn it off and on, off and on. I’d turned it off, and I knew how to turn it on again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes—it’s very interesting.”

“I thought you might be interested. You and the young lady. She isn’t really your wife, is she?”

“Why—”

“You see, I know more than you think I know. And more than
you
know, yourself.”

“Mr. Bates, are you quite sure you’re all right, I mean—”

“I know what you mean. You think I’m drunk, don’t you? But I wasn’t drunk when you came here. I wasn’t drunk when you found that earring and told the young lady to go to the Sheriff.”

“I—”

“Sit still, now. Don’t be alarmed. I’m not alarmed, am I? And I would be if anything was wrong. But nothing is wrong. You don’t think I’d tell you all this if there was anything wrong, do you?” The fat man paused. “No, I waited until I saw her drive up the road. I waited until I saw her stop.”

“Stop?” Sam tried to find the face in the darkness, but all he could hear was the voice.

“Yes. You didn’t know that she stopped the car, did you? You thought she went on to get the Sheriff, the way you told her. But she has a mind of her own. Remember what she wanted to do? She wanted to take a look at the house. And that’s what she did do. That’s where she is, now.”

“Let me out of here—”

“Of course. I’m not hindering you. It’s just that I thought you might like another drink, while I told you the rest about Mother. The reason I thought you might like to know is because of the girl. She’ll be meeting Mother, now.”

“Get out of my way!”

Sam rose, swiftly, and the blurred bulk fell back.

“You don’t want another drink, then?” Bates’s voice sounded petulantly over his shoulder. “Very well. Have it your own w—”

The end of his sentence was lost in the thunder, and the thunder was lost in the darkness as Sam felt the bottle explode against the roof of his skull. Then voice, thunder, explosion, and Sam himself all disappeared into the night . . .

And it was still night, but somebody was shaking him and shaking him; shaking him up out of the night and into his room where the light burned, hurting his eyes and making him blink. But Sam could feel now, and somebody’s arms were around him, lifting him up, so that at first he felt as if his head would drop off. Then it was only throbbing, throbbing, and he could open his eyes and look at Sheriff Chambers.

Sam was sitting on the floor next to the sofa and Chambers was gazing down at him. Sam opened his mouth.

“Thank God,” he said. “He was lying about Lila, then. She did get to you.”

The Sheriff didn’t seem to be listening. “Got a call from the hotel about half an hour ago. They were trying to locate your friend Arbogast. Seems he checked out, but he never took his bags with him. Left ’em downstairs Saturday morning, said he’d be back, but he never showed. Got to thinking it over, and then I tried to find you. Had a hunch you might have come out here on your own—lucky I followed through.”

“Then Lila didn’t notify you?” Sam tried to stand up. His head was splitting.

“Take it easy, there.” Sheriff Chambers pushed him back. “No, I haven’t seen her at all. Wait—”

But this time Sam managed to make it. He stood on his feet swaying.

“What happened here?” the Sheriff muttered. “Where’s Bates?”

“He must have gone up to the house after he slugged me,” Sam told him. “They’re up there now, he and his mother.”

“But she’s dead—”

“No, she isn’t.” Sam murmured. “She’s alive, the two of them are up at the house with Lila!”

“Come on.” The big man ploughed out into the rain. Sam followed him, scrambling along the slippery walk, panting as they began the ascent of the steep slope leading to the house beyond.

“Are you sure?” Chambers called over his shoulder. “Everything’s dark up there.”

“I’m sure,” Sam wheezed. But he might have saved his breath.

The thunder came suddenly and sharply, and the other sound was fainter and much more shrill. Yet both of them heard it, somehow, and both of them recognized it.

Lila was screaming.

— 15 —

L
ila went up the steps, reaching the porch just before the rain came.

The house was old, its frame siding gray and ugly here in the half-light of the coming storm. Porch boards creaked under her feet, and she could hear the wind rattling the casements of the upstairs windows.