Psycho: A Novel by Robert Bloch

Author:Robert Bloch [Bloch, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Overlook
Published: 2010-05-25T00:00:00+00:00

10

Norman 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.

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