Robert Bloch's Psycho (22 page)

“Are they all right?” Norman asked, alarmed by this news of his niece and nephew.

“They're fine,” Dr. Reed said. “They're going back to school tomorrow, in fact, and Robert said he'd come visit you tonight, if that's all right with you.”

“Sure!” Norman said, delighted by the prospect.

When Norman saw Robert walk into his room that evening several hours after dinner, Robert seemed as anxious to see Norman as Norman had been to see him. Robert hugged him and sat down, keeping his hand on Norman's shoulder. He apologized for having taken so long between visits, and promised that he would see Norman more frequently, now that the kids were no longer ill.

“I, uh, understand that you've had a burden lifted from your shoulders,” Robert said with a soft smile.

“You … you mean that man? Myron Gunn?”

“And an exceptionally annoying head nurse as well, I believe.”

“How did you…? Did Dr. Reed tell you about it?”

“He did. He knew how concerned I was with the way you've been treated by some of the staff here.”

Norman nodded. “People are saying they ran away together,” he said, suddenly unable to meet Robert's gaze.

“And do you believe that?” Robert asked. His voice had gone flat. Norman didn't answer. He looked down at the floor between his feet. “Did you have a dream, Norman?” Robert asked. “The night they disappeared? Did you …
see
anything?”

Norman didn't answer right away. Then, softly, he spoke. “I didn't …
see
anything. I had a dream, that was all.”

“And what did you dream?”

“I dreamt about him. Myron Gunn. And Nurse Lindstrom. I dreamt about them. I saw their faces, that was all.”

“And how did their faces look?” Robert asked.

“They looked … scared.”

Norman looked up at Robert, who nodded, that same soft smile on his face. “I told you not to worry, didn't I? That I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. I meant that, Norman. No one here is going to hurt you.”

“Do you think … will they come back?”

“They're not coming back, Norman. They ran away together, and they're
staying
away. They won't bother you again. Not ever. So don't worry, little brother.”

“Robert,” Norman said, “did you … did you
make
them go away?”

“Norman,” Robert said, shaking his head. “Norman, Norman, Norman. How could
I
make people fall in love and run off together? I run a diner. I
could
make them a great plate of ham and eggs, though.” He laughed and slapped Norman on the shoulder. “Gone is gone, right? No matter how it gets done. Look, Myron Gunn and his friend are probably sunning themselves on a beach in Jamaica right now. What's important is that they aren't here. So enjoy their absence and stop worrying. Now. Let me tell you about this crazy thing that Susie said when she was sick the other day. She threw up, okay? And Mindy comes in to clean it up, and…”

Norman started smiling as Robert continued the story, and when it was finished, he laughed. He loved his brother, and he hoped that someday, somehow, he might be able to meet Robert's family.

Once the initial talk of Myron Gunn and Nurse Lindstrom was finished, they had a wonderful visit, but it was over surprisingly fast. It seemed as though Dr. Reed knocked on the door only minutes after Robert had entered. His brother promised to come back in a few days, and, for the first time, kissed Norman on the cheek when he left. Norman was happy, and read himself to sleep. He had no dreams.

Several days later, Norman was surprised to find Dr. Reed visiting his room in the morning after breakfast. Usually Norman used those few hours to read privately. He sat up quickly, since Dr. Reed looked concerned. Still, the doctor smiled and nodded to the book Norman was holding. “What are you reading today?” he asked.

“
Silvertip's Chase
by Max Brand,” Norman replied. “There's a whole series of books about this Silvertip … they call him that because he's got these gray hairs at his…” Something was wrong, and Norman looked pointedly at Dr. Reed. “What is it?”

Dr. Reed sighed and sat next to Norman. “Oh, Norman, you're so full of conversation with me and with your brother. And even sometimes with Nurse Marie. But in all your time here, have you ever spoken—really spoken—to anyone other than the three of us?
And
Ronald Miller, when you had to?”

Norman, reverting in the face of what he considered Dr. Reed's criticism, didn't speak, only shook his head no.

“I know. I know you haven't. But you're going to have to start, and soon. You remember Dr. Goldberg?” Norman nodded again. “He thinks your socialization skills should be improving. Of course, I agree with him. But I had hoped that through therapy we might be able to improve that aspect of your personality. And you've been … reticent, Norman. While you've shown enough improvement for me to continue as we've been doing in the past, Dr. Goldberg would like to see faster progress.”

“But … but why? I mean, what does it matter if I like to stay by myself? And just talk to you and Robert? I'm not hurting anybody.”

Dr. Reed sighed. “I hate to say it, Norman, but it's a question of efficiency. At least where Dr. Goldberg is concerned. The doctor likes to see results. His goal isn't to see that you walk out of here, but it
is
to return you to as close to normalcy as you can get. That way you can become a part of the general population here instead of the special designation that you now have. For example, we still don't think that you can take your meals in the dining hall, since that's a prime socialization environment. With people sitting on either side of you and across from you, you
have
to relate in some way to them, which you
don't
have to do in the less structured area of the social hall. There you can just sit and read a magazine or watch television without interacting, you understand?”

Norman nodded.

“You can answer me aloud. I'd prefer that you did.”

“Yes … I understand.”

“You see, the way Dr. Goldberg looks at it, if you can comfortably join the other patients in the dining hall, then three times a day that frees up Nurse Marie or other nurses and attendants to work with patients who need their help more than you might.”

“I see,” Norman said.

“But as your doctor, those concerns are secondary to me. What's most important is moving you forward, and I don't care how fast or slow as long as you're making progress, which you've been doing steadily. Unfortunately, Dr. Goldberg doesn't feel the same way.” Dr. Reed took a deep breath.

“The doctor is going to visit you again, Norman. Just him and me. No Dr. Steiner or Dr. Berkowitz. But like the last time, he's going to want to engage in conversation, just the way I do with you. There's nothing to be scared of. And you don't have to say much, just enough so that he knows you're responding verbally to him. Just pretend that he's me, if that helps. Or Robert. Though I wouldn't mention your brother to him, since he doesn't yet know about the visits, and I wouldn't want him to prohibit them. I think your meetings with Robert have had a good effect on you.” Dr. Reed put a hand on Norman's shoulder and looked intently into his eyes. “He's going to come here, Norman, to your room. He wanted me to bring you to his office, but I thought you'd be more comfortable here. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Please try, Norman. Talk to Dr. Goldberg. That's all he wants, to see some progress. Will you try?”

“Yes,” Norman said. “I will. I really will.”

*   *   *

Dr. Goldberg visited Norman that afternoon. He and Dr. Reed came into Norman's room together. This time, Norman set down his book, stood up, and smiled, trying to see only Dr. Reed and not the big man with the steel-gray hair and beard, who hulked in front of him like a bear. In fact, after a first brief glance at Dr. Goldberg, Norman kept his gaze fixed on Dr. Reed.

“Norman, you remember Dr. Goldberg?” Dr. Reed asked. Norman looked quickly at Dr. Goldberg, then away again. The smile felt fixed and rigid on Norman's face. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to look directly at Goldberg, smile even more, extend his hand for the man to shake, say,
Why, of course. Hello, Dr. Goldberg, and how are you today?

But when he looked at Goldberg, he remembered the man's first visit with the other doctors, and how crowded his little room had seemed, to the point of Norman's not being able to breathe. He remembered being terrified to speak, remembered the way the man had loomed over him, as if daring him to talk. Oh yes, he remembered Dr. Goldberg, all right.

“How are you, Norman?” Goldberg said, and Norman thought he must be smiling, his
voice
sounded like he was smiling, but Norman didn't look at him. Instead he looked at Dr. Reed, and when he saw the vast disappointment in Reed's face, Norman looked down at the floor again. “Are you going to talk to me today?”

Norman didn't say anything. He just looked at the floor.

“Dr. Reed has been telling me that you've gotten very verbal in the past several weeks. So I thought I'd come and see for myself.” From the corner of his eye, Norman could see Dr. Goldberg cock his head as though he was waiting for Norman to answer. Still, Norman said nothing. “Dr. Reed,” Goldberg said, “would you mind leaving me alone with Norman?”

“Doctor, is that wise?” Reed said. “Norman has never been violent here in the hospital, but—”

“I'm sure that will not change if I talk to him in private,” Goldberg said. “Please.” It was not a plea, it was a command.

Dr. Reed left the room, and Norman heard the door squeaking closed. It stopped just before the lock mechanism would take effect. Dr. Goldberg came closer to Norman so he could speak softly to him. He was several inches taller than Norman, and bent his head so that he could talk directly into Norman's ear.

“Norman,” he said, “are you going to speak to me?” He paused. “You speak to Dr. Reed, yes? I don't think it's asking too much for you to talk to me as well. It's
important
that you speak to other people, you know. Now, Norman, I don't mean you any harm. You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm just trying to discover what's best for you, the method of treatment that will serve to return you to normalcy. You understand?”

Norman gave his head a quick, short nod.

“Good, good,” Dr. Goldberg said. “I've allowed Dr. Reed to treat you with psychoanalytic therapy these past few months, nothing else, and he's assured me that you've been making progress. But as the superintendent of this institution, Norman, I have responsibilities, and I take them seriously. I have to see firsthand that you're improving. And you can show that to me by simply carrying on a conversation. Now will you do that?”

Norman wanted to, but he felt afraid, and he didn't know why. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Norman?”

He tried again, and a little whine escaped his throat. He shook his head in frustration, quick little jerks, and kept looking down. He could feel tears edging into his eyes.

“I know you're trying,” Dr. Goldberg said, “but you have to do more than try. I know you can do it. Speak to me, Norman. It's that simple.”

Norman felt his heart beating faster. His stomach roiled, and he was short of breath.

“I can't stress too strongly the importance of this, Norman. If you won't speak, I have no choice but to conclude that your therapy will have to be changed. Now let me explain what happens during the therapy that I believe we'll have to adapt to. The name is unfortunate, since the various ‘shock' therapies are, in one sense, not shocking at all, but…”

Norman scarcely heard what Dr. Goldberg said after that. He'd heard some of the men discussing shock therapy in the social hall, both electroshock and the insulin shock that they used to use. Norman had heard of them before he had entered the state hospital, but he'd never really known much about them, and from what the men said, the procedure sounded like something out of a nightmare, as bad or worse than that terrible force feeding he had witnessed.

Being strapped down while jolts of electricity were poured through your brain, or receiving such high-dosage injections of insulin that you would go into a coma … it was horrible, and this was how Dr. Goldberg was proposing that Norman should be treated.

“… So you see, Norman, these therapies have been highly successful in the past, and I see no reason that they might not be equally beneficial in your case. You need have no fear, despite what you might have heard about electroconvulsive therapy. These are merely horror stories to frighten people.” Dr. Goldberg paused, then said, “Of course, if you were to talk to me today, or, shall we say, in the next few days, you could continue your traditional psychotherapy sessions with Dr. Reed. So Norman, it's really up to you. It's your decision, isn't it? Now … is there anything you'd like to say to me before I leave you today?”

With all his heart Norman wanted to speak, but he couldn't. A lump of fear the size of a fist clogged his throat, and he found himself gasping like a beached fish.

“All right, then,” Dr. Goldberg said. “I'll leave you for now.” He walked to the door, opened it fully, and left the room.

Norman sat down, trembling all over. He heard Dr. Goldberg talking in a low voice to Dr. Reed, and he heard Dr. Reed reply in a somewhat animated, even angry tone, though Norman couldn't understand the words. Dr. Goldberg spoke again, much in the same tone as before, but for a longer time, and Dr. Reed, when he responded, spoke in a softer tone.

Then Norman heard footsteps fade away down the hall, and Dr. Reed appeared in the doorway. He looked sad, and didn't come into Norman's room. He said, “Dr. Goldberg wants to speak to you again in three days. If you don't respond to him … you'll no longer be in my care, Norman. I'm sorry. We'll discuss this later, but now I just…” He shook his head. “We'll talk later. But we'll resolve this, Norman. We will.” He gave a forced smile and left the room, locking the door behind him.