Norman stirred, turned, and then fell into a darkness deeper and more engulfing than the swamp.
He winced at the realization, then took a deep breath. This was no time to be self-conscious or self-critical. One had to be prctical. Very practical, very careful, very calm.
Norman sighed and shook his head. He couldn’t afford the risk. Not while that thing still sprawled in the shower stall back at the motel. Leaving it there was even more risky.
That was the most important thing. He had to stop talking to himself. He had to get back that calm feeling agan. He had to face reality. And what was reality?
The car was in the swamp. And the hamper was in the trunk. And the body was in the hamper. The twisted torso and the bloody head. But he couldn’t think about that. He mustn’t. There were other things to do.
Lowery would half kill himself to make an extra dollar, and he’d be perfectly willing to kill any of his employees for another fifty cents. But.
Forget the pat, let the dead burry the dead.
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.
Besides, that thing was waiting for him. Waiting for him –.
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.
She was afrad of him, now. Yes, she must be. Because not once, all through this, had she called him “son”.
Yes, Norman, I suppose you’re right. That’s where I’d probably be. But I wouldn’t be there alone.” Norman slammed the door, locked it, and turned away. He wasn’t quite sure, but as he ran up the cellar steps he thought he could still hear her chuckling gently in the dark.
But meanwhile he had to do something about the way his heart pounded.
If she sat there without moving, they wouldn’t punish her. If she sar there without moving, they’d know that she was sane, sane, sane.
Norman Bates heard the noise and a shock went through him. It sounded as though somebody was tapping on the windowpane. He looked up, hastily, half prepared to rise, and the book slid from his hands to his ample lap. Then he realized that the sound was merely rain. Late afternoon rain, striking the parlor window.
But who are you to say a person should be put away? I think perhaps all of us go a little crazy at times.
She raised her face defiantly, and the sharp shadow line slashed across her neck. For a moment, it looked as though somebody had just cut off Lila’s head...
It is the fate of the genius to dwell alone.
Behold the Great God Pan! Yes, and behold the Serpent, the Tempter, the Fallen Angel! Behold Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub, Azriel, Asmodeus, Sammael, Zamiel, Prince of Darkness and Father of Lies! Gaze on the Black Goat of the Sabbath, gaze on fabled Ahriman, on Set, Typhon, Malik Tawis, Abaddon, Yama, Primal Nodens, the archetype of evil, known to all men by all names!
No business has ever failed with happy customers. You are selling happiness.
In the business world, the rearview mirror is always clearer.