Chapter Text
“Does it have four legs?”
“Usually.”
“Usually?”
Norman shrugged. Smirked. “Could be four. Or it could be three.”
“So it’s a chair.”
“No.”
Mary exhaled and gripped at her hair. To think this—any of this, Twenty Questions included—had been her idea. The two of them sat now on the bare floor of Norman’s childhood bedroom, sawdust caking their backsides and filling their pockets, moonlight alone flooding the walls and the floor. The house was a wolf without teeth, into whose mouth they retreated when they got tired of smacking mosquitoes.
“…Table,” Mary said dully, staring at the floor through her hands.
Norman chortled. “You’d think.”
“Just tell me what it is!”
“Can’t.”
“Bed. Drawer. Desk. Desk? Is it a desk?” Mary grinned. “Is it like a raven?”
He did the same. If Norman was mirroring her, she must have looked very stupid indeed. “What?”
“You-you know, Alice in Wonderland? ‘Why is a raven—‘“
“—like a writing desk,” he said in tandem with her, before breaking into ridiculous laughter.
Last she had checked, it had been nine thirty. Since she had checked, it had been an hour, at least. Mary felt thirty years older. Maybe even thirty years older than Norman. Would have laid on her back if it didn’t mean inhaling sawdust. (And lead, and asbestos, and the black mold that had been fermenting under Norman’s cutesy wallpaper for God knew how long.)
She wanted to go home.
Norman had no such intentions.
He shook his last bottle—he’d very wisely stopped at three—in search of one last droplet. Finding none, he put it down decisively and said, “Golly, that was fun. I-I have another… idea.”
“But you didn’t let me—“
“How about…” He lifted a hand philosophically. “We… we ask each other questions… to get to know each other better. You can start.”
“Sure,” Mary said, accepting the absurdity of her situation and allowing her brain to dribble out of her ears. “What’s your favorite movie?”
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” Norman narrowed his eyes. “Dumbo. Wait, no, hm, I didn’t like Pinocchio, that one scared me… well, I thought High Society was okay—“
“I thought it was The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly.”
“Ehh…”
“So, Dumbo.”
“I’d say so.”
Mary snickered. “All I’ve gotten from this is that you’re ancient.”
“Shut up. Now it’s your turn.”
“Can’t take my turn if I’m shut up, can I?” Mary stalled. “Let me see… do I have a favorite movie? I liked Persona. You probably haven’t heard of it.”
Norman leaned back onto his hands. “The one with the nurse? Ha! Look at your face! I might be a d—a dinno—a dinosaur, but I’m ssstill literate, Mary.”
“Jeezus, what do you read, film journals?”
“I’ll take that as another question.” He paused, stared blankly. “I… what… was it?”
“What do you like to read?”
Norman brightened. “Oh! A lot.”
“…Like…”
“Well… journals, sure, encyclopedias… textbooks… uh… I like… you know, Narnia, and The Hobbit, stuff like that… but I’ll-I’ll read anything, really.”
Mary nodded. “I’ve been hooked on science fiction lately.”
“Really!”
“Yeah. You know H.G. Wells, right?”
“Boy, do I!” Norman’s eyes lit up as best they could. “I was three years old when everyone thought we’d been invaded and the world was going to end. I wasn’t even talking yet!”
Mary crossed her legs. The floor was torture. “Well, now that gives me a new question.”
“Well, when I was four, my first word was—”
“No—no, Norman, about old radio.” She had the awful urge to snap her fingers in his face. “When I was in high school I read a story where the narrator was naming all these old radio shows, like plays but on the radio, and they were called things like The Shadow and Doc Savage and—the one with the rings—“
“Captain Midnight! Captain Midnight!”
“—what was that like?” Mary asked eagerly. She shifted her legs again. “How did they do it? I can’t imagine a story without having something to look at.”
“‘Course you can’t. You didn’t grow up with it. But it’s really not hard. Didn’t your—your mother ever read you a bedtime story?”
“That was Dad’s job.”
Norman didn’t speak.
“Do you think I’m a good person?”
Mary’s eyes were fixed on a star outside the bedroom window. “Huh?”
“Do—Mary—Mary, look at me.”
She did.
“What?”
“Do you think I’m a good person.”
“…Yeah.” Something small fluttered at the fountain outside. “Do you think I’m a good per—“
“I don’t believe you.”
Mary turned around again. The room was enormous without Norman’s rickety little bed and dusty old dresser and lead-coated toys. Like a wooden tiger pen in the world’s worst zoo.
Mary’s heart skipped a beat. “Let’s go home.”
“It’s nothing against you, Mary.” His eyes pierced the dark. If she stared long enough she could convince herself the pupils were silvery-green. “Nothing like that at all. You’re a smart gir—you’re a smart woman. Very smart woman. Sssmart and wise… and perceptive.”
Perceptive. Like an accusation. Mary blinked. When she couldn’t find words, Norman pressed on. Swirled the empty bottle in his hands, the mouth between his forefinger and thumb.
He stared like it mesmerized him. “I mean, jus’ think about it. I’m… here with you… getting drunk off my assssshhh… working at the library… and my—her—those people who died… who I killed…”
“Norman—“
“…are dead and rotting in the ground. Worms in their wounds. Maggots inside their c—in their—their—“
“Norman.” Mary knelt on the floor in front of him and snapped her fingers at last. “Hey. Hey. Over here.”
“—they’ll never do the things I get to do every day, Mary!” She flinched as Norman’s fingers closed around her shoulders. Stale beer flooded her nose. He went on in a ragged, desperate voice. “Go for a walk and feel the sun on their backs! Wake up grateful to be alive! Can you imagine! I’m old enough to have kids now—“
With a mighty effort and gritted teeth Mary seized Norman beneath the arms and hoisted them both to their feet. “We are going home!”
“—your aunt could’ve had grandchildren if it weren’t for me, God, how do you do it? You killed, too! You did! You did it to protect yourself but you did, they said it wasn’t my fault just like—“
“Stop dragging your feet before you fall!”
“—Mary.”
She was too busy cursing under her breath. Should’ve known they’d have cut the electricity off, god, stupid, STUPID, hope they tear this place down already, how did I live here without a flashlight?
She met his red-ringed eyes, his trembling jowls, and drew in a deep breath.
“How—“ he let out a shuddery hiccup. “How do you live with yourself?"
I don’t.
Her molars clashed.
I don’t, you selfish, selfish son of a bitch, you have your mother’s tunnel vision—sorry—no, I’m not, I swear you think you’re the only shitty person in the world, it was twenty years ago and they fixed you, why can’t anyone just get the hell over their own baggage, I had to do it, what about me? What about me? What about me?
“Well, you can’t live without yourself.” She laced her arm with his. “Watch your step. We’re going downstairs.”