Chapter Text
The house felt cavernous now, hollowed out, scraped thin by absence. The last traces of daylight filtered through the windows in long bands that stretched across the floorboards, broken by the shifting shadow of storm clouds creeping toward the property. The light grew stranger by the minute, half-warm, half-shaded, like the house couldn’t decide which version of itself to be.
Norma guided them into the living room almost automatically, her motions gentle but distant, like someone moving through a dream. She placed the tea tray down on the coffee table with careful hands, though the cups rattled faintly against the porcelain saucers. Norma didn’t drink tea as often as the Warrens did, as she made it not for comfort but for survival. To keep her hands steady. To keep herself from falling apart.
Lorraine and Ed sank into the old floral couch, sharing a look over the rim of their cups. A silent conversation passing in the faint squeeze of Ed’s hand around her shoulders. The storm outside deepened the room, the warm lamplight trapped in a shrinking circle around them.
If we’re going to help, this is our last chance.
Norma sat stiffly in her armchair, legs crossed tightly at the ankle, the posture of someone trying to keep every part of herself contained. She stared at the living room carpet, the ugliest thing in the house, green with strange gold flecks, like she could fall into it.
Ed cleared his throat softly. “Norma, if it’s alright…” Lorraine picked up the cue, her voice gentle. “Anything more you can tell us might help us figure out what we’re dealing with.”
Norma nodded without looking up. “Of course. Anything.”
She meant it. Every part of her being was bent toward wanting help for her son, even if it meant tearing open old wounds.
The three of them were quiet for a beat, listening to the growing rumble of thunder in the distance. The storm felt like it was crawling toward the house on its hands and knees.
Ed spoke first, choosing his words with care. “When Norman was little… did he ever talk about imaginary friends? Or… figures he saw that weren’t really there?”
Norma blinked slowly. The question surprised her; she raised her eyes from the carpet and looked between them, considering.
“Imaginary friends?” she echoed softly. “Well… yes, actually. I think most kids do, don’t they?”
Lorraine gave a soft, encouraging nod. “They do. But… was Norman’s different in any way?”
Norma’s gaze drifted toward the window, to the fading light trembling across the glass. “He used to talk to someone,” she admitted. “When he was very young. Six, maybe seven. He’d sit in the corner of his room and whisper, like he didn’t want me to overhear.” A faint smile touched her lips, nostalgia mixed with unease. “But Norman never seemed afraid, so I didn’t worry.”
Ed leaned forward slightly. “He hasn’t talked about seeing anything like that recently?”
“No,” Norma said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “Not in years.” She wet her lips, eyes darting toward the ceiling as if searching for a memory. “He does… mutter sometimes, after he has a blackout. But never anything about a friend. Just… confusion. Or fear.”
At that, Lorraine decided to push just a little, in the gentlest tone she could manage. “Norma… has Norman ever…taken anything? Any sort of drugs, things that might alter his perception?”
Norma recoiled as though the question were an insult. She straightened, spine rigid. “No!” she said firmly. “Never. I don’t allow that sort of thing around here. You’ve seen me kick those hipsters out of the motel for smoking a joint.” She gave a stiff, humorless huff. “I don’t tolerate that on my property. And Norman—well he’s… he’s much better than that.”
“No one’s doubting that,” Ed soothed, palms open. “We’re just trying to consider all possibilities.”
Norma’s expression softened marginally.
“And,” Lorraine added carefully, “we’re not saying he’s done anything like that on purpose.”
Norma blinked. Confusion flickered behind her eyes.
“So let me ask one more thing,” Lorraine said gently. “Does Norman take any medications? Prescriptions?”
Norma hesitated. “Not…not since he was little. He used to see a therapist. She gave him a few things for his nerves, but…” Her voice thinned. “He didn’t like how they made him feel. Like all the colors got drained out, he said.” She shook her head. “But that was years ago.”
Lorraine’s pulse quickened. “Years? He hasn’t been prescribed anything since?”
“No. If he was still taking something, I’d know.”
The storm growled closer, rattling the windowpanes. Lorraine felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. Ed was thinking the same thing; she could see it in the way his jaw locked, the way his fingers tightened on his teacup.
“But you said,” Ed began slowly, “that a therapist did give him medication at one point.”
“Yes,” Norma said. “But he stopped. Ages ago.”
The words hung between the three of them like dust suspended in still air, fragile and waiting to fall.
Norma gave a thin, brittle smile, smoothing her palms across her knees as if to iron out her own nerves. “Well,” she exhaled, “I think I’m going to go take a shower. Clear my head.” She stood up, graceful, practiced, but there was a tremor beneath her fingers she tried to hide. “You two help yourselves to more tea if you like.”
Lorraine nodded gently. “Take your time.”
Norma disappeared up the stairs, the soft pad of her feet fading into the second floor. A door closed. Water began running a moment later.
The moment she was out of earshot, Ed leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and tight.
“Lorraine… you know what that sounded like.”
“I do.” Lorraine’s eyes were still fixed on the stairs. “It’s not the medication causing this.”
Ed completed the thought for her, the realization settling on him like a weight.
“It’s that he’s not taking it.”
Lorraine drew in a shaky breath. “Whatever he was being treated for… it didn’t go away, and now it’s manifested into something much worse…”
Ed rubbed a thumb across his jaw, processing. “His blackouts. His confusion. The…whatever we witnessed in the basement.” He looked at her. “It all fits.”
“But not cleanly,” Lorraine whispered. “Not quite.” She rubbed her thumb nervously over her wedding ring. “There’s something else. Like whatever’s happening to him is some kind of protective measure.”
The storm outside cracked loudly, rattling one of the windows. The house seemed to flinch.
Lorraine stood abruptly. “Ed… we need to talk to him. Now. Before Norma hears any of this.”
Ed rose with her, grim determination in his posture. “If he’s hiding something—we might be running out of time to get answers.”
They moved quietly through the dim upstairs hallway. The overhead light flickered with the storm. The house was hushed, except for the faint sound of water running in Norma’s bathroom.
They stopped in front of Norman’s bedroom. A sound drifted through the door. A soft, furious whisper.
Then—
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
Lorraine froze, heart climbing into her throat. Ed’s hand went instinctively to hers. They exchanged a glance and then Ed grasped the doorknob and pushed it open.
The door creaked softly.
Norman sat in a chair facing the window, back rigid, shoulders pulled tight like strings about to snap.
The storm-lit sky cast him in an eerie silhouette. half in shadow, half in bruised gray light.
When the door opened, he went silent. Unnaturally still.
Lorraine’s face remained steady. Ed stepped in front of her by instinct.
“Norman?” Ed said gently. “We need to talk to you.”
Nothing.
Then, slowly, achingly slow, Norman tilted his head just enough to let them know he’d heard.
When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with something older, something sharpened by bitterness and dominance.
“You should leave.”
Ed stiffened. Lorraine felt goosebumps ripple up her arms.
Ed tried again, firm but not threatening. “Norman, we’re here to help. We’re not going anywhere until we understand what’s happening to you.”
A low, humorless chuckle.
Soft, but cutting.
“You think you’re helping?” the voice murmured, a layer of sass to it. “You think poking around this house… digging where you don’t belong… that’s help?”
Ed took a cautious step forward. His hand ghosted toward his pocket, toward the mini tape recorder he always carried.
“Norman,” he said carefully, “why don’t you come sit with us? We can talk—”
At last, Norman turned his head enough for them to see the reflection of his eyes in the window glass.
A dead, glassy calm, with something malicious curling beneath it.
“Norman doesn’t like what you’re doing here,” the voice said lightly. “Not one bit.” His lips curved in a small frown, arms crossed. “You’re upsetting him.”
Lorraine’s breath hitched. “Norman,” she whispered, “just who are we talking to right now?”
He blinked once, slow, deliberate.
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
Lorraine’s heart pounded. Ed’s thumb pressed discreetly on the recorder button in his pocket, the faintest click masked by a roll of thunder.
“All we want,” Ed said, “is the truth.”
“You can’t handle the truth.” the voice exclaimed, almost delighted by how obvious he found that to be.
His eyes flickered with mock-sympathy. “Some things are safer buried.” Norman stood abruptly, turning fully toward them.
It was Norman’s face. His body. His voice. But every detail of his posture was wrong, too poised, too confident, too knowing.
“Ed,” she whispered, stepping back instinctively. He instantly put his arm in front of her.
Norman walked toward them with slow, measured steps, as if daring them to flinch.
“You should pack your things,” the voice said sweetly. “The road’s still open, for now. If you leave tonight, you might get out before the storm hits.”
Ed held his ground. “Who are you? Where is Norman??”
A flash of anger, brief, electric—crossed Norman’s eyes.
“He’s right here.” Norman shrugged, though it wasn’t Norman at all. “Poor thing’s exhausted. I keep telling him I’ll handle things, but he never learns.” Norman shrugged at that, a slight chuckle escaping him.
The tension in the room reached a breaking point, and Ed sensed it. He shifted his stance, subtle but ready. His hand hovered near Norman’s shoulder.
In the split second that he stepped closer, Ed made the call.
He struck. A quick, controlled blow—enough to knock him out without causing injury. Norman collapsed into Ed’s arms, his body instantly slack, his head falling against Ed’s shoulder.
Lorraine gasped and helped lower him gently to the floor. His breathing was steady, normalizing almost instantly.
Ed closed the bedroom door quietly behind them as they stepped out into the hallway, just in time to see Norma emerge from her room in her robe, hair damp, face fluid with worry.
She took one look at Norman unconscious on the floor and choked on a breath.
“What—what happened?!” She clutched her robe tighter. “What did you do to him?!”
Lorraine moved forward, voice soft but firm. “Norma… whoever we just spoke to…it wasn’t your son.”
Norma’s face went white as the hall lights flickered with the impending storm. Her mouth trembled as she searched Lorraine’s expression for any sign of exaggeration, misunderstanding, anything other than what she feared deep down.
“What… what exactly do you mean?” she whispered.
Ed stepped in gently, steady but shaken himself. “Norma… just now, with him, something happened. It was like watching a switch flip on. Or off.” His jaw tensed. “He wasn’t behaving like your son. He wasn’t speaking like him, standing like him. That was someone else.”
Lorraine nodded. “And now… now we understand why you called us in the first place, Norma. Why you were scared.” She swallowed, her voice breaking with the honesty in it. “We believe you. We’ve seen it.”
Norma’s breath left her in a sharp, wounded exhale as she wrapped one arm around her torso, the other braced against the wall. “I—I just couldn’t accept it,” she stammered. “That it was my son. But when he gets like that, when he looks at me with those eyes… I feel like I don’t know him at all.”
Ed moved closer. “Tonight, he needs to stay somewhere confined. Somewhere away from you. Away from the house.”
He held Norma’s gaze. “The motel. Just for one night. Until Romero gets here in the morning. He’ll help sort this out.”
Norma blinked rapidly, fighting tears. “Tonight? Now?”
“We have to do this before he wakes up,” Lorraine urged softly. “It’s safer for everyone. Including him.”
Norma looked down at Norman’s unconscious body, the boy she raised, the boy she knew every breath of—and something cracked in her.
Her shoulders began to shake, and she struggled to look at him without shedding another tear. “I’m scared of him,” she whispered faintly. “I’m scared of whoever is living inside of him.”
Her voice broke entirely. “I never wanted any of this. I never wanted him to be like this. I just wanted my son. He’s the only thing I have left…”
Ed and Lorraine exchanged a look—grim, heartbroken, and without another word, gently helped her lift Norman’s limp form.
Norma wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist, then steadied herself. “Okay,” she said in a trembling voice. “Let’s… let’s just do it.”
Together, the three of them maneuvered Norman toward the stairs. The storm winds had begun to pick up, pushing the trees sideways, sending shadows racing across the ground.
Norma clung to Norman’s arm as though any moment he might break apart. Lorraine stayed close behind her, making sure she didn’t stumble.
Step by step, they made their way down the long wooden staircase, past the house lights that flickered and hummed, past the wind-swept path that led toward the Bates Motel.
The neon sign buzzed faintly in the distance. Yet, they didn’t quite make it to the door before Norman stirred. His body tensed. His breath hitched sharply. And then—
“Mother?” he mumbled, lifting his head. “What—what’s going on?”
Norma froze mid-step, gripping him with both hands.
“It’s for your own good, honey,” she murmured shakily. “Just—just trust us.”
“What? Why?” Norman blinked hard, trying to get his bearings. “Where are we going? Why are we—” He saw Lorraine. Then Ed. His confusion sharpened into alarm. “Wait—whats happening?”
“It’s just for one night,” Lorraine promised. “Until Sheriff Romero gets here.”
Norman’s eyes widened. “Romero? What does Romero have to do with—”
“Norman,” Ed said softly, “you’re a good kid. But something is happening to your mind. And you’re not safe here tonight.”
“What—what are you talking abou—” Norman started to pull away. “Mother?! Mother, what’s going on? Why won’t anyone tell me—”
Ed exchanged a pained look with Lorraine.
They had no choice.
“Norman, we’re so sorry,” Lorraine whispered.
In one swift movement, Ed and Lorraine pushed him through the nearest motel room door. Norma winced but helped force it shut from outside.
Norman stumbled as the door closed and locked with a heavy click.
“Mother??” Norman’s voice rose on the other side, fearful, betrayed, as he started banging on the door. “Mother, please! Please don’t leave me here! What did I do?!”
Norma pressed her face to the peephole, tears already streaming.
“We’ll be back in the morning, honey,” she said with a trembling voice. “Just go to sleep. Everything’s going to be okay.”
But Norman’s pleas followed them all the way back up the path. The noise slowly growing softer as they stepped up each stair.
By the time they reached the porch, Norma was shaking uncontrollably. She pressed her hands to her face and began to sob openly, the storm wind whipping her robe around her.
Ed placed a folding chair down for her, while Lorraine wrapped her arms around her.
“I’m losing him,” Norma choked. “It’s all been crumbling since the day we moved here. I’ve tried…I’ve tried so damn hard, my whole life.” she sobbed, wiping her sleeve against her runny nose. “...But I’m all alone. I don’t have anyone. Not even my own son anymore.”
Her voice cracked like glass. “And now he’s going to get convicted of murder…Probably. I mean… why?! Why is he like this? What did I do wrong?!”
Lorraine felt her heart twist. She brushed Norma’s damp hair back gently.
“Norma,” she said softly, “Ed and I… we’ve felt like that too. More times than you know.”
Her voice softened even further. “We have a daughter, her name is Judy. And if anything ever happened to her, if she was somehow in danger or hurting…you bet I would lose my mind, so help me god, I’d go absolutely insane. So believe us…we understand.”
Ed nodded, his expression grave. “We’ve seen trauma do terrible things to families. Trauma and fear often go hand in hand in our cases.”
Lorraine took a breath, gathering herself. “Norma,” she said quietly, “Before we do anything more, I need to tell you what I saw happen that night. At the motel.”
Norma lifted her head, eyes red and raw.
Lorraine’s voice was gentle, but steady with conviction. “I believe it may have been Norman’s body. His hands.”
Norma’s breath faltered. “…but it wasn’t his mind. It wasn’t him. This…other personality was controlling him.”
Norma stared at her, tears freezing mid-fall.
“That… that means he didn’t do it,” she whispered. “Not really. He didn’t choose to.”
“No,” Lorraine said. “I don’t believe he did.”
Norma collapsed onto the chair, relief and terror warring on her face. “But then why don’t you guys know? Why haven’t you—” Her voice rose in frantic desperation. “With all your…spooky things, all the stuff you’ve seen, why haven’t you figured it out yet?!”
Ed exhaled a long, pained breath.
“Because,” he admitted, “for the first time in decades… we don’t know.”
Lorraine nodded slowly. “We’ve dealt with possessions. With hauntings. But Norman…” She shook her head. “He’s something we haven’t seen before. Trauma-induced fractures of the mind, we just don’t understand it.”
Norma stared at them both in stunned silence. “But,” Lorraine continued, taking Norma’s hands into her own, “we have made a decision.”
Ed finished gently, “We’re going to help you. No matter what. We’re not giving up.”
Norma’s face broke, not in despair this time, but in a sudden, fragile burst of hope.
Together, the three of them walked back into the house, rain finally breaking through the tall clouds and crashing onto the ground.