Norma

This is a piece of fanfic featuring two of my all time fave horror picture figures….Norman Bates and Hannibal Lecter! :) This is only part of the story so far, more will be coming.

NORMA

  

  It was a cool and brisk October morning. The various autumn colors on the trees dotted the streets along the cozy avenue in this old, upper middle class neighbourhood. Dr. Hannibal Lecter had just driven in to Baltimore from Washington, DC, sent in by the FBI to do a psychological analysis on a notorious serial killer, who was now in custody of Baltimore State hospital for the Criminally Insane.  He was driving an old 1965 Mercedes Benz car which he bought years earlier, listening to some opera by Toscanini on the radio.

  Dr. Lecter had read a preliminary report on this particular inmate, reviewing his complete criminal history and psychological profile. He had murdered several people in his home town, including his own mother, and had been in and out of various mental institutions for the last 14 years.  He had been diagnosed as having dissociative identity disorder, brought about my years of severe mental and emotional abuse by his mother. He had various fits and relapses of his disorder over the years, attacking both patients and staff members alike, in one instance cutting off the index finger of a fellow inmate with a steak knife, simply for calling him a “Mama’s Boy”.  It was episodes such as these which had prompted the transfers.  

 

  The serial killer had now been transferred to the institute here in Baltimore, this time with a special cell built to contain him.  While the other inmates were locked in conventional cells with bars, this one would consist a special plate glass window which would prevent any physical contact with either visitors, staff or other inmates. There were small holes drilled in to allow ventilation, anything that needed to be passed back and forth would be done through a tray which could be flipped in or out of the cell. It was located in the most secure wing of the facility, where the worst of the worst inmates were being held.

 

  Dr. Lecter drove in through the front gates, got buzzed through by the guards, and walked into the reception area of the Hospital, informing the receptionist of his meeting with Dr. Frederick Chilton, the head psychiatrist of the facility. He presented his FBI Identification and signed in, after which the receptionist called Dr. Chilton, who promptly arrived at the area within 5 minutes.

 

  “Dr. Lecter!” said Chilton, shaking Lecter’s hand on arrival. “A real pleasure to meet you, sir! I was informed last week that you were coming by your boss, Will Graham, in Washington.  I understand that you’re here to do an in-depth profile for the FBI of our newest arrival. “

 

   “Yes indeed.” replied Lecter. “His case had made front page news all over the country those many years ago.  I remember it quite well. Very macabre details. His mother, the young girl, all those other people he had slaughtered at that house he lived in. It’s quite surprising that he didn’t receive the death penalty. No doubt his insanity plea had saved his life. “

 

  “He’s here now in the very best of care.” said Chilton boastfully. “We’re very adept at handling extreme cases like his. We have top notch orderlies here and a specially constructed cell which will prevent him from attacking other people. We have him detained in the subterranean unit.”

 

  Chilton and Lecter walked down the hallway and descended down a flight of stairs. Stopping at a barred locked door. Lecter had perceived Chilton to be something of a pompous a*s, but was still paying close attention to every detail he was revealing.

 

  “Let’s go over the rules.” Chilton instructed Lecter. “Please keep to the right side of the passageway while walking down the hallway to the cell. Do not touch the glass, do not approach the glass. Barney here will keep an eye out for you.”

 

  “I’ll be interviewing him for perhaps the better part of the afternoon.” replied Lecter. “After I have completed the interview, I’ll be reporting back to my office in Washington.  This will no doubt be the first of many sessions. As I’m sure it’s been explained, we will provide you with a full profile and diagnosis of this patient as soon as we have concluded this study. The FBI wants a thorough and complete analysis performed on your patient so we can determine the potential future threat he may offer.”

 

  “I’m all too happy to help.” said Chilton with a wily smile “We’ll confer in my office later after you have your session. Just remember the conditions we agreed to. All notes taken, any comments or admissions he makes, any clinical observations or diagnosis. The more comprehensive information I can have about him for my files, the better. He is my star inmate after all. Barney, open up!”

 

  The door opened with an electric buzz, and Hannibal made his way past the doorway and started down the hall. “Please keep to the right, sir!” Barney reminded him. Hannibal strolled passed the few cells, each one filled with various kinds of criminal psychopaths. Killers, sexual deviants, the worst scum society had to offer. One of the older men said “Hi!” very friendly, behind a highly devious smile. Lecter simply passed by them, paying the others no heed, until he had reached the very end of the cell block.  There was a folded chair set up for Dr. Lecter to sit on during the interview.

 

  Hannibal sat down, and saw the inmate lying down on the cot in the dimly lit cell.  He had his hand on his forehead, staring up at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. It took a few seconds for the thin, lightly built man to notice that Hannibal was there, reminded that Dr. Chilton had informed him that a visitor from the FBI would be visiting him that afternoon.

 

  The man stood up in his cell, and looked somewhat nervously at his seated guest.  “Are you Dr. Lecter?” asked the inmate in a wary voice.

 

  “Yes.” replied Lecter. “I am here to conduct an interview, in order to learn more about you and help to determine which course of therapy might be the most effective for you. I’m a psychiatrist who specialises in cases like yours, you see. I have read much about your case and background, and I can be of great benefit to you.”

 

   “You’re here to study me like a damn lab rat, like every other quack shrink in every other nuthouse I’ve ever been in!“ protested the man loudly. “Not one of you quacks has ever done a damn thing to help me, cure me, make everyone else in my head go away! All you’ll do is dope me up and make me even worse!”

 

   “I’m here to do perform a fully comprehensive psychiatric analysis for you.” retorted Lecter. “As I’ve explained before, I’ve specialized in cases like yours and believe that I can provide effective therapy, if you’re willing to take it. I am considered to be one of the best in my field. The FBI does not send quack psychiatrists to study cases like yours, believe me.  I understand that you have multiple personalities, which is what I’ve been sent here to treat. Now, please tell me. Which person am I talking to right now?”

 

  The rattled man looked uneasily but directly into Hannibal’s eyes, and simply replied “My name is Norman. Norman Bates.”

 

  “Mr. Bates, I was wondering if you could please tell me, in your own words, a few details about your early life. What was your childhood like, at that motel where you and your mother lived in California?”

 

  Norman sat down in a chair in his cell, nervously fidgeting while he gathered his recollections. “Well, you see, my father, that is, my real father, died when I was only 5 years old. He owned a successful fruit distribution company in Los Angeles, and he died in a car accident on his way home from work. I almost never saw him, he was at the office most of the time. Me and my mother had spent pretty much of all my early years together. She looked after me, raised me, cooked and cleaned for me.  We went walking around the park every day.”

 

  “Did you have a lot of childhood friends, Norman?” enquired Dr. Lecter.

 

  “No.” replied Norman.  “In fact, I never had any. Mother never let me outside unless I was with her. She was pretty overprotective.  I had plenty of toys to play with, and activities like coloring books, but I was never allowed to go and play outside.  See, my mother was scared that I’d get kidnapped, or ran over by a car, because she couldn’t watch me every second if I was outside, so she kept me indoors.”

 

  “Is that how it was after your father died in the car accident?” asked Hannibal.

 

  “No. she was like that even before.” replied Norman. “Dad wasn’t around a whole lot, so she spent all of her time on me, I guess.”

 

  “Did your father’s absence cause a lot of friction between him and your mother?” asked Lecter. “Was there a lot of fighting between the two of them, from what you can remember?”

 

  “They were fighting all the time.” replied Norman. “She was always yelling at him for never being home, leaving her all alone, asking if she was out with some woman. He’d sometimes respond by hitting her, right here, on the face.”

 

  “And did he ever raise his hand towards you?” asked Hannibal intensely.

 

 

  “He never punched me, but he did spank me a couple of times I think. It was mother who usually punished me when I did something bad.”

 

  “Punish you like your father did with your mother?” enquired Lecter.

 

  “No, mostly she’d scold me, give me a dressing down, which was really quite often.” said Norman, giving a slight smile.  “She was a good Christian woman.”

 

  “Do you remember when your father died in that car accident?” said Hannibal.

 

  “I remember the very night.” replied Norman. “Some people from the fruit company came to our house and told us what had happened. He had lost control of his car down at the docks, where the fruit was prepared for export onto ships. His car had careened out of control and plunged into the water. I remember going to the funeral a couple of days later. Not long after that, we sold our place in L.A. and bought that old house in Fairview.”

 

  Dr. Lecter wrote a few notes in his journal, and then continued.  “What was your life like when you started school, Norman? Did you have any trouble adjusting to your new environment, being surrounded by new children?”

 

  “No, I never went to school.” said Norman pensively. “Mother had worked for years as an elementary teacher in the L.A. school district. She was a fully qualified instructor, so she schooled me at home. I never needed any other teacher. She taught me everything and took me in to get tested and certified when she needed to.”

 

  “Did you ever interact with any of the other kids when you got older?” inquired Hannibal.

 

  “No, not very often.” said Norman “My Mom told me stories about how kids often behaved very badly to one another in schools, bullying and beating each other up, calling each other names. She protected me from all of that. She forbade me from having anything to do with them, so I just kept to myself, really. “

 

 

 

  “So, in other words, your mother became your best friend.” observed Hannibal.

 

  “Yes, exactly.” replied Norman with a smile. “A boy’s best friend is his mother.”

 

  “When did your mother start building and operating that motel?” asked Hannibal.

 

  “About the same time when she met that tour operator, Joe Considine.” said Norman. “See, Mother had sold out Dad’s share of the fruit distribution company to his partners, and that’s what we had lived on. It was a fairly sizeable amount, and Mother was basically living off of the interest from that. When she met Joe and started dating him, he convinced her that the site where our old house was would be perfect for building a motel, and in the process earn some decent income, more than the interest was paying. So, she hired some contractors and had the motel built, a few cabins as well as the main office. Both Mother and Joe ran the place, he was a former motel manager and really had the know-how. They had me doing a few odd chores here and there, what they thought I could do.”

 

  “Do you also remember when Joe died?” asked Hannibal.

 

  “Somebody had poisoned him with strychnine” recalled Norman. “I don’t think they ever did find out who did it. The police blamed Mother for the murder, but they couldn’t prove it. I never believed the accusations they made against her. Mother wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

 

  “Do you miss your mother, Norman?” asked Hannibal. “Do you miss her, the house, and the old motel where you grew up? Being locked up in here, away from everything you knew?”

 

  “Yes.” Norman held his head down, and started sobbing. “She’s all alone in that house up there, all by herself, nobody to take care of her.  I don’t want them to be put her into an institution, but she’s so helpless and an invalid they’ll have to do just that.  I’m stuck in here, and I can’t do a damn thing to help her! I’ve abandoned my own mother!”

 

  Norman Bates put his head between his legs, sobbing profusely.

  Hannibal stared intensely at the crying wreck of a man, analyzing both him and the entire conversation, and wrote some preliminary observations in his notebook.

 

   Dr. Lecter drove back to Washington from Baltimore later that evening, and met with his boss, Will Graham, in his office at the FBI Headquarters in DC. Hannibal was sitting across the desk from will, his notes and observations prepared for the meeting with the veteran criminal profiler.

 

  “So how did your session with Bates go this afternoon, Hannibal?” asked Will intently. “I can’t even begin to imagine how unnerving it was, being in the presence of such an infamous butcher like him.”

 

  “Everything was exactly as I expected.” replied Lecter. “He’s still suffering from identity disassociation, memory blocks, and the delusion that his mother is still alive. Also somewhat socially retarded, and a hint of an Oedipal complex. If truth be told, the man seemed to me to be a total wreck. I’m not even entirely sure how much of Norman’s real persona is even there at this point.”

 

  “Did you interact with any of Norman’s alternate personalities?” said Will.

 

  “Not yet.” said Lecter “So far what I have been able to do was establish trust with Norman, get him to open up and talk about his past life. I didn’t learn any new details which I didn’t already know, based on his somewhat extensive case file. One thing I have noticed though, is that he seemed to show genuine concern and remorse about his mother’s welfare. He even feels genuinely guilty about “abandoning” her. I really don’t think our boy fits the profile of a sociopathic personality.”

 

  “Don’t be so quick to jump to that conclusion, Hannibal.” replied Will. “Sociopaths are often quite charming and can mimic emotions and guilt brilliantly, without really feeling them. Norman’s head is so messed up, nobody knows what diagnosis to make at this point. The “Mother” persona definitely fits that profile to a T.”

 

  “I haven’t encountered “Mother” yet, but I’ll be quite prepared when I do.” said Hannibal.  “I have dealt with violent sociopaths before. I have a unique insight into how their mind works. We both do. That’s why we make such a successful team together, profiling such cases.”’

 

  “Which brings us to the real reason why we’re trying to construct the profile of Norman Bates.” said Will. “I talked to Jack Crawford earlier today, and it’s been confirmed. We have ample evidence to believe that the crimes of the Philadelphia rapist have crossed state lines, going into Maryland, Virginia and possibly even West Virginia. The case has now been transferred over to the jurisdiction of the FBI.”

 

  “Have any more victims been uncovered recently?” enquired Hannibal.

  

  “A very disturbing one, indeed.” said Will. “This time around, it was a 15 year old girl, identified as Jennifer Walsh. Discovered early this morning, in fact. She was from Richmond, Virginia, and she was reported missing and kidnapped three weeks ago. They found her body in an abandoned refrigerator, half buried in a local marsh just past the border of West Virginia. Some hunters stumbled across her corpse when their dogs started picking up her scent. Her wallet with her photo ID was found in her pants pocket. That’s how we were able to quickly ID her.”

 

  Will Graham passed over the grisly crime scene photos to Hannibal. He saw a muddy, badly decomposed body of the young woman. Stripped completely naked, blood all over the inside    
of the fridge, completely covered in mud. Her tattered shoes and clothes were also in her makeshift coffin, as well as various knife wounds all over her body. Her face was badly distorted and unrecognizable.

 

  “Does this latest killing fit the same pattern as the other cases?” asked Hannibal.

 

  “It fits the same pattern perfectly. The victim lies within the 14-19 year old age group, same profile as the other victims.” replied Will.  There were indications that she was kidnapped off the street, raped, beaten and brutally murdered in the same fashion as the other unsolved murders.  Both the Philadelphia and Baltimore task forces of this case agree that this is likely the same murderer we’ve been looking for. Over the course of the past couple of years, this predator had graduated from mere rape to being a serial rapist and killer of these young girls.”

 

  “You believe that Norman Bates may fit the same profile as the Philadelphia Rapist.” observed Hannibal. “Yet while either he or one of his personas have admitted to murdering multiple young women at his motel, he never once made any admission to rape.”

 

  “He may never have admitted that.” said Will. “But there was ample evidence that his crimes had a sexual component to them.  They were never able to prove that they were rape victims, seeing as how their bodies were so badly decomposed from being dumped in the swamp. His victims were young women whom he was sexually attracted to. One of the rooms adjoining his office even had a secret peephole through which he’d observe them undressing. It’s a very reasonable stretch then to conclude that he likely went in there, attacked and raped his victims, and then killed them. Probably out of a twisted sense of sexual excitement. Being a Peeping Tom is the first step to being a rapist.”

 

   “It’s quite possible.” admitted Hannibal. “We don’t know yet which persona killed the girls, Norman or Norma, or even both. If either one matches the same profile as the Philadelphia rapist, we might have some success in constructing a profile based on our observation of Bates, and possibly narrowing down the suspects. The Philadelphia rapist even may exhibit the exact same psychopathic traits as Bates does.”

   

  “I strongly feel that the Philadelphia Rapist is acting under the exact same motives that Norman bates was.” said Will Graham. “That’s why we need to really construct what really happened at that Motel back in 1960, about 18 years ago. The more we understand the actual events and what motivated Bates, what really made him tick, the sooner we may be to determining who the rapist really is, and nab him before he strikes again.”

 

  “It will not be easy, but if anybody can get inside Bates’ head, it’s me.” said Hannibal, smiling. “You know how empathetic I can be with such psychopathic criminals.”

 

  “You’re definitely a genius profiler.” said Will, smiling.  “We’re both cursed with the gift of being able to delve into the twisted and distorted realm of the criminal mind. That’s why the FBI finds us both so useful.” 

 

  “When was the last murder committed?” asked Hannibal.

 

  “The last known murder was committed, I believe it was 4 months ago. It was a local girl from Scranton.” replied Will.

   “He’s committing the murders at a lower rate of frequency, in more random locations.” observed Hannibal. “He’ll likely be waiting a few more months before he strikes gain, when the heat dies down. He’s no doubt considering his next target.”

 

  “We can’t wait that long,” replied Will. “The sooner we can track him down and bring him in, the less likely there’ll be yet another girl in a string of victims. I realize that treating Bates will take time, but a lot of people are depending on us.”

 

   “I’m having another session with him in a few days.” said Hannibal, “After that, I’ll be heading to New York City for a week. Both to get some much needed R & R, and to consult with Dr. Alfredo Vincente. He’s a world renowned expert on repressed memories. Dr. Chilton has made it clear that he wants some time off for his patient in between interviews, lest the mental or emotional strain of a session triggers another violent incident.”

      “You’ve certainly earned it, Hannibal” said Will. “We both have. I just hope they catch the son of a b***h before another poor girl turns up again. They already have a composite profile of his features and age from one of the surviving victims, but no solid leads anywhere.”

 

  “As masterful as he is at committing his crimes, he’ll slip up, make a mistake.” replied Hannibal. “They always do. All it takes is the smallest piece of evidence, the slightest clue, to eventually lead us to the culpable party. We’ve never failed before.”

 

  “Jack Crawford has made it crystal clear that this case is our number one priority.” said Will.  “We have multiple police departments in various states working on this with us. It’s all over the news nationwide, a real press case. If we can catch this a*****e, it will do wonders for our careers.”

 

  “I find the thrill in the chase itself.” replied Hannibal. “I could care less about the publicity.”