Robert Bloch's Psycho by Chet Williamson Page B

that’s what made the doctor say I wouldn’t make it.” His smile faded. “And what made my mother and father give me up.”
    â€œI’m … sorry,” Norman said.
    Robert shrugged. “Not your fault. Not your fault at all … brother.” He chuckled. “Gosh. It feels so strange to say that. In my adopted family, I was an only child.”
    Norman smiled back. “Me too. My mother never … I was the only one.”
    It was amazing, Norman thought, how comfortable he felt with Robert. After Dr. Reed had told him about his brother, he’d been terrified of seeing him. But now, sitting and talking with him just seemed like the most natural thing in the world, even more relaxing than talking with Dr. Reed when he was nearly asleep.
    They each had over forty years’ worth of life to catch up on, which meant a total of over eighty years to share. Norman insisted that Robert go first, and he told Norman about his boyhood in Michigan, where his parents had taken him after his adoption; about the surgeries that he’d had through his childhood to ease the pressure on his brain; about the sports he played in spite of his condition and how worried his mother had been that he might get hurt; about his graduation from high school with honors and his marriage to Mindy, his sweetheart, a year later; about his working as a new-car salesman; about his stint in the army during the war, where he saw action in Italy and returned unharmed to the arms of his wife; about his growing tired of sales, moving out of Michigan, and buying a diner fifty miles north of the state hospital; about their two kids, John and Susie, both in junior high; and finally about seeing Norman’s picture and hiring the investigator.
    â€œI have to tell you,” Robert concluded, his face sobering, “that once we—Mindy and me—learned the truth, I didn’t quite know what to think. I mean, you can probably understand that as much as I wanted to see my brother, I was shocked by what … had happened. I wanted to talk to the doctor in charge of your case, and Dr. Reed explained to me certain things, about why you were here instead of in a regular prison. He seemed pretty insistent that what had happened, well, that it wasn’t really your fault. That you were … ill. And I thought, if that’s what his doctor thinks, then that’s probably what happened. So I decided that I should meet you.”
    Norman felt gratitude, sorrow, and joy all intermingled. “I’m glad you did,” he said, his voice choked.
    â€œNow tell me,” Robert said, “about yourself. As much or as little as you want.” His grin was comforting. “After all, you’re among family.”
    So Norman did. He told Robert succinctly but fully about his life. He felt no hesitation in relating everything up until the death of his mother and her lover, but when he reached that point he stopped.
    â€œThis,” he said after a moment, “is where things start to get really bad. I know I did some of these things, they tell me I did and it’s true, but I don’t have … much memory of them. Mother did some of them. But what I did … what I did…” Norman felt his eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Robert,” he said, and his voice was thick with pain and grief, “I killed … I killed our mother …”
    He broke down then and wept, for the first time in so long, and he felt arms around him, holding him close. He felt Robert’s arms clutching him to his strong chest, felt Robert’s hand on the back of his head, patting him, soothing him as he cried.
    â€œIt’s all right … it’s all right, little brother. I understand. It’s all right. I forgive you …
    â€œI love you.”
    *   *   *
    After Norman’s tears finally ceased, he was relieved that Robert didn’t