The song at the dance will go, Everybody's got a secret to hide / everyone is slipping backwards / I drank the water and I felt all right / I took a pill almost every night...
Romero: "The thing is, Jake or Joe, we're not dealing with Norma Louise Bates anymore. Now we're dealing with me. If you're running a business in my town..."
#9: "Well. I was."
Romero: "I am the Third Man, now. I'm Keith and I'm Shelby. And we're 50/50."
He'll agree. And Alex will gun him down, where he stands. $150K safely in its bag.
"You can go home now, Norma."
Didn't he tell her? Didn't he say it would be okay? Her little head will pop up and she'll stare, that crazy-lady stare, and he'll say "When I say Trust me, trust me." He'll say it, but he won't really mean it. It will be midnight. We never get free.
Miss Watson will make tea and keep saying her questionable things, and when he's sufficiently warm she'll retire to a visible room of her apartment and change, before a mirror. He won't be able to look away and she won't want him to. She won't be in charge; he won't either.
Mother: "What kind of a grown woman invites a teenage boy into her house and changes her clothes where he can see her?"
Sometimes I get overcharged
That's when you see sparks
He'll argue, but he'll know. She's right, like she always is. He'll know what he needs to do.
It'll be later. He won't know how much later. He'll run into his mother's arms. She'll hold him, so tightly. Gently, but tightly. They will be alive, parts of the same machine.
"Everything's all right now, Norman. You're home and we're safe. Everything is good. Finally, everything is good. Maybe we should get out of the cold. Let's go build a fire."
We never get free.
Miss Watson is dead, throat slashed. Electric light going bzzt, bzzt, bzzt. We won't know who did it, but we can guess. We won't know what she wanted.
But we can guess.
UP THE HILL
But that's not really the point. All of these things are going to happen. All of these things were always going to happen. This life is a freaking cliff-dive that breaks you at best. I don't like it and I don't want to think about it. Even if it's right. I want to think about this:
There was a moment that Norma was free. She thought it would take this, passing her secret to someone else: She confused being seen with having secrets. She confused being wanted with being beautiful, jiao, for so long; that somebody can take that away from you. Girls dead in the forest are no less clean than the day they were born; not even Emma understands that yet. If the men understood that, they wouldn't try so hard to hurt, to ruin, to make us dirty. This at least Norma understands. But for a moment, Norma saw the whole truth and it burned like a fire.