They're Only Photos || Norman x Ray

39

NORMAN

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

~°~
"This tunnel ... are you sure it's really an exit?" Norman asked.

Barbara had led him to a secluded and narrow concrete tunnel that looked like it had been chiseled into the wall.

Norman couldn't see the end.

"Of course," Barbara beamed. "Would I ever lie to you?" Her eyes resembled a graded-down version of Emma's puppy eyes.

Norman wanted to say tell her that yes, it seemed likely that she would, but he just sighed. "Alright. Thanks, by the way."

"No problem." Barbada grinned at him a little too enthusiastically. She gestured at the entrance. "Ladies first."

"Uhm .. you're the girl though, aren't you? With that logic-" Norman started.

"Go," repeated Barbara. There was a rabid look in her eyes that Norman didn't like.
"Do I have to say it again?"

Norman swallowed. He was in deep, deep shit, as Ray would say.

He peeked into the tunnel again. It was dark and ominous, full of little ridges of metal and screws sticking out of the walls. The floor was coated in some sort of gooey, oozy substance.

Norman shuddered and glanced back. Barbara's demeanor had been all smiles and blushes a while ago, whereas now the only thing he could read from her was aggression.

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Norman took a tentative step forward at her beckoning. Whatever he had stepped in squelched wetly. The sound bounced off the walls.

It was a tight fit, he soon realised, as he had to walk sideways to even fit. He tried to keep all thoughts of his cardigan getting dirty out of his mind.

Norman gagged as whatever was on the floor stuck to his shoe and then let go with a pop. "What's the slimy stuff?" he asked.

"You don't want to know," was all Barbara said.

"What?!"

"Move."

~°~

Here they were. The end of the tunnel. Which seemed to be a rusty safe door locked with a bolt.

"Well, that's just great-" Norman complained, but stopped as Barbara kicked open the door.

"In, pretty boy," she ordered.

Norman eyed the dark room cautiously. "I thought you said this was an exit."

"It is an exit," Barbara answered. "Which leads to my house."

"Your .. your house?" Norman asked in shock. "Isn't that bad for you if the station finds out about it?"

"They won't," was all Barbara said, and Norman was forced to take her word for it.

Barbara switched on the lights. The room was small and bland, decorated with dilapidated floor boards. The walls were peeling and the couch's skin was in clumps on the floor.

"It's kind of messy," Barbara apologised. "I wasn't expecting guests."

Norman nodded, but he wondered how she lived in this quality of life. Then he remembered: she hadn't been here for a long time.

"Follow me," Barbara said. "I want to show you something before you leave."

She led him into a small kitchen lined with cabinets that seemed to be splintered to almost dust. Kitchenware was smashed into pieces on the floor. Norman had to be careful where he stepped.

"What- ?"

"I got a bit angry," Barbara commented.

"Angry about what?" Norman asked, although he doubted she would reply.

He was right. Instead of saying anything, she leaned down and reached into one of the cabinets, pulling out a bundle of cloth.

She grinned and opened the bundle, revealing a carving knife.

"Angry that you couldn't be mine."

Suddenly Norman was all too eager to get out of there.

Barbara lurched towards him, pressing the cloth to his his mouth and slashing at his forehead with the knife.

"Why couldn't you be mine, Normie?" she groaned. "Why did you have to run off with that stupid bartender?"

Norman grunted and plied her hands away from his face.

"Don't call me that!" he shrieked, and stumbled away in the opposite direction from the one they had came in from.

He ran down another narrow tunnel, not caring that his cardigan was getting dirty.

Norman fumbled at the first door he found, but it was locked. He could hear Barbara chanting his name far behind.

Looking around, there was no key. And no other way out. Which meant: he was trapped.

Barbara was getting closer now, singing some strange song about how she would keep Norman in her basement and .. do things  to him.

The white-haired man shuddered. He was starting to give up hope, until he spotted light streaming from a window. It was high up though, and he had to climb to get there.

The drugs Barbara had given him were starting to take effect. They made his head woozy and his arms weak which made it hard to climb.

But he snapped back to attention as soon as Barbara burst into the little room.

"There you are, Normie!" she cackled, and ran up to him.

Norman fumbled and hoisted himself up onto the windowsill. His legs were still dangling down and if Barbara could jump, she could grab them.

But she didn't, just slashed them with her knife. Norman cried out in pain and almost slipped.

"You'll be mine soon." Barbara grabbed his ankle so hard Norman was sure it would bruise.

The thought of being with someone like her fueled Norman to push open the window, slip from her grasp and tumble down onto the streets.

He seemed to be in a not-so-busy alley.

He got up, wincing as pain shot up his legs. They were torn and bloody and red. There was a bruise forming on his left ankle. Little bleeding dents in the shape of Barbara's fingernails throbbed as he took a step forward.

He had landed hard on his wrist and was sure it was broken.

Miraculously, his favourite cardigan had been spared of any red stains.

Norman stumbled out of the alley. He had no idea where he was going; he just wanted to get out of there.

He walked for a while. His bloody attire and obvious injuries stirred worried looks from passers-by, but no one said anything.

Norman eventually passed out infront a small, ramshackle house at the edge of the city. He could find Ray tomorrow. Right now ... he yawned .. he just wanted to sleep ..

"Norman?" A voice called, and Norman's eyes snapped open as he realised who it belonged to.