PSYCHOS Norman bates X Tate Langdon

T A T E

Norman sat in the office of the motel, sipping coffee and charting last weeks check- ins.
He recognized everybody so that was a good sign. No blackouts.
A certain part of him new of the monster inside, and the monster needed to be awaken, aware..
He felt oblivious and blamed it on his mother. His mother killed those people not him.
"It's my mothers fault, she's crazy after all." He'd tell him self regularly.
"If my mother wasn't pretending to we dead I'd send her into an institution!"
He told himself. He had absolutely no idea she was really dead, and the demons of his illness made the perfect illusion. Mother.

   At the sound of gravel being stirred up in the road by another car. Norman placed his booklet down and cleared his throat.
A shaggy blonde hair boy walked in, no older than seventeen. He recognized the boy from the papers, it said he shot and killed fifteen students at Westfield high down in L.A.
   "Hi, I'll take a room for a few nights.."
His bangs covered his eyes and he obviously fought emotion.
  "Name?"
   Norman grabbed a fresh page from the booklet.
  "Tate" he leaned over to peak at the book.
   "Tate-Taylor.. uhh Taylor s-smith"
He stuttered trying not to make notice of the obvious fake name.
   "Okay, Taylor smith."
His blue eyes gleamed.
"I'll put you in room one."
He grabbed the key off the wall and placed it in the boys hand.
    "Do you need assistance with your luggage.?"
Norman asked politely.
"N-no thanks.. I've got it"
Tate's lip curled up but he quickly hid it away as he shuffled himself out the door.
   Tate grabbed his black duffle bag from his car and brought it in the hotel were he kept his clothing, and the gun he used to shoot up his school. No way would they ever find him all the way up in Oregon.

    Norman took down the painting were his peep hole was.
His blue eye shined in the darkness like a pearl in the deep blue sea.
Tate slipped off his wet shirt and replaced it with a green striped sweater. Tate sat on the bed a looked around unsure of what to do at this point. He started to softly weep, struggling to dry his eyes.
    "Shit.. shit"
He told himself, unaware that Norman was observing him through a secret hole.
     Norman spotted the gun that had slightly slipped itself out of the duffle bag.
  He couldn't help but understand how the kid felt, and promised himself If cops asked were he was he'd speak nothing of him.
   Norman had to make up an excuse to talk to him so he grabbed extra towels, placed the picture back on the wall and went to knock on his door.
    KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
he clucked his knuckles against the wooden door of room 1.
  Tate quickly opened it  "yes?"
Tate's eyes were blood shot and puffy.
    "Towels?"
Norman smiled awkwardly taking himself in.
  Tate had a confused look on his face because most motel managers don't go barging in.
  "You could just hand them to me.."
Tate laughed sarcastically.
  Norman turned to face him.
"I'm checking the shower Taylor smith"
He said his name as If he knew he was lying.
"Is it broken?"
  Tate followed him into the bathroom.
Norman silently placed the towels on the toilet seat and turned to Tate.
"I know who you are tate."
He smiled creepily.
"Shit.."
Tate lifted his eyebrows holding back tears.
"Look dude Don't get in the way of this. You don't want to."
His bangs shaded his eyes in the darkness of the bathroom. Norman squeezed around behind him and shut the door.
Locking them in there.
Tate gulped and sat on the toilet seat.
"I'm not going to turn you in.. I want you to help me.."
Tate had no idea he wasn't talking to Norman, but he was communicating with the monster inside him.. Norma.
"I want you to help me with my next victim..see I understand you Tate..you're just like me"
he(she) said.
Tate rubbed his nose and blinked blankly at the ground.
"I don't know how to hide my tracks.."
He said as if he was a fragile baby bird.
"Don't play games with me, you know we're the same."
The blue of his eyes repelled against Tate's jet black eyes.
Tate hid in the shadows easy, and Norman gleamed.

"You're a cute innocent looking boy.. once the search team gives up we can find a boy who looks like you, brutally murder, and dye your hair."
Norman (norma) clapped.

Tate was in denial, but he had no choice. He couldn't risk getting his life thrown away. He didn't care about the killings, he cared about himself, sure he was a little selfish but glad someone finally understood Him.

<<<< Later that night >>>

Norman sat at the dinner table with his "mother".
In reality it was empty, and disgusting, but Norman saw beauty, and appetizing meals.
Norma seemed real as anything else, she sat, ate, spoke.
"It's delicious mother thank you."
He scrapped his plate clean.
"You like that boy down there.. why don't you invite him up?"
She teased.
"You're supposed to stay up here mother!"
Rage steamed from his ears, and his face turned red.
"YOU ARE DEAD? REMEMBER?"
He slammed his fist down.
"Calm down Norman.. you like him.. I know you do because I'm your mother I know everything."
His mother grinned causing more steam to pour out his ears.
"I asked him to help us.. hide him from the police..I know you want to Norman because your a good kid."
She crossed her arms.
"He's of use to us, we can't do it on
Our own Norman.."
She picked up her plate and left the room.
"Mother!"
He growled, breathing heavily through his nostrils.