Hidden Clips

Between Hope and Fear

It's Alex, Norma. I wa— I-I wa-was shot. Though you-you, you gotta be very careful. You could be in a lot of danger, so call me. Call me.

Norma's breath hitches the moment she hears Alex's unexpected voicemail. She looks out the window of her brand new Mustang and spots room 202; her escape for the night.

After ditching that asshole at the bar, Norma drove back to the motel she had booked on her way to Portland. There's no way she's spending the night with Dylan and Norman. Not after what they told her. Not after what they want her to do. She was away from home. Away from everything and she didn't feel as bad for it.

Norma listens to the automatic message asking her to press 1 to repeat the voice mail or 9 to delete it. Norma decides to listen to it again, not letting go of the steering wheel.

It's Alex, Norma. I wa— I-I wa-was shot. Though you-you, you gotta be very careful. You could be in a lot of danger, so call me. Call me.

It's her fault. Alex got shot because of her. Because she doesn't know when to stop. When to put an end to things she can't handle. She always has to drag him into her mess, and she hates herself for it.

But something inside her changes. A sudden cold spark roaming through her veins at the mere thought of losing him. Of getting him killed because she was selfish and stubborn. Her breath picks up, and she feels a distinct contract feeling in her chest.

Norma starts the engine and gets back on the road, speeding her way to White Pine Bay making sure that no one is following her. None of Bob Paris' narcissistic jerks. Alex said so himself—she could be in a lot of danger.

He got shot. It's only a matter of time until Bob finds her and tries to kill her, too. But she doesn't care. She's getting more and more anxious by the minute and hates that she's not closer to home and that she can't get to him sooner.

Her fingers shake as she dials his number and she struggles to keep her eyes on the road. She's shaking and afraid. Like she doesn't have enough going on right now? Who has her voodoo doll and why are they holding her rag doll by her neck?

That's what it feels like because she suddenly can't breathe. Alex is not answering the phone. Is he dead? Did he die? Why is he doing this to her? He can't die. She couldn't bare it.

Norma detaches the phone from her ear, pressing the red button and ending the call. She dials again. And again. And again. She'll keep calling until he answers. She's not giving up now.

"Norma! Are you okay?" Alex concerned voice echoes through the other end of the line, and Norma closes her eyes in relief. He tries to sit up and fails. The discomfort in his chest prohibiting the task.

"Oh, my God, you're alive," she pronounces, mostly to herself.

"Yes, I'm alive. Are you okay? Are you safe?"

"I'm fine, Alex. I'm okay."

"Why haven't you answered any of my calls? I thought you were dead," he tells her in a desperate voice. The same tone she just realized she's using with him.

"I'm sorry," her voice breaks. How could she be so selfish? Abandon her kids at home and expose Alex by dragging her into her mess. "Are you okay?"

Alex senses her distress even through the phone. He wishes he was there to prove that she was all right. "I'm-I'm alive. I think I'll make it."

The hand holding the steering wheel slightly shakes with discomfort. "I'm so sorry, Alex. This is all my fault. Everything is always my fault."

"This is not your fault, okay?" he tells her comfortingly. "This is all Bob."