Bates

9

   Norma shifted uncomfortably underneath Joyce's gaze.

   "Norma, dear, are you hearing me?"

  She came to just in time. "Oh, yes. I'm sorry, what did you say?"

   "I said, I'm going to run into town for some lunch, and to get new shower curtains. I need you to stay here until I get back. If Mr. Decody wants to bring the children over, that's perfectly fine."

   "Oh, yes, I'm fine here."

   Her words seemed to assure herself more than Joyce.

   Norma shifted again, then stood.  She fiddled with the items scattered across the front desk, straightening cards and flipping through the checklist. She had picked up two habits in her short lifetime: when she was a little nervous about something, she would cook for herself and Dylan, but when she was extremely anxious, she cleaned everything. She figured there could be worse habits to fall back on.

   Keith was in the house. He had walzed past the hotel earlier, glaring daggers at her. She grimaced. The thought made her sick to her stomach. She fought the urge to vomit.

   Once again the sensible part of her spoke. I should tell Romero what happened. Her shoulders bounced as she shook the thought away.

   You know what will happen if you tell anyone. You'll have to move again, and Dylan and Norman will never be okay if you have to keep moving. You would have to find a new job, because nobody wants to come to a motel where the son's tennant is a crazy pervert. It'd be harder without Romero to fall back on, he's the one that got you this job in the first place.

   It wasn't fair. Why did she have to be the one with an abusive father, a sick mother, a terrible brother, and a drunk husband? Why did Keith Summers attack her? What did she do to deserve this?

   I'm not good enough. Never have been-- she cut off that thought right there. She would get nowhere with self pity or self hate. It didn't matter what she did; the world always just seemed to be one step ahead, and it seemed that it would be that way forever.

   Norma trodded out from behind the front desk. She had files to go through, a motel room to clean, and boys to take care of. If she was going to be here around the same time as any guests, she needed to get the gears grinding. It was February in White Pine Bay, and the weather was cold as ever. There were few tourists, and those that did come came late in the evening when the surrounding businesses were starting to close. Still, it would be easier to rest knowing that she'd finished a full day's work.

   No matter what she did, Norma couldn't quit glancing at that house.

   It really could be a gorgeous place, with the proper care, she mused. Norma could easily imagine the house with a fresh coat of paint, some rose bushes along the sides, and some new curtains. She had only seen the foyer and kitchen of the house, yet her mind wondered what the rest of it was like.

   The blond-haired, lithe woman pushed the door open with her hips, holding cleaning spray in one hand and a rag in the other. She bent down next to the nightstand, hissing as she sprayed a dark brown blot of goodness-knows-what. Norma quickly noticed that the carpet behind the stand was torn up. Her brow furrowed.

   She used all her strength to pull the stand out from near the wall. The young woman gazed carefully at the spot on the carpet, trying to explain the bulge underneath it.

   She crept towards it carefully. It could be anything. A body part, a lost belonging, even an animal. There was no telling what the people brought in, of that she was already sure. Her mind went back to a fiasco in which a man hid his pet snake in this same room. She bit her lip and mustered up the courage to inspect the bulge. Her fingers shook. She pulled it back and jerked, expecting a python to strike at her from its hiding place.

   Instead, she found a journal. It was black and well-worn. She opened it out of curiosity and the hope that she might find a name written inside.

   There were names in the book that Norma didn't recognize, and writing that she couldn't make sense of. Hardly half of it was in English, and what was happened to be a jumbled mess.

   It was the art of the book that shocked her. It was as if whoever placed the journal here hoped that a story could be gathered from it, no matter what language one spoke. There were syringes with needles the size of her middle finger. Scantily-clad girls who's eyes looked as if they feared for their lives. Norma kept looking behind her as if she expected someone to catch her or hurt her.

   "Hey, Norma, how's it going?"

   She slammed the journal shut and shoved it in her apron. "Alex. What a surprise. What are you doing here?" she asked, standing to greet him properly.

   "Just making my rounds and thought I'd come up here and check on you. You seemed to be having quite a time with that baby last week."

   "Norman-- he cries all the time. I almost feel bad for leaving him with Mr. Decody all the time," she admitted, shoving a lock of hair behind her ear.

   "I uh...I have no experience with children, so I can't really...help."

   Norma merely smiled at his boyish charm.

   He wiped his face swiftly, then placed his left hand over his holster. "Look, uh-- I was wondering, there's this little shindig going on in town tonight, and I thought maybe...well, you've been here a month and have hardly been able to get out of the motel, so I thought you might like to come-- with me."

   "Shindig, huh? Not sure I've ever been to one of those," she teased.

   "There's gonna be hotdogs, smores, and hot cocoa. It's pretty nice."

   She sighed, remembering what had happened with Keith. She was alone with Romero now. A part of her wanted to blurt out, Keith did something to me, something...bad, but it felt like terrible timing for a childish statement.

   "I'll go with you tonight."