“You okay, Bates?” Tom said, and took his flashlight out of its sheath, flicked it on, and shined it through the slot. He could see Bates in bed, shielding his eyes against the sudden light.
“Yes … yes…” The voice sounded weak. “Had … bad dream. Sorry…”
Thank God, Tom thought. Once and done, unless those bad dreams kept up. But hell, everybody had them now and again. And Norman Bates had a lot to have bad dreams about.
“You gonna be okay?” Tom asked.
“… Yes. Sorry.”
“All right, well, make sure you’re good and awake before you go back to sleep. Think of something nice.”
Yeah, right. What the hell was there nice to think about in a place like this? Tom sheathed his flashlight and started back toward his station, then figured he might as well walk the length of the corridor to be sure that none of the other birdies was going to start chirping in response to their fellow wackadoodle.
Every hour he was supposed to walk the Ward C corridor as well as Ward D, which paralleled C, but he hardly ever did. Hell, the doors were all locked, so it wasn’t like the patients were going to go for a little midnight stroll, and if any of them went bonkers in their cell, he’d hear them easy enough. Still, might as well do his duty for a change.
He moseyed along, listening at the open slots, hearing nothing but breathing or snoring, and sometimes nothing at all. As he neared the far end of the corridor, he slowed down. Ahead, two doors from the end, was Ronald Miller’s room. He’d never heard any screams from in there, but he had heard some loud grunts and moans. Once he’d asked Miller what he was doing, and Miller had answered, “Communin’ with the gods!” Tom knew he was just jerking off in there. Most of the patients did, but Miller was never quiet about it, the creepy bastard. He could be at it most anytime day or night. Tom smiled to himself. Maybe he’d actually catch the creep doing it.
Tom walked as softly as he could up to the slot in Miller’s door, drawing out the flashlight and lifting it to the slot, aimed it where he knew its beam would fall on Miller in his bed, then turned it on. To Tom’s surprise, the bed was empty, and he involuntarily lurched back, as if expecting Miller’s fingers to come through the slot toward his eyes.
But there was no movement within, and no sound. The bed was neatly made, as though it hadn’t been slept in. “Miller?” he called, but there was no answer.
Tom Downing considered what to do next. He didn’t want to open the locked door on his own, since Miller could be pressed against the wall next to the door, ready to jump him as he entered. It would be best to get Eddie Abbott, the attendant on Wards A and B. The two of them could handle Miller, all right.
Pure instinct made Tom check to be sure Miller’s room was locked before leaving the corridor, and he grasped the handle and pushed it gently. To his amazement, the door moved inward.
He gasped and pulled it back toward him. It clicked shut, but didn’t lock. Someone must have used their key to unlock the door to Miller’s room. On the off chance the man was still inside, Tom fumbled with his key ring, jammed the proper key into the lock, and turned it until he heard the comforting click.
He had two choices at this point: one was to go get Eddie so that the two of them could investigate Miller’s room, and the other was to go balls out and pull the security alarm. Not wanting to waste a minute if Ronald Miller was on the loose, Tom chose the latter.
Within minutes guards and attendants filled the corridor. With the arrival of reinforcements, Tom unlocked Miller’s cell, and they found it empty. Some of the men checked the doors to the outside and all the fences to see if anyone had escaped the facility, and others examined the doors of every patient’s room to make sure they were locked.
In another half hour, the big guns had shown up, including Dr. Goldberg himself and Myron Gunn, who looked at Tom Downing as though he wanted to kill him. “What the hell went on here, Downing?” Myron growled at Tom. “You telling me Miller’s door was unlocked?”
Tom explained once more exactly what had happened, while Myron Gunn looked more and more furious, and Dr. Goldberg’s brow furrowed even further.
“And you didn’t hear a thing?” Myron asked.
“No … I did all the checks, like always,” Tom lied. “Nothing funny going on at all, not till Bates started yelling.”
“All right,” said Dr. Goldberg. “The important thing now is to find this patient. He poses a great danger to anyone he may come across. First of all, I want to make sure that all the nurses are accounted for and safe. Then I want this facility searched from bottom to top. Protocol dictates that we immediately inform the state police. We’ll inform the local police too. If there is any possibility Miller may have gotten off the grounds, they need to know so that they can begin their own manhunt. Myron, you and your men take care of all that, ja? Quickly, please.”
“You got it, Doc,” Myron said, and, with one more baleful look at Tom, ran down the hall.
* * *
It had been four in the morning when Tom Downing discovered that Ronald Miller’s room was empty. By dawn, the building itself had been thoroughly searched from bottom to top, as Dr. Goldberg had ordered. Even every patient room, occupied and vacant, was unlocked and checked. Ronald Miller wasn’t found. No barred windows had been sawn through, no exterior doors had been forced. Yet it seemed that Ronald Miller had waltzed out of the building as easily as he had left his locked room.
Both state and local police arrived shortly after Myron Gunn called them, and a cadre of uniformed troopers searched the grounds, examining the perimeter for any sign that someone had either climbed over or burrowed under the stone walls, or cut their way through the chain-link fence topped with concertina wire that cordoned off the exercise yard.
Inside, in Dr. Goldberg’s office, two tall men sat in the chairs in front of the doctor’s massive desk. The younger man was Captain Banning of the state highway patrol. The older was Jud Chambers, Fairvale’s sheriff. Goldberg had shown them the empty cell, and had then taken them to his office to discuss the next steps.
“All right,” Banning said, taking control of the situation. He leaned forward toward Goldberg, his big head jutting from his thick neck. “So how could this Miller have gotten out of this cell himself? You say it was unlocked when the guard found it?”
“Yes,” Goldberg said, “and I have no idea whatsoever how that could have happened. All rooms are locked by an attendant. When lights-out occurs at ten o’clock, every door to every room is checked again to be certain they are locked. This protocol is unbroken.”
Jud Chambers scratched his curly gray hair. “Doc, could this Miller have stuck somethin’ in the door to keep it from locking?”
Goldberg sighed theatrically. “Hardly, Sheriff. These are not those kinds of doors. We are responsible for keeping some of the most violent and dangerous men in the state imprisoned. All the doors have deadbolts. Once they are locked, they are impossible to open without a key.”
“So then we’ve got to conclude,” said Banning, “that somebody else unlocked that cell with a key.”
“I can’t imagine that happening,” Goldberg replied. “There would be no reason to do so. Miller is disliked by everyone, including the attendants. He has no surviving family members, and no money, so the motive of bribery is extremely unlikely. I can’t imagine anyone being willing to aid in his escape.”
“Well, somebody sure did,” Banning said. “That lock didn’t open by itself. Who was on duty in that ward tonight?”
“Thomas Downing,” Goldberg said. “He has been here a long time. His alarm and concern over Miller’s escape seems quite genuine.”
“Yeah, maybe seems is the word. He might’ve been faking.”
“Captain Banning, I have been in the field of psychiatry for longer than you have been alive. I can tell when a man is lying.”
“And I became a captain at the age of thirty-five, Doc. I know criminals too. I want to talk to this Downing guy.”
“We’ll arrange that.”
“If I can put in my two cents’ worth,” Jud Chambers said, “what I’m most concerned about is catchin’ this guy before he rapes somebody else. You think that’s what he’s likely to do, Doc?”
Goldberg steepled his fingers. “I think that if rape were his primary concern, he might have attacked one of the night nurses. They are all well and accounted for, so I believe his first goal was escape from this hospital, which he seems to have accomplished. I suspect that he will not want to stay in this area, and will wish to flee far from where he is being sought. However, once he is away from here and feels secure, ja, I have no doubt that he will resume his crimes. But since he is indeed a psychopath, he is still unpredictable, and people should be made aware of the threat he poses.”
“Which means you really don’t know what he plans to do,” Banning said.
Goldberg frowned at the captain. “What I am certain of is that, once he feels secure, he will rape again. Or do something even worse.”
Banning stood. “Then we better catch him before he can do it.”
Jud Chambers stood as well. “I’ll get my boys movin’ too. And I’ll let the Herald and the radio and TV station know. We’ll get this fella’s picture out there and either catch him or put him in the ground.”
“Bringing him back here will be sufficient, gentlemen,” Goldberg said.
Just before Jud Chambers followed Banning through the door, he stopped and turned back. Banning stopped as well. “Doc,” Chambers said, “it seems pretty dang hard to get out of this place, but what about getting into it?”
“What do you mean?” asked Dr. Goldberg.
“Well … what if somebody wanted to get in here—to take Miller out, help him escape. Or maybe even some husband or boyfriend who wanted to do the opposite—maybe kill him for what he did. Could they get in to do it?”
“An outsider coming in, getting past security, getting the proper keys, and then taking a patient out would be even more difficult than a simple escape, Sheriff,” Goldberg said.
“And as for killing him,” Banning said with a smirk, “I think there’d be a body around if that happened. Unless they took it with them when they left.”
The sheriff nodded slowly. “Got a point,” he said, and walked out of the office.
* * *
Ben Blake told Marie Radcliffe about the disappearance of Ronald Miller as soon as she got to the hospital at eight that morning. He’d been called several hours before and had come in early to help search the facility for Miller. “I thought about calling,” Ben said, “but I didn’t want to wake you, and I figured even if Miller escaped…”
“What?” she asked.
He sighed. “I was just worried about you. With somebody like Miller, you know … still, I figured there was no way he was going to find where you lived.”
“Oh, Ben, he wouldn’t have come looking for me.”
“Crazy people do crazy things.” Ben shrugged. “You’re right. I just don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.” He glanced up quickly to make sure no one was coming down the hall and gave Marie a quick kiss. They’d been going out together regularly for the past several weeks. It had gotten to the hand holding and kissing stage, but no further.
“I’m fine,” Marie said. “Has Dr. Reed been in yet?”
“Haven’t seen him, but he was at Delsey’s last night.” Delsey’s was a roadhouse and bar on the road from the hospital to Fairvale. It had good food and cold beer. “Saw him when I stopped in on the way home. We talked a little, mostly about the way Miller messed with Norman again. I know Reed was planning to discipline him somehow.”
“You think that could be why Miller ran?” Marie asked.
“Naw,” Ben said. “I don’t think it was anything spur of the moment. Miller must’ve planned this in advance. Too many people and locked doors and fences he’d have to get through. You don’t just up and leave a place like this.”
They both turned at the sound of footsteps coming rapidly down the hall. Dr. Reed was walking toward them holding a briefcase and a cardboard cup of coffee. “Ben,” he said, “I just heard. What in God’s name? How the hell could something like this happen?’
“Don’t know, Doc. They’ll catch him, though. Got a whole manhunt going, from what I hear. They’re bringing dogs in to see if they can pick up a trail anywhere around the fence.”
Dr. Reed shook his head. “Of all the people I’d like least to be on the loose, Ronald Miller tops the list. He’s sick, but he’s also mean. If we can ever cure the sickness, I suspect the meanness will still be there.” He gave a thin smile to both Ben and Marie. “Sorry for the pessimism, but ours is a far from perfect science. I hope they catch him soon. And be careful, both of you—he could still be around here somewhere. Heaven knows what he might do…” And Dr. Reed continued down the hall to his office.
* * *
Norman Bates learned of Ronald Miller’s disappearance later that day, when Dr. Reed arrived at his room to take him to the social hall. When Dr. Reed told him why he was there, Norman lowered his head and softly said, “I really don’t want to go today. I don’t feel very well.”
He felt Dr. Reed’s hand on his shoulder, and heard him say, “I know why you don’t want to go, Norman, and I understand. It’s Ronald Miller you’re worried about. But you don’t have to be. He won’t be in the social hall today.”
Norman looked up. “Why not? Did you punish him?”
“No, Norman. I’d been planning to, but he … left the hospital last night.”
“Left?”
“He escaped from his room, Norman. And then he apparently got outside and somehow made it over the fence.”
“He’s … he’s not here anymore?” Norman knew that he should be upset about someone as bad as Ronald Miller being on the loose, but he couldn’t help but be glad that Miller wasn’t there to bother him.
“He’s not, Norman. So I think you can feel more comfortable in the social hall, yes?”
“Do you think they’ll catch him?” Norman asked.
“I think they will, Norman. But when they do, it’s going to be a long time before he’s in the social hall again. If ever. Okay?”
Norman smiled and nodded. “I do want him to be caught, Dr. Reed, it’s just…”
“I understand perfectly. Things will be a little more pleasant with him not around, is that what you mean?”
“Yes. It is.”
“Are you ready to go then?”
Norman was.
Once in the social hall and knowing that he was going to be free of the presence of Ronald Miller, Norman actually walked around the room several times. Though he didn’t engage in conversation, he listened to some. A few were completely nonsensical. One was about Communism and how “Communists are running this asylum, goddamnit!”
Another conversation dealt with Ronald Miller’s escape, although that wasn’t what these two patients considered it. “Escape, my ass,” said one. “Nobody escapes from here. I seen ’em try, but it don’t happen. You know what did happen, don’tcha?”
“Whut?” said the other man. He wasn’t looking at the first. He was looking at the ceiling, as though he was watching things crawl across it.
“Ghosts,” the first said. “Those damn ghosts got him. I hear those bastards all the time.”
“Naw.”
“Yeah. Talkin’ and wailin’ and cryin’; hell, ain’t you heard the stories? How long you been here?”
“Five weeks.”
“I been here near five years. Heard about ’em when I first came in, then started hearin’ ’em for real. They’re way old, y’know?”
“How old?”
“Like way-back-turn-of-the-century old. When this place was a crazy house afore the state got it. Was private. For crazy rich folk. ’Stead of us crazy poor folk, ha!”
The first man watched the second man move his gaze back and forth across the stained ceiling tiles for a while. Then he sa
id, “You’ll never catch ’em, y’know. They crawl right into them little holes in the tile.” But the second man kept watching.
Norman looked upward but saw nothing moving on the ceiling, even though the other men seemed to.
“Boy, that’s one’s fast, huh?” said the first man.
“And big,” said the second. “I don’t fer the life of me know how they get in them little holes…”
Norman sat down in one of the easy chairs and thought that maybe he wasn’t all that crazy. At least he didn’t believe in ghosts.
* * *
But ghosts were on the minds of more people than just Norman Bates and two mentally disturbed men in the social hall. Among the patients, nurses, and support staff, the old stories were rearing their heads again. The facility had been considered haunted by the superstitious for many years, going back to its early days as the Ollinger Sanitarium. Many locals worked in the state hospital, and since the tales of hauntings and horrors were a half-century old, these residents of Fairvale and environs had grown up with those stories, shivering at them under their covers when they were children. Even though they may never have experienced any direct confrontation with the supernatural in the state hospital, their atavistic instincts convinced them of the possibility of such things.
In the years between 1918 and 1939, when the facility was deserted and only high stone walls kept out vandals, it was a favorite place for young roughnecks to come with their ladies, to both terrify the womenfolk and demonstrate their own courage by going right up to the gate and shouting at the spirits that still dwelt within to show themselves.
The spirits never did, though the animals that had found their way onto the grounds through chinks too small for humans often played proxy for the reluctant ghosts, and their rustles in the high grass and sudden bursts of speed when startled by human voices frightened many, even the roughnecks, to their great chagrin. So it was that the actions of these unseen but all too real creatures preserved and maintained the authenticity of the legends of the unresting dead, legends that once again became the subject foremost in the minds of many at the State Hospital for the Criminally Insane on this day.
Robert Bloch's Psycho Page 9