Chapter Text
Sheriff Alex Romero hated this part of the job. He liked the power and respect his title afforded him and he didn't mind the uniform, but he hated the small talk aspect that seemed to come with the job. He was an elected official though, and being a part of White Pine Bay life was a part of that, quietly resenting attending town events, children's bake sales and welcoming new widows to the town like he cared about them.
He sighed, resentful at his role at being the welcoming committee for the new woman in town, as his fist froze, his knuckles mere millimetres from making contact with the door of the old Queen Anne house. He cocked his head, his senses keen and alert as he heard scuffling sounds from within and then the blood curdling sound of a muffled, shrill scream. There was a bang and the unmistakeable sound of frantic sobbing from beyond the door and he knew that was all the due cause he needed, acting on instinct, his hand unholstering his gun as he rutted his shoulder against the locked door a couple of times, the old lock giving easily after only a few tries. Alert, with his gun poised, he rounded the corner to find Keith Summers thrusting against a blonde woman bent over the kitchen table. Her terrified eyes met his for a second, her screams muffled by the piece of duct tape over her mouth and Alex felt the bile rise in his throat.
"Keith!" He shouted out, and the man stilled, turning bleary, bloodshot eyes to him, his face flooding with recognition. The woman tore her gaze away from his, sobbing into the formica table top. His eyes darted around the scene, from the woman's hand handcuffed to the table leg, to the torn underwear around her ankle and he tightened his grip around the trigger almost without thinking, pulling the gun up at the very last second to hit Keith Summers in his upper shoulder. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Alex crossed immediately over to him, studiously keeping his eyes away from the woman slumped over the table. He had to secure the perpetrator before he could help her. That was what his training had taught him. Keith's wound was minimal, the bullet wedged in his shoulder, missing all major arteries or bones, wounding only the soft tissue. Wearily, Alex knew he would face a disciplinary for this - they were trained to shoot to kill, only supposed to discharge their weapons when there was no other alternative, after all avenues had failed. Alex had barely announced himself, hadn't threatened Keith, hadn't tried any other methods to pull him away from the terrified woman panting beside him now. He had barely thought, seeing the panicked, tear stained face of the woman, and had acted on impulse, only just managing not to kill Keith at the last moment, raising his weapon to aim for his shoulder instead of his heart. Darkly, Alex realised it would have been easier if he had just killed him.
With no concern for the man's pain or wellbeing, he roughly rolled him onto his stomach, wrenching his arms up behind him to place his handcuffs on him, Keith begging and screaming the whole time.
"This is inhumane! I'm bleeding. I'm bleeding here!" He slurred, as Alex secured the cuffs around his wrists, the force pushing fresh blood out of his shoulder wound. Alex turned his attention to the woman, crying silently against the formica, her thighs now pressed tightly together, smears of blood marking the light yellow table top.
"Yeah? So is she, you son of a bitch," he muttered darkly, patting down Keith's pockets quickly to retrieve the keys to the handcuffs, slowing his movements as he crossed the room to crouch in front of her, holding his hands out the whole time.
Tired, wet, blue eyes raised up to meet his, and she reached across herself with her free hand to pull the duct tape from her mouth, opening and closing her jaw experimentally a few times, watching him suspiciously as he approached the cuffs with the key.
"'Keith'?" She quoted quietly, regarding him darkly as he unlocked the cuff, and she slid to the floor, her hands tugging at her skirt to cover herself. She scooted back with her feet to push back against the cupboards, her hand rubbing at her sore wrist, wincing with every movement her body made to get away from him.
"You know him?" She flicked her head towards her attacker, her voice terrified. Alex realised with her start why she seemed so mistrustful of him, realising his first-name familiarity with Keith Summers had scared her. Before he could answer, Keith was speaking up, his voice strained.
"Know him? Baby, we grew up together!"
It wasn't entirely true. They had gone to high school together but Keith had been several years ahead of Alex, their only real connection being Keith's younger sister who had shared a couple of classes with Alex before dropping out entirely. Everyone knew of Keith Summers, the angry, violent drunk with a rap sheet as long as his arm, and as the sheriff, Alex was more familiar with him than most. The blonde woman across the kitchen, new in town, knew nothing of this though, and she shrank back even further against the kitchen cabinets, pulling her knees up to her chest, holding her wrist up defensively.
Alex felt a sudden wave of sickness over her thinking he had any prior connection with this man, reaching out to give Keith's leg a reckless little kick.
"Shut up, Summers," he murmured, before turning his gaze back to her, his hands still outstretched like he was rescuing a feral cat. "He's not my friend," he assured her, watching as her eyes widened with a sudden realisation, casting her eyes up towards the ceiling.
"My son!"
Alex followed her gaze up to the ceiling for a moment.
"My son! Please! My son is upstairs!" She sobbed the words out, her gaze turning murderous as she glanced back at Keith Summers. "Did you hurt my son?" She screeched, starting to scrabble over to him.
"There's a child in the house?" Alex was back on full alert immediately, casting his gaze behind him, tightening his grip on his still drawn gun. She nodded, stilling on the kitchen floor.
"Wait here. Don't move," he commanded, narrowing his eyes at where she still shaking, staring murderously at where Keith Summers was prone on the floor.
"Don't move," he repeated, drawing her attention back to him, rising to his feet. "I'll be right back. I'm gonna get your kid." She nodded at him gratefully, sinking back against the cupboards.
After a cursory sweep of the upstairs bedrooms, Alex was beginning to get frantic, pulling the covers back in the smaller bedroom, his eyes falling on a small folded piece of paper on the pillow.
"Mother. If you find this, I have gone to study with Bradley. I'm sorry. I am allowed to have a life outside of you. Home soon. I love you with my whole heart. Love, Norman." Alex read outloud to himself, squinting his eyes to make sense of the note in his hand, just as there was an inhuman screech from downstairs, and he was moving, his hand scrunching the note as he sprinted down the stairs.
There was a bubbling, groaning sound from the kitchen and Alex skidded round the corner to find the woman on top of Keith Summers, a kitchen knife firmly embedded in his chest. There were many more stab wounds across his torso, each steadily pumping blood onto the linoleum, and she turned to face Alex as he entered the room, blood splattered across her pretty features, her eyes wild. She pulled back, staring down at her hands covered in blood now, shaking as she lifted them like she wasn't sure they belonged to her.
"What..." Alex began, as Keith spluttered his final breath, coughing one last bloody rattle up at her. She flinched as the tiny droplets splattered up at her, the crook of her arm coming up instinctively to rub across her face. She opened her eyes to stare at Alex, her face crumpling as she watched him hovering in the doorway.
"He said he killed my son. He said he killed him in his bed," she choked out, looking like she might throw up. She panted, as Alex said nothing for a moment, the note crumpling in his palm uselessly. "Did he kill my boy?" She shrieked.
"No!" Alex snapped, finally sinking to his knees by her and Keith's body, still holding his hands up, though more a protective measure than for her comfort now. "No, no." He reached out slowly to show her the note, flinching as she snatched the paper from his hands, her eyes reading and rereading it, her expression growing cold and hard.
"How old is your son?" He asked softly, and she jumped like she had forgotten he was there.
"He's 17."
His mouth dropped open. He had been confused when he had found the note, assuming he was looking for a little boy when she had screamed about her son. She didn't look old enough to have a child who was old enough to sneak out to "study" with a girl, but as he watched her face now, growing hard, he realised she was older than she seemed, the softness of her face initially exaggerated by the terror clouding her features when he had first laid eyes on her.
"Seems your son is fine." He said, somewhat redundantly, rewarded with a scowl from her. His hand drifted to Keith Summer's neck, not expecting to find a pulse there, but knowing he needed to check for posterity.
"Is he dead?"
He looked incredulously from the man laying with his eyes open, a dozen stab wounds in his torso, the kitchen knife still embedded in his chest, each wound steadily pulsing a growing pool of blood onto the floor, then back up to her.
"Yeah. He's dead," he said, simply. Her breaths continued panting out shakily, and she nodded, her eyes darting around the kitchen.
"I'm gonna go to prison," she announced suddenly, no question in her voice.
He shook his head immediately.
"No, I'm not taking you to prison. It was self defence," he said, knowing that wasn't true even as he said it.
"No it wasn't," she shot back immediately, her wide blue eyes finding his. "He was handcuffed... I wanted him to die."
He screwed up his face, holding his hand up to stop her.
"Well, don't tell me that."
There was a sudden banging sound as she collapsed against the kitchen cupboard again, her knee banging against the wood loudly, and she winced.
"We're gonna go to hospital before we go anywhere, ok?" He leaned an inch towards her, watching as she rubbed the back of her hand under her nose, her expression hard, apparently not even feeling the deep gash across her palm. She scoffed at his words.
"Why?"
He floundered as her eyes turned up to him, sharp and piercingly blue, so intense he had to look away. He was trained for this - He was a police officer and there was protocol to follow in these situations.
"Because... you may need medical attention..." he explained quietly, looking away. He took a shaky breath to find her gazing at him curiously. "You've been assaulted. I'm gonna take you to hospital, and get you checked you out-"
"The hell you are," she cut him off, snapping at him, starting to pull herself to her feet, holding hard onto the edge of the counter. "I've had worse than this..."
She spoke quietly, but her words still made him falter in his own movements, shocked at her dark admission, wondering about what kind of life she had lived while also desperately not wanting to know any more.
"I'll be fine," she muttered as she pushed herself up to stand, every limb trembling from the effort, her stance tense and painful. He followed her to his feet, still moving slowly around her.
She turned her face away for a second, letting out a stifled sob at the window before she turned back to him, her face hard and resolute, only a single tear slipping down her cheek betraying how terrified she was. She took a deep breath before holding her wrists out together, waiting to be cuffed.
"My son, Norman is... he's special. He's vulnerable. Will you please make sure he's ok? He has a brother. His name is Dylan. He is old enough to take responsibility for him. You have to track him down." He stared dumbly back at her as her words continued tumbling out too fast, her tone panicked and tearful. "Dylan Massett, ok? You have to find him. Dylan Massett," she repeated insistently, still holding her hands out, her wrists pressed together. "He's a mess." She started to cry in earnest now. "But he'll do the right thing, ok? You gotta find him. He'll take care of Norman... please..." she begged him, sobbing openly.
He sprang forwards, hating the way she flinched, reaching for her wrists and lowering them to her sides, watching as her tear stained face looked up at him in shock.
"I'm not taking you to jail, ok?" He said, quietly. He jerked his head back at where Keith Summers lay bleeding out on the linoleum.
"Keith Summers was a piece of shit."
Her eyes searched his, gulping, frowning in confusion.
"No-one would give a shit if he disappeared." His words were slow, pointed, but she still gazed uncertainly up at him.
"Do you wanna help me make Keith Summers disappear?" He said finally and her mouth dropped open, finally fully realising what he was saying.
"I... I don't... Is this some kind of trick?" She looked around the kitchen like she was waiting for a hoard of back up officers to jump out on her.
"No trick. I promise. Nothing had to happen here tonight. No crime, ok?" She shivered, rubbing her hand around the red mark on her wrist. "Keith Summers is better off gone. For both of us."
"Okay... " she said slowly, gulping loudly, releasing a shaking breath. "So we...?"
"We clean this up, we get rid of him, we go our separate ways. If and when someone files a missing person report for this son of a bitch, I dutifully look into it and I keep your name out of it."
Her eyes searched his face for a few more seconds before she huffed out a relieved breath, nodding tightly at him.
After her initial reluctance, he expected her to be squeamish or stay lost in shock for a while, but she seemed to channel her trauma into the clean up job with a gusto that almost unnerved him. He wondered how an crime that broke most women seemed to spur her on into action, pushing through the obvious physical pain she was feeling to help him roll the heavy corpse onto a large piece of tarpaulin. He had expected to do most of the work, but she had waved him off as he attempted to stop her bending and crouching and lifting to sweep and mop the blood off her floor, every painful grimace she gave cutting through him, guilt washing over him.
"Are you-"
"If you ask me if I'm ok one more time I'm going to scream," she muttered darkly, pushing herself onto her knees after swiping blood up with a cloth, sucking in a sharp inhale of breath.
"Yes, he hurt me. Yes, I'll survive," she said dismissively. "Let's just get this done."
He felt in awe of this beautiful, mysterious stranger all of a sudden, watching as she soaked up blood, lifting up her attacker's arm to swiffer under it like it was nothing.
"What's your name?" He said suddenly, realising he was cleaning up a crime scene with a stranger.
"Norma. Norma Bates."
Their eyes met over Keith's body.
"I'm Alex. Romero."
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Alex Romero. I would shake your hand but it's covered in blood." She held out her blood soaked palms, shrugging at him and he felt an urge to laugh in spite of the situation.
They managed to clean up Keith's blood as best they could, rolling him up in a tarp and manoeuvring him with difficulty down the long flight of stone steps in front of her house, depositing him in the back of Alex's police SUV, jogging back up the steps to wipe up the last droplets of blood staining the floor with an old towel.
"You're gonna have to take your clothes off," he said suddenly, glancing at her blood stained blouse. She gasped.
"Relax," he rolled his eyes. "We need to shower and change before we take his body out. We'll burn the towels and our clothes."
She looked down at herself, horrified.
"But I love this skirt..." She announced sadly and he frowned at her, watching as she accepted her skirt's fate.
He emerged from the guest bedroom onto the landing at the same time she emerged from her room, the moment feeling unbearably intimate for some reason. He was wearing some of her dead husband's clothes that she had found out of storage for him, a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt that were maybe half a size too small, his body feeling unnatural in another man's clothes, dead or not. Her breath caught in her throat as he walked out into the hall, her eyes darting down to his outfit, sucking in a breath. He assumed it was hard for her to see someone wearing her only recently passed husband's clothes and he felt a pang of guilt.
She was wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, and he could tell from the way she moved out onto the stairwell that she wasn't used to dressing so casually.
"Ready?"
She nodded grimly, tightening the drawstring on her sweatshirt like she was about to rob a bank.
He drove slowly to the marina, feeling acutely aware of the corpse and the black trash bag of their clothes and blood soaked towels sitting in his trunk. It was only when she piped up from the passenger seat that it dawned on him that she didn't entirely need to be there.
"Where are we going?"
He hadn't shared his plan with her, and he realised he hadn't really needed to involve her past this point at all. He selfishly just didn't wanna do this alone.
"The marina." His tone was clipped, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.
"Oh."
A beat passed, and he suddenly felt it necessary to justify why he needed her there.
"He's a big guy." He flicked a glance at her, cursing himself when she shuddered at his words. No-one knew that more than her. "I'll need your help getting him out there."
She nodded tightly, casting her gaze out of the window, her fingers tracing absentmindedly over the bandaid now covering her palm.
The process of disposing of Keith Summers' body proved to be much easier than he expected, Norma listening to his every instruction, valiantly helping him carry the body to the small, rickety fishing boat Alex owned, letting him row them around the headland, her knuckles white as she gripped the sides of the boat, the waves growing choppier as they left the shelter of the bay, rounding the corner to a tiny, cut off cove encompassed on all sides by craggy cliffs. There were circles of blackened rocks and charcoal dotted around the small beach, stark against the white sand, evidence of fires showing the secluded spot was popular with at least a few of the boating community of White Pine Bay.
He gallantly jumped out as they reached the shore, tugging the boat up to beach it, and she stayed sat where she was, beginning to shiver against the cold of the night, watching him as he quickly started a fire in one of the leftover stone circles, emptying the bag of blood stained clothing into it, stepping back to let them burn. They both watched in silence, the dancing flames burning bright for a few minutes, before ebbing down, the cotton and polyester quickly breaking down to nothing.
"Sorry about your skirt." He said quietly, stepping back into the tiny boat, wrenching his soaked legs back in.
She laughed mirthlessly, shrugging at him by way of answer. She had watched impassively from the beached boat as he burned their clothes, finding herself watching his face, glowing orange in the light from the fire, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.
"There'll be other skirts," she said quietly, her gaze flicking nervously to the large mass still between her and Alex, as he grabbed the oars again, beginning to row them out straight towards the darkness.
She shuddered nervously after ten minutes of silent rowing towards the horizon, the only sound the oars gliding through the water, each pull propelling them further from the safety of land behind them. Norma began to grow uneasy as the small boat tilted and dropped down a sudden swell.
"Isn't this far enough?"
She turned to look over her shoulder at the lights from the town now shining behind them in the distance, looking impossibly tiny as the huge expanse of dark water stretched between them and the marina lights. Her fingers traced a nervous circle around her elbow as she craned her head over the side of the boat, peering into the jet black ocean slapping against the wood.
"Not quite," he huffed at her, panting, a sheen of sweat just visible in the pale moonlight. A sudden thought crossed his mind.
"You can swim, right?"
Her hand shot out to grab hard at his wrist, her eyes seeking out the distant shoreline again.
"Ohmygodnotfromhere!" she blurted out, all in one breath.
He shrugged his wrist from her grasp, chuckling lightly, continuing to row out into the darkness, the crests of the waves glowing white in the moonlight every now and again.
"I'm not gonna capsize us," he assured her, glancing from side to side as they glided to a stop.
"This is a fishing community. We had to get out past the lobster pots." He explained, nodding his head back at the tiny markers floating behind her.
He let his hand sink down below the surface of the water, lifting it out and shaking the seawater off, apparently happy by what he found there.
"There's a riptide here. Perfect."
She was more help manoeuvring the body over the edge of the boat than he expected her to be. She had shuddered and shivered the rest of the journey, grimly accepting his offer to burn their clothes and blood soaked towels, sitting silently in the boat while he ventured onto the remote beach to do the deed. He had expected the same quiet resolute nature when the time had come, surprised when she had immediately raised to her full height, the boat swinging under her actions, her toes easing under the body.
"Steady..." He said, aware of the violent rocking of the boat as she sprang up, wedging her feet under Keith's body. Without thinking, one arm shot out to grab around her waist, before snatching his hand back, realising she probably didn't want to be grabbed at right now. If she was disturbed by his hand around her, she didn't let on, focused entirely on levering Keith's body up with her feet. He leaned down to slide his hands under the tarpaulin, scrabbling for purchase, grateful for her help in taking some of his weight.
"Lean back," he commanded gently, and she complied, pushing her body back, her arms braced against the side of the boat, and he heaved the corpse up and over the edge, her kicking helping to push him over. The boat tilted and rocked for a second , bobbing aggressively, splashing water in over the side as it righted itself, Keith's corpse sinking quickly out of sight. He didn't notice that his hand had automatically swept across her to press across her middle, holding her safely in the boat until she gasped, grimacing as they both glanced to where his hand was holding her.
"Sorry," he mumbled, snatching his hand back, watching as she rubbed her stomach.
"It's ok," she assured him, struggling to sit back up as the rocking of the boat slowed steadily, the boat slowly finding its equilibrium again. "He kicked me," she explained, giving a little shrug, still gingerly rubbing her hand across her torso, and Alex knew right there and then that if he wasn't already dead, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from killing Keith Summers.
She scrambled forwards to peer over the edge, watching as the bubbles and disturbance in the water stilled, the moon appearing from behind a cloud at the same moment. Silent tears shone in the moonlight, pouring steadily down her cheeks as she stared into the murky abyss that was to be Keith Summer's final resting place. He looked away, feeling like he had caught her in an intimate moment, busying himself with grabbing and adjusting the oars, clearing his throat awkwardly. He listened to her sniffling and scrubbing her hand over her face and the tears were gone when he finally glanced back at her, her expression determined as she looked at the oars in his hands.
"You can go," she said quietly. She kept her gaze down, staring at the bandaid on her hand and he complied, rowing them back to shore without another word.
He anchored the small boat in his dock, helping her step onto the wooden pier with a gallant arm, securing the boat before heading back with her. They began to walk back from the far edge of the marina, freezing as the light from a flashlight suddenly swung in their direction.
"Alex?" A voice called out from behind the suddenly blinding light and they both stopped in their tracks. Alex's heart sank as he recognised the man's voice instantly, squinting to make out the portly shape of Jack Holland standing at the end of the walkway. Alex felt his chest tighten, floundering at the grizzled old man standing at the far end of the dock, frowning curiously at them from behind his flashlight. He lowered the light a little, realising they were both being blinded by the bright beam.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He peered at his watch, his brow furrowing. "It's two in the morning..."
Alex felt his body go numb, taking a shaking breath in. They had no reason to be there. There was nothing he could say that would explain why he was down at the marina in the middle of the night with a strange woman. A beat passed and he felt sure Jack was looking right into his head, immediately sure he knew they were out there disposing of a body. Suddenly a soft hand was pressing against his, and he automatically went to pull his hand back in shock, surprised when she grasped harder, shooting him a pointed look.
"Oh! This is embarrassing!" Norma suddenly piped up from beside him, her voice higher-pitched and daintier than he had heard in his several hours of knowing her.
She tugged hard at his hand, and he stumbled towards her, his mouth hanging open.
"I wanted to see his boat!" She rang out, her voice soft and girlish. Jack's eyes met his, his eyebrows shooting up, and he tried to desperately to look less lost than he felt. Norma tucked herself tightly against his body, feigning a sudden shyness and he reluctantly wrapped his arm around her, pretending not to feel her tremble as he shot a small, embarrassed smile at Jack.
"Oh. Ohhhh! So you're..." He smirked as his words trailed off.
"We're on a date," Alex muttered, almost conspiratorially, feeling her shaking hand sliding up to grip hard at the back of his jacket.
His eyes flicked between them both and they shifted under his scrutiny.
"It's dangerous to take a boat out at night, Alex," he muttered gruffly, adjusting his flat cap, flicking his head towards the dark water gently lapping at the wooden supports underneath them. "You should know that."
His expression softened and Norma glanced up at Alex, sensing some familiarity between him and the older man, some of the tension leeching from her body.
"Oh, I just wanted to see it," she assured him, her tone still flirty and feminine, beaming a charming smile at him that he couldn't help but return.
"I see." He waggled his eyebrows at Alex, before grinning down at the ground, scuffing at a knot in the wood with his scruffy boot.
"Anyway... we were just leaving..." Alex started, sliding his hand down her arm to take hold of her hand, leading her to start stiffly walking towards Jack. He stepped back, letting them pass before his hand shot out to grab Alex's elbow, leaning in close.
"She's a pretty one," he whispered, and Alex could smell the whiskey on his breath, resisting the urge to recoil. Norma hovered as Jack lowered his voice even more, barely audible over the slapping of waves against boat hulls that surrounded them.
"But ain't you a little old to be taking girls for a tumble in your dad's old boat?" He chuckled and Alex suppressed a shudder, casting a nervous glance to where Norma was curiously regarding them both, clearly not hearing what he had said. Her eyes widened at Alex's obvious discomfort.
"I'm getting cold," she announced suddenly, giving his hand a tug. Jack turned, looking her up and down slowly in a way that made her shift uncomfortably and look helplessly to Alex, who wrenched his arm from the older man's grip, stepping between them, once again wrapping his arm around Norma protectively. She trembled but less violently than she had before, allowing him to sling his arm around her shoulders, putting his body between her and Jack.
"I'll take you home," he said, moving to pull her away, just as Jack leaned past him, letting his eyes roam up and down the back of her body, biting his lip and shooting Alex a little thumbs up that made his skin crawl.
"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, huh?"
Alex said nothing, just turned away, tightening his fingers to tug her a little closer as they walked away, their bodies tight and tense with each step.
"Oh. It was nice to meet you," Norma trilled sweetly over her shoulder, oblivious to his ogling of her body, and Jack gave a formal little salute before she let Alex pull her away.
They both breathed out matching sighs of relief as they rounded the corner, finally out of Jack's view, hurrying their pace towards Alex's car. She clung to him gratefully, all the adrenaline leeching out of her body, feeling woozy all of a sudden.
"Do you think he bought it?" She whispered, her voice shaky as she leaned her body against him, and if either of them noticed they had no need to still be touching now they were alone, they didn't say anything.
"Yeah. I think so."
"You know him?"
"Jack owns the marina and the boatyard." He chanced a glance at her, before pressing on. "He's an old friend of my dad's," he added quietly and Norma sensed not to press the issue any further.
Alex felt oddly reluctant to remove his hands from her body, missing the heat of her against his side the moment he let her go as they slipped into his car, both of them sagging in their seats like they had just run a marathon.
"What did he whisper to you?" She said suddenly, both of them turning from where their heads were tilted back against their headrests to look at each other.
"Erm..." Alex leaned forwards, reaching to put the key in the ignition, suddenly studiously keeping his eyes from meeting hers. "He said you were pretty."
Norma scoffed, looking down at herself, pulling at the faded hoodie she had thrown on in haste earlier.
"Really? I look disgusting."
It was his turn to scoff now as she ran her hand through her still slightly damp hair, wild and untamed after her earlier shower. Her face was bare and he could tell she was the sort of woman who didn't let many people see her make-up free. He doubted he would see it again, if they ever even crossed paths again.
"You look-" Beautiful. He wanted to say, stopping himself at the last second, realising it would sound like he was hitting on her hours after she had been assaulted. He suddenly felt no better than Jack, leering at her, and turned his attention back to the dashboard. "You look fine, Norma."
He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his face but he avoided glancing at her as he started the car, reversing out of the marina parking lot and beginning the short drive back to her house.
"Shit!" She said, as he pulled up to the house, spotting the light glaring out from almost every window, a figure briefly silhouetted in the front bedroom window before disappearing behind the curtain. "My son's home."
She suddenly doubled forwards, covering her face with her hands and resting her forehead against the edge of the glovebox.
"Oh god. What am I gonna tell him?"
Alex was silent, rubbing his thumb across his lip.
"It's nearly three in the morning!" She continued, muffled behind her hands. "Where the hell have I been?"
"Fuck..." Alex breathed the word to himself, tipping his head back against the headrest as he had a dawning realisation.
"I think... you're gonna have to tell him you were on a date."
She looked up at him, her mouth open.
"Jack's wife, Nancy... she likes to talk... knows everyone's business."
Norma sighed.
"The whole town'll know by tomorrow morning. I think... I think your son's gonna have to think the same."
"He isn't gonna like this," she said, mostly to herself, and Alex cocked his head, thinking it was a strange thing to say. She chewed her lip for a second, before huffing out a long breath, nodding to herself resolutely.
"Ok. Well," She swivelled in her seat, holding her hand out to him. "Thank you for a lovely date. I had a real swell time."
He smirked in spite of himself, reaching out to shake her hand.
"Anytime." She tried to pull back and he tightened his grip on her hand, pulling her gaze back to him. "You gonna be ok?" It seemed a paltry question in the face of everything she had been through that night, but she nodded quickly back.
"Yes. Thank you. For everything." She blinked hard a few times, her eyes shining, giving a tiny sniffle. He didn't let go of her hand, his thumb stroking across hers.
"If you need anything..." He reached into his pocket, pressing his card into her palm. "Anytime, ok?"
She sniffled again.
"Or a second date," she joked lightly, finally wriggling her hand out of his grasp, sharing one last nod before she swung the car door open and fled up the steps to the house, rushing through the door without sparing one glance back. Alex felt bereft, the silence in the car suddenly unbearable and he reversed quickly out of her driveway and out of her life, wondering if he would ever see Norma Bates again.