|My son, my stupid son, is pacing through the house and talking to himself. It’s all he ever does anymore. Up and down the stairs. He went to the cellar once, but he stays away now. He knows better.
Leaving my business to him wasn’t something I planned on doing. He’s responsible enough to run it and customers seem to find him endearing, but the boy just isn’t right. He won’t ever be normal. No one in this damn town ever believed me either; they only saw the sweet, shy little boy he used to be. They didn’t know what happened at home. I wonder how different things would be if I hadn’t tried to shelter the world from him. People told me that I kept him home too much. They didn’t realize I was trying to protect them.
Do I miss him? Yes. I would be lying if I said I didn’t. After all, he is my son. My sick, sick son. I should have put him away years ago, but a mother’s love can cloud her judgment.
There he goes again. Running up the stairs to my bedroom. This is something of a routine now. There’s a woman in the office waiting for him to return. He always says he’ll bring sandwiches and milk. The lucky ones get to eat. It’s too late now for this poor, stupid girl. He’s got the dress and the wig. If only he could hear me and not the version that lives in his head.
Goddamn it, Norman, turn the knife on yourself. I know you ain't got the guts though, boy. You never did.