Norman X Ray Lemon Novels & Stories

‘Ready to catch the evening sun. ‘But there’s nothing to see,’ Patience said. ‘The parchment on the glass is blank.’ ‘Have you noticed that St. Norman’s finger isn’t made of glass though?’ Elmo noted. ‘It’s a solid strip of lead. I wonder why when the rest of his hands are made of glass?’ ‘In the last light of day, let him point the way’ Patience quoted from Klaus. ‘Him? St. Norman?’ Elmo suggested looking about and stopping as he faced the wall behind them. Opposite the window was a plaque with a list of names engraved onto its surface. He immediately went over to it.

- I facepalm myself - "my point is you need to throw that nasty ass candy away and get a lemon." Furrowing my brow, I'm trying to figure out what he's even talking about. "A lemon? Is this some weird reference to making lemonade or something stupid like that?" "While that would have been a good one, no. This is about how sniffing a lemon cancels out all the other smells around you and calms the tummy. In fact…" He reaches into his drawer and rummages around for a few seconds. "Ah ha! Here it is. I brought you this."

He was watching his enemy shake under the innocent weight of the very child he had tried to exploit. "Go ahead, Norman," I urged softly, my tone dripping with a quiet, lethal sarcasm that only the adults could fully decode. "Don't be shy. You told me yourself how desperate you were to finally meet Leena. Here she is. Say hello." Norman swallowed hard, his throat clicking loudly in the quiet space. He cleared his throat twice, trying desperately to find his professional voice, but when he spoke, it was a breathless, stammering mess. "Uh... hi. Hello, Leena," Norman muttered, his hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly his fingers were shaking. "Yes... it’s true. I... I knew your mom.

It's on the kitchen counter, right next to a bright red laptop that I recognize. "…leaving now. There had better be some bitches there, Ricky. Someone needs to suck me off." Norman's voice has me ducking into the kitchen and quickly flicking the light switch to shroud the room in darkness. His footsteps pound on the steps, and he walks right past the kitchen entrance. The entrance is U-shaped with two walls extending on each side. I'm curled up on the ground, on the inside part of the wall, hoping he doesn't smell my blood. Fortunately, Norman just walks out the front door, and a few minutes later, I hear the sound of his car roaring away.

Lena's POV. “Hello, ma'am,” the doctor waved his left hand, and felt my pulse with his right hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?” “Can I get a name? Can you speak?” He continued, not even giving me a chance to think or respond. He suddenly stopped and pointed a little fluorescent light in my eyes. I squinted and groaned inaudibly from lying stiff for far too long. “Four, My name is Lena, and I think I can… talk,” I replied in a second, gulping as the man behind him moved closer and fixed his gaze on me.

Norman appeared behind them and asked, looking directly into my eyes in an intimidating manner. "It's better. The nurse bandaged it and said it should improve in a few days. The doctor said it's nothing serious; you don't need to worry," I replied firmly. "Take this!" Norman threw an object in my direction. "What is this?" I asked, confused. "A salve. It'll relieve your pain and help you heal," he said seriously. "Ouch! Norman Miller is caring about someone other than himself; what a miracle!" Liam said mockingly.

Norman sighed, shaking his head. “I need to drink some beer,” he mumbled. “No!” We all shouted at the same time, and he flinched. Even Dexter shouted no. “What is wrong with you all?” He asked, stunned. “You can’t drink beer, for obvious reasons,” I replied, grabbing the towels. “I’m cancer-free now. I’m perfectly okay,” he exclaimed. “It doesn’t matter,” Dexter said, taking the towel. “Why do you care?” Norman asked, rolling his eyes.

We all clinked, laughing like villains in a N*****x drama. BONUS DISCOVERIES: Elias, the proud patriarch? Has a secret second phone. With photos of a certain younger woman… who works at the fake luxury warehouse. Guess who she is? Norma’s niece. Norma? Booked a weekend getaway to Turks and Caicos… under the name “Nora Moonlight.” Who did she book it with? A recently divorced plastic surgeon in his 30s who used to treat MJ. Let that sink in. *****

“Isn’t that Normal Lancell? What is he doing here?” The Lancells were aristocrats too. Norman was a student there, and his uncle was a multi-award-winning screenwriter in Dorywood. Norman walked into the room, and the girls gasped because it was something unusual. Before anyone realized what had happened, he walked toward Freyja and placed a letter in her hand. Freyja froze. “Remember to read it.” Normal took two steps back, then winked at her and left. The pink envelope looked familiar.

Low and unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be and nothing more important than the syllables of my name. I looked up. Norman stood at the hallway entrance in his white coat, a tablet in one hand, looking exactly the way he always looked — composed, professional, and completely unfair. His brown eyes found mine immediately, and something shifted in his expression, just barely. A flicker. Gone before I could name it. He held the door open. “Come on back.” The examination room was small and too bright and smelled like rubber gloves and cold air. Norman closed the door behind us and set his tablet on the counter, scanning whatever notes the receptionist had pulled up.