Norman X Ray Novels & Stories

“Rhayden!” He stopped, turning and started to run up the hall toward me, a smile coming to his lips. Rhayden was here… for me… “Rhayden!” “Mars!” he called out, the smile fading as he reached out. “Mars! No!” I didn’t have to turn to know what was behind me… but I did anyway. Norman loomed over me, blood gushing from the wound on his head and as I stepped back toward Rhayden, he stepped forward.

With a scowl on her features, she couldn't help but reach out and grasp Maya by the hands. Maya flinched in response but didn't withdraw her hands away. Being held in such a manner by such soft hands, the sound of a woman's voice gave her a sense of safety. “She’s…” Norman tried to find the words as she stared at Maya's now bandaged eyes. Sighing in defeat, as her heart seemed to be troubled, there was something about Maya that she just couldn't place her finger on. Some have whispered of Norman's talent—of reading people just by a single look—her quiet being, the eyes were a window to one's heart and who they were.

‘Let’s get this done. Inside, the church aisles were a fusion of fading sunlight and deep shadows. Behind the alter rose a huge stained glass window depicting a Benedictine monk—St. Norman himself— etched in thick strips of lead and sitting at a table where a piece of parchment lay propped up against a small lectern. St. Norman had his pink, almost opaque, face turned towards the congregation, his smile rapturous; one hand in the air and the other with an extended finger pointing to the blank pages. His robes and the parchment were constructed of yellow glass, and in the background was a sunset of the deepest red. ‘The window faces west,’ Elmo observed. ‘Ready to catch the evening sun.’

Unknown "Thank goodness you are awake, Xena," Norman spoke as he held Xena's hands. She squinted her eyes as she adjusted to the light. "What happened, Norman?" Xena asked as she tried to sit up but was held back by Norman. "Please Xena, don't stress yourself," Norman said as he caressed her fingers. "That doesn't answer my question," she snapped, her voice laced with fear. "You took an overdose of drugs," he explained.

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.

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.

Klaus asked with obvious bewilderment. "Five. It's better to be safe, so we'll be ready for when you have to make them," Norman explained. ". But Dr. Rohn said that if I start to feel symptoms, we should go for blood tests." "We'll do that too. But in the meantime, we'll have these just in case. Besides, Norman turned to see the Omega in a halt: "Stop contradicting me, a puppy; don't think I haven't noticed; you've been making fun of me," he said with grace and mock indignation.

All that remained of my people. Norman stood in the center, calm as still water. He held something in his hand, a small wooden toy, a carved wolf. He turned it over, examining it like he had all the time in the world. Behind him, two of his thugs stood guard. Between them, a young boy knelt on the cold concrete.