Original Norman Bates Novels & Stories

The door groaned open. Norman walked toward me, his gait stripped of the confident, easy stride I had once relied on to keep the Hale Winery running. The man who had been my right hand, my confidant, and my lover, now looked like a stranger. His hair was long, unkempt and streaking with premature gray, and a thick, coarse beard covered the jawline that had once seemed so familiar. He sat down, the orange jumpsuit too bright against his sallow skin. When his eyes met mine, they sparked with a sudden, desperate light—a flash of the Sweet Norman I had once known.

Exactly the kind of thing that could shatter an alliance. “Norman,” I began cautiously, “you know how important Moon Pack is to us. I’ve already spoken to my third son—he’s studying medicine. He could help when he returns. You should not trust just anyone.” That’s when I noticed it—a worn canvas bag on Norman’s bedside table. A relic from another world. One that didn’t belong in this high-rise hospital suite filled with polished chrome and sterile wealth. Norman followed my gaze. Then he looked up and met my eyes.

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” Out of defiance, Cato finished the kiss before he slowly pulled away. “You would have to be important to be an interruption. And you aren’t important.” Bates was in a black suit, dangerous and handsome like his brother. He had the same eyes and the same coldness—but he was definitely more arctic. His hands were in his pockets, and he glanced at me with obvious dislike. “I have Mr. Wong on a conference call. Thought you’d want to say a few words.”

“I thought you really scored a big one with Ysa. She’s hot you know.” “If you like her you can go talk to her, Benjie’s not around anyway. She’s not my type at all.” “Na-ah. That’s not going to happen. I don’t want to get beaten by that big guy.” Norman shook his head in fear. “I mean, look at me, I’m thin. I’m like a walking stick. Benjie would easily break every single bone in my body with a few punches.” “Most probably, yeah, he’d beat the shit out of you.”

“Where you able to see the doctor, sir? Bosey asked. “Oh yes Bosey, | saw the doctor. But | was informed Norman is not doing too well. | can't believe my son is in a coma, how did he come down to this? He said gesturing to Norman. After few minutes, while Bosey was listening to Norman's father explain how Norman became different, saw Norman's leg move. Bosey quickly rushed to Norman's bed. “He just moved his legs, Norman! He just moved his leg! Bosey yelled. “Doctor! Doctor!! Mandy kept a yelling, as she ran to the door. The doctors and their team stormed the room, checked on Norman's vital signs and noticed he was out of coma. "Doctor what's wrong? Norman's father asked.

Jordan noted the intensity in Norman's demeanor. Taking a seat across from him, Norman leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The prosecutor handling your case is quite formidable. She’s impervious to bribery or flattery. She has a solid track record, having secured numerous convictions and imprisoned many offenders of the law. I’m not implying you’re a criminal, boss, but you should know that those in her custody rarely see the light of day again. To make matters worse, I conducted an investigation yesterday and discovered that the embezzled funds were indeed traced back to your account..."

Norman’s voice darkened, trailing off. I hesitated before asking softly, "Were you badly hurt?" Norman let out a bitter laugh, the corner of his lips twitching with self-mockery. "I suffered a head injury. When I woke up, my mental capacity was reduced to that of a five-year-old. Ridiculous, isn’t it?" I looked straight into his eyes, their dark depths holding nothing but unfiltered sincerity. At that moment, the promises and the strength of the boy I’d once known came flooding back with startling clarity.

irs If she thinks she can stop me from seeing her or my child, I’ll prove she’s dead wrong. Betty arranges a meeting with a man named Atlas Norman, a lawyer in his early forties. He looks sharp, focused, and absolutely cut out for the job—and he should be. He’s known as the best advocate in the business. I take a seat at the head of the conference table, and he sits two chairs down from me. Norman leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “I’ve reviewed the restraining order. It’s strategically airtight, but it’s not invincible.”

The first one showed Norman at eighteen or nineteen, standing among several men. He was painfully thin, dressed in clothes several sizes too large for him, and looked nothing like the polished billionaire who had been parading around New York with Genevieve. I stared at the photograph before laughing. “So this is you?” I picked up the picture and studied it more closely. “Look at you.” I couldn't help laughing again. The powerful Norman Adams everyone feared had once been a skinny street boy standing beside criminals. How amusing. I turned the page and my smile slowly disappeared.

The concern in his eyes was evident, and Barnes noticed it clearly. After some hesitation, Barnes stepped forward and reminded her, "Miss, Mr. Norman is still waiting." Adela’s body stiffened. To be honest, she didn’t want her surrogacy arrangements to be brought up in front of her family or friends. Dexter stood up and raised an eyebrow. "Which Mr. Norman?" "..." Barnes forced a smile and said reluctantly, "Mr. Layson Norman." Dexter’s expression changed instantly. D.amn it! It’s him?!