Robert Bloch's Psycho Read Online Free

due to seeing injustice and not being able to do anything about it. If Jesus hadn’t been able to drive the moneychangers from the temple, even he would’ve had that kind of meanness in him and would’ve had to do something about it.
    It just made Myron so mad sometimes to see these monsters treated like they were staying at the Ritz. Take Norman Bates. That bastard didn’t need special treatment, all that sweet talk and chocolate cake—he needed bread and water and daily whippings to drive Satan out of him once and for all. At the very least he needed a smack upside his head like Myron had tried to give him before Reed walked in on them.
    And now Myron was left with the meanness inside and no patients to work it out on. Fine, he’d just do what he often did when he had some meanness to get out of him. And he straightened his collar, smoothed back his blond hair streaked with gray, and headed for the nurses’ station.
    *   *   *
    Head Nurse Eleanor Lindstrom was sitting in her small office, going over the daily nurses’ reports that chronicled anything out of the ordinary. It was seven thirty, there were blessedly few incidents, all the nighttime meds had been doled out, and she was looking forward to getting home, having vodka with some lime juice, and watching The Real McCoys, My Three Sons, and The Tennessee Ernie Ford Show. That Tennessee Ernie was a good-looking man, and by that time she’d have enough vodka inside her that she could imagine snuggling on the couch with old Ern’ while he sang to her.
    She had just slapped the thin report folder shut when there was a knock on her office door. “Shit,” she muttered, wondering what-the-hell problem was going to keep her from her drink and shows. “Yes?” she said, and the door opened to reveal Myron Gunn standing there, a thin smile on his face.
    â€œHad a question for you,” Myron asked in his deep bass voice that sounded sandpapered by whiskey and cigarettes, though Myron neither drank nor smoked, to Eleanor’s knowledge, since she’d never smelled booze or tobacco on his breath.
    â€œYes?” Eleanor said again, hoping, but trying not to smile, trying to remain professional.
    â€œThink there might’ve been some inappropriate activity in the laundry,” Myron said. There was a little flame in his eyes, and Eleanor felt a flame lick up in her as well. “I’d like to show you, see what you think. If you have a minute.”
    â€œOf course,” she said, and stood up, following Myron out past the nurses’ station into the hall. Two nurses on the evening shift were talking to each other, barely looking up as Myron and Eleanor walked by.
    Myron led Eleanor to a stairwell, and they went down two flights to the basement, where the laundry was located. Laundry workers finished at five, so no one was there now. The laundry was all clean, and the carts would be wheeled up to the wards in the morning, where the nurses would change the bedding and give the patients clean uniforms. Now, all those clean, soft sheets were lying on pallets, ready to be loaded into the carts.
    Myron stopped walking next to a pallet, turned, and faced Eleanor. He looked angry. “What is it?” she said.
    â€œReed. He saw me … disciplining Norman Bates.”
    Eleanor felt the anger seep from Myron Gunn like a hot wave. It excited her, because she knew what his anger would lead to if she stoked the fires correctly.
    â€œSkinny little bastard,” she said, moving closer to Myron. “What does he know? He doesn’t realize what you have to deal with every single day, the strength you have to show to tame these monsters.” She put her hands on his upper arms, and could feel the corded biceps beneath the fabric of his shirt. “He could never do that. All he does is talk, just talk…”
    â€œThat’s right,” Myron said. “He couldn’t do