Psycho Page #13

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He hangs the sign on the door, ushers Lila out, closes door

behind him.

CUT TO:

EXT. STREET - (DAY)

They emerge from the store and walk along to the hotel. As

they enter, Arbogast is in the act of taking over a white

Ford sedan from a rental car man. They glance at him and he

returns a cynical look.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. HOTEL - (DAY)

Outside another hotel we see Arbogast alight from the white

car and go into new hotel.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. COUNTRYSIDE - (DAY)

The white car speeding along the highway.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. NEW MOTEL - (DAY)

Arbogast going into the office - we see the sign above him.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. BATES' MOTEL - (DAY)

A high shot showing the freeway and Bates house and motel on

the side old highway. A pause and then across the bottom of

the picture a white car speeds by on the freeway.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. HOTEL - (DUSK)

Another Hotel. Arbogast goes in.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. BATES' MOTEL - (DAY)

The white car speeding along the freeway again going in the

opposite direction to last time. Norman, a tiny figure, is

seen going up the steps to his mother's house.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. BOARDING HOUSE - (DAY)

Arbogast's search is getting down in the scale. This is an

entrance to a cheesy boarding house. "Rooms to Rent," etc.

He looks at his list and then goes in.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. BATES' MOTEL - (DAY)

The white car goes by on the freeway again.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. ROOMING HOUSE - (DAY)

Arbogast goes in.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. BATES' MOTEL - (TWILIGHT)

Heavy traffic on the freeway. A beat or two - again the white

car. It slows up opposite the distant motel. It makes a turn

and goes back out of scene. A pause and it reappears on the

old road and slowly makes its way toward the Bates' Motel.

EXT. THE BATES' HOUSE AND MOTEL - (TWILIGHT)

We now see Norman. He has brought out an old rocking chair

and has placed it on the office porch and is sitting hunched

in it. And he is darning one of his own socks. CAMERA HOLDS.

Beyond the porch, and Norman, we see the old house and can

barely make out, in the twilight dimness, the figure of his

mother seated at the window. Here, too, there is that quality

of quiet peace surrounded by a vague foreboding.

Now Norman looks up at the SOUND of the approaching car.

And continues looking as the car comes to a stop and Arbogast

gets out. Arbogast gives the place a quick once-over, gazes

at Norman, starts forward. In his steps and manner there is

that bored, routine-logged quality of a man who has seen too

many motels and asked question of too many hotel managers

over too short a period of time.

Norman rises as Arbogast comes forward.

NORMAN:

(shoving sock in his

pocket)

I always forget to put the sign on,

but we do have vacancy.

(Cheerfully)

Twelve in fact. Twelve cabins, twelve

vacancies.

ARBOGAST:

(pleasantly)

In the past two days I've been to so

many motels, my eyes are bleary with

neon. This is the first one that

looked like it was hiding from the

world at large.

NORMAN:

I don't really forget the sign, it

just doesn't seem... any use.

(Points)

This used to be the main highway.

(Starts for office)

Want to register, please?

ARBOGAST:

Sit down. I don't want to trouble

you, just want to ask...

NORMAN:

No trouble. Today's linen day. I

change all the beds once a week,

whether they've been used or not...

dampness. I hate the smell of

dampness.

(Opening office door)

It's such a dank smell.

Norman is holding the door open, so Arbogast walks in.

Norman follows.

INT. MOTEL OFFICE - (TWILIGHT)

Norman switches on the overhead light, starts for the linen

closet, suddenly pauses, turns, studies Arbogast, who has

remained standing by the door.

NORMAN:

You out to buy a motel?

ARBOGAST:

No.

NORMAN:

Oh. I thought... you said you'd been

to so many in two days... What was

it you wanted to ask?

ARBOGAST:

I'm looking for a missing person.

(takes out and opens

wallet and extends

it as he speaks)

My name's Arbogast, private

investigator...

(takes back wallet

when Norman doesn't

look at it)

Trying to trace a young girl who's

been missing almost a week. From

Phoenix.

(A look at Norman's

frightened expression)

It's a private matter... family wants

to forgive her...

(smiles)

She isn't in trouble.

NORMAN:

(forcing a smile)

I didn't think the police went

searching for people who weren't in

trouble.

ARBOGAST:

I'm not the police.

NORMAN:

Oh.

He waits a moment, then opens closet, starts counting out

sheets and pillow cases, keeps his back to Arbogast.

Arbogast takes a photograph out of his pocket, talks as he

crosses to Norman.

ARBOGAST:

We have reason to believe she came

this way... might have stopped in

this area...

(extends photograph,

which Norman doesn't

glance at)

Did she stop here?

NORMAN:

No. No one has stopped here in

weeks...

ARBOGAST:

Mind looking at the picture before

committing yourself?

NORMAN:

Committing myself to what? You sure

talk like a Policeman.

ARBOGAST:

Look at the picture. Please.

Norman glances, briefly, turns away, lifts sheets and pillow

cases off the shelf holds them close, almost protectively.

NORMAN:

No. At least I don't recall.

ARBOGAST:

She might have used an alias. Mary

Crane's the real name, but she

might've registered...

NORMAN:

(interrupting)

I don't even bother with guests

registering any more... I mean, little

by little, you drop the formalities.

(more relaxed, because

Arbogast is listening

with a pleasant smile)

I shouldn't even bother to change

the linen. I guess habits die hard.

Which reminds me...

He goes to the wall, flips a light switch.

NORMAN:

The vacancy sign. Just in case.

We had a couple the other night, said if the sign hasn't

been on they'd have thought this was an old deserted mining

town or something.

ARBOGAST:

Now there's a couple even remarking

about your sign, and see how easily

you forgot them?

NORMAN:

What?

ARBOGAST:

You thought no one has stopped here

in weeks. Now, try to remember if

this girl...

ARBOGAST:

(A pause, a study)

Maybe she even signed the register...

because habits die hard. Let's check

it, huh?

Norman says nothing. Arbogast goes to the desk, pulls the

registry book around, flips back a page or two.

Norman simply stares at the man. Arbogast hums faintly,

pleasantly, as he examines the pages. Then:

ARBOGAST:

Yes sir! Marie Samuels. Interesting

alias.

He takes a slip of paper out of his pocket, lays it beside

the signature in the registry book, all the while nodding

and smiling nicely, as if this discovery will make Norman as

happy as it is making him.

ARBOGAST:

Don't know where she got "Marie,"

but "Samuels" figures. Her boy

friend's name is Sam.

(Turns to Norman, the

smile gone)

Was she in disguise? Or do you want

to check the picture again?

NORMAN:

I didn't lie to you. I just have

trouble keeping track of... time.

Arbogast has reached him, the picture extended. Norman looks

dutifully at it.

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