Chapter 1 Marion and Sam

In a small, dark hotel room in Phoenix, Arizona, Marion Crane was looking at herself in the mirror. She was worried. Her hair was untidy and she was late getting back to work.

'Don't go, Marion,' said a voice from behind her.

Marion looked in the mirror at the young man who was sitting on the bed. She smiled at him sadly. 'I must get back to the office, Sam,' she said. 'My boss is beginning to get worried about these long lunch-hours.'

'But it's Friday afternoon,' Sam said. 'I don't see you very often. Can't you stay?'

'When we're married,' Marion replied, walking across the room to pick up her handbag.

Sam jumped off the bed and stood behind her. He touched the side of her face softly with the back of his hand. 'Can I see you next week?' he said.

'Why?' she said, not looking at him.Tor another secret lunch, hoping that nobody will see us together in a small, cheap hotel room? It's the same every week.'

She turned to Sam, her eyes shining angrily. And then suddenly they softened. 'Oh, Sam,' she said quietly. She rested her face in his hand as she looked up into his eyes. 'Why can't we get married now? I want to be with you all the time. I want to walk along the street with you so that everyone can see us together.'

This time, Sam walked away. He stood alone by the window and looked down at the hot, dry city. 'We can get married when I've paid off all my father's debts,' he said. 'I only need to pay another $11,000.'

'And how long will that take?'

'Two years, maybe three.'

'Oh, Sam,' Marion cried, throwing the handbag onto the bed and running to hold him. 'I can't wait three years. I don't care about the money.' She kissed his face, but she was almost crying.'I want to be with you. I'll leave my job. I'll come and work in your shop.'

'Marion, please. You must understand. I don't want us to be poor when we get married. I want us to be happy. In three years' time, you'll be my wife — Mrs Sam Loomis. I promise.'

Marion sighed and turned round in his arms to rest her head against his shoulder. 'In three years, I'll be twenty-nine,' she thought unhappily.

Then she suddenly remembered that she was late for work. She left Sam by the window, picked up her bag and walked towards the door. 'I have to go, Sam,' she said again. 'I'm late. Mr Lowery will kill me.'