Disclaimer- I don't own Twilight or the original characters, this is written for fun and not commercial gain, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special thanks to Rita01TX for her beta skills and Keye Cullen for prereading.

A/N - Final part guys. Enjoy.

Chapter Three

For once, this place was quiet. No tortured, dismembered voices wailing in the distance disturbed my thoughts as I lay in the darkness trying not to move. The mattress was barely adequate and it had taken me a while to find a comfortable position, not to mention how any movement, however slight would make the bed springs creak. I stared at the cracks in the ceiling plaster. Most people would look at the fissures and their properly programmed brains would naturally try to pick out faces or patterns that weren't really there among the random marks. Not me. . .all I ever saw was haphazard chaos.

Eleven months I'd been here, in the Maximum Security Psychiatric Hospital outside Washington, rotting on the inside.

Masen had been handed a life sentence, subject to a minimum of 12 years, for my murder of his wife. His lawyers had pressed for a sentence of Involuntary Manslaughter, arguing it was only in response to Bella's violent outburst that he'd momentarily lost control, grabbed the knife, and slit her throat. After all, the murder weapon had originally been in her hand. Unfortunately, the prosecution weren't so understanding and argued that violent behavior was out of character for Bella. Then, of course, there were the two so-called experts who couldn't agree on whether the placement of Bella's fingerprints on the murder weapon were conclusive to her having made the cut on Masen's palm.

I didn't dare attend the trial in person, but I avidly followed every word of it on line. The urge to burst through the courtroom doors and spew my guts before the presiding judge nearly killed me, but I knew that wasn't what Masen wanted so I sat on my hands and chewed on my lips while I waited for the sentence to be delivered. If the judge believed Masen's version of events, he'd have had a much lighter sentence…maybe two to four years. While that was still far too long without him, it wasn't anywhere as devastating as the sentence he had received.

The following day, after dropping Sam off at the pound, I went to work carrying an eight inch French Cook's knife tucked up the sleeve of my whites. Jess got lucky…it was her day off. Before I'd even made it as far as the kitchen, Eric asked me how I was doing. Wrong question on so many levels. I let the knife drop into my hand and stabbed him hard in the chest.

I'm usually more of a slasher with my weapon of choice. You know…nice long strokes. But Masen would have been disappointed if my signature style had the cops linking me to our previous killing spree, so I decided to try random stabs. Eric was too shocked to fight back, his eyes staring in disbelief as I took out my frustrations at Masen's incarceration on his body. I managed eight deep wounds before I was tackled to the ground by one of the diners. Eric was still alive but died in the ambulance from his injuries.

I'm not sure the experiment was successful enough to encourage me to change my modus operandi for the future.

I was instantly arrested and taken to the station. I don't remember much about my interrogation or even my trial, for that matter. I crawled into my head space and stayed there, refusing to answer even the most basic of questions they put to me. I would imagine it must be what hibernation felt like…warm and sheltered, with only a vague knowledge of what was happening around me.

Although I was in a self-imposed catatonic state, the psyche evaluation concluded I was mentally unstable, possibly psychotic, most likely schizophrenic, and highly unlikely to self-medicate if I was placed in a standard prison facility so, on their recommendation, I was sent here.

It wasn't part of my plan. I was hoping to be placed with Masen in Washington State Penitentiary, not a psychiatric hospital in among a bunch of crazy people. I'd written to him… just a short note to say hi and that I hoped he was bearing up. I didn't need to sign it. He'd recognize the handwriting and the postmark would tell him where I was. He was quick on the uptake and would no doubt find some way to Google my story.

Over the intervening months the doctors had tried to mentally prod and poke me. I was just another run-of- the-mill psychopath to the staff. They did their best to get me to open up, their probing fingers feeling around the edge of the lid of the Pandora's box that was my mixed up mind, hoping they could find a way to pry it open and spill the contents out onto the ground letting them sift through the contents to find the key to my anti-social nature. They thought it would be as simple as finding the black box among the wreckage after a plane crash.

Idiots! I've lived with my malfunctioning brain for thirty-four years now and even I have no idea why I don't conform to society's normal pattern. They stand no chance, not that I was going to be even a little bit compliant.

It's not all bad here, though. There were some highly interesting characters interned within these walls. I met one guy who cooked and ate his next door neighbor's dog before making an attempt on the neighbor, too. It made my stomach roll just thinking about it. Maybe it was my formal chef's training but fucking dog meat had no place at the dinner table.

Another inmate went on the rampage a few weeks ago. He'd somehow managed to pull his bed frame to pieces and speared three staff members before they finally wrestled him to the ground and sedated him.

That was an entertaining afternoon.

And, of course, I haven't even mentioned the drugs. They were fumbling in the dark with that one. I didn't conform to the profile for being depressed because I'm not and I think I've tried most of the anti-psychotics they've got. Some were downright freaky, giving me night sweats and panic attacks, so I refused to take them. The ones I'm on at the moment just seem to make me numb around the edges and a little drowsy. I can live with that…numb is familiar.

Tomorrow is group therapy session with Dr. Newton, a slender man with all of 26 years experience of being alive on this planet but who thinks he has the insight and depth of knowledge to deal with a room full of people who would happily drain him dry as soon as look at him. In an attempt to make us think he is less wet behind the ears, he usually wore a tweed jacket and sucked on a pipe, channeling his inner Sherlock Homes. He's only missing the deerstalker hat. Moron! I mean, who the fuck smoked a pipe in this day and age?

I sighed and twisted my head on the pillow, shifting my focus to the small window high in the wall of my room. They don't like us calling them cells because it might reinforce a negative stereotype which wasn't positive to helping our rehabilitation...or some shit like that. I didn't remember the exact words. From this position, I could see the bottom of the full moon and wondered if Masen had a view of it from his cell? There were no clouds obscuring its majesty and I smirked, thinking of how it had been connected to mental illness throughout history…stories of madmen ruled by the moon, lunatics quite literally meaning moonstruck, even the old, fabled werewolves. . .snarling, savage bloodthirsty beasts who only came out to play when the full moon was in the sky. They could've been talking about me. I'd never stopped to check if my urges were linked in any way to the phases of the moon. Maybe that was something I could start to research, keep a secret diary around my cravings. It would certainly give me something to focus on while I was here.

I closed my eyes and reran some of my favorite moments with Masen through my mind. Usually, this gory little slide show, my version of counting sheep, was enough to mellow me out but, tonight, even with the meds, I felt a little on edge. I couldn't put my finger on it but something was definitely making my spidey senses tingle.

Eventually, I'd succumbed to slumber and chalked my poor night down to too many days filled with tedium not giving me the chance of burning off my excess energy. Maybe I could get out into the yard today. Hell, a little running in tight circles might help.

After washing and dressing, I shuffled down to breakfast. I ate some oaty sludge off my tray and swallowed down my OJ in silence. I didn't tend to mix with the other people here, not that anyone else particularly cared. Most of them were more interested in the worlds going on inside their skulls than the one happening around them. With my background as a chef, I was sometimes allowed to work some shifts in the kitchen. I was never allowed near the sharp knives, of course, but it kept my hand in. Those days, the standard of food was always a little higher than usual, although I had thought, on a couple of occasions, how easy it would have been for me to slip a little something extra in the soup, just for devilment. It could be amusing to see everyone rushing around trying to pin-point the culprit when inmates started dropping like flies.

So far, I've resisted the temptation.

I wandered through the corridors into the conference rooms and there was Newton, still wearing that pretentious tweed jacket, his dark rimmed glasses dangerously close to falling off the edge of his nose.

"Hi, Edward. Come and take a seat."

He gestured to the chair at the end of the horseshoe formation, the one closest to the desk he was perched on. I had no desire to be teacher's pet so I pulled up an empty farthest away.

Four other eager beavers were already there. Emmett, a mountain of a man with the brains of a six-year old, who was always eager to please and had a fondness for tight hugging. I didn't normally come within a ten foot radius of the guy, if I could help it. Tyler "swat those flies" Crowley was a real interesting guy who suddenly started flailing his arms around for no apparent reason. I heard he was a strangler. Perhaps the arm thing was a way of pushing the faces away. If there's one thing I've learned since being here among my own kind, it's that they don't all like to be reminded of their compulsions.

Rockin' Riley was up front, so dosed up it's a mystery how he gets around without someone wheeling him in. His hands were screwed into tight fists, clinging to his ears as he rocked and drooled in the chair. I didn't know what he'd done to earn a place here…the rumor mill hadn't reached me on that one, yet. Then there's old Charlie. He was a lifer, all calm and cool exterior. I'd never seen him lose it. Hell, I didn't think I'd ever heard him speak. Someone said he'd been here best part of thirty years for some crimes against teenage girls. He was the closest to me in mannerisms, outwardly calm and motionless in his seat but his eyes were never still. They flicked around constantly, watching everything. . .the teacher, Emmett and me, especially me. Did he know I was holding my cards close to my chest? Could he see the stack of secrets I was keeping inside?

The door slammed closed and loudmouthed bragger, Phil Dwyer strolled in to slump in one of the empty seats. He completed our little band of brothers. I never understood why Newton always insisted on putting out more chairs than we actually needed. I wondered if he was being thoughtful by catering for those of us who chose to bring our imaginary friends along or whether there was some kind of mind game going on, forcing us to make a harder decision than was actually necessary. I mean, why take the one remaining chair when you could pick from four, right? I let it go. I wasn't the one doing the psychoanalysis today.

This session was a virtual carbon copy of the previous ones. Phil bragged, Emmett butted in for everything like an exuberant puppy, Riley drooled, Tyler attacked those imaginary insects, Charlie watched, and I told lies in an attempt to outsmart the intellectual into thinking I was recovering. My goal was to eventually get myself transferred into the general prison population and closer to Masen. Dr. Bowtie wrapped the session up by saying we'd made some valuable progress today. You ask me, he was just trying to gloss over being as baffled by our failings as we were. Finally, I was free to leave.

I remembered my problems sleeping and decided to see if I could get a pass for the yard when I heard my name being called.

"Edward."

I froze in my tracks. That voice. I hadn't heard it in so long. . .years, and yet it was impossible for me to forget. It was like a lover's embrace to my ears. I sagged against the wall, my eyes closing as I drank in the mellow tone.

"Masen?" I whispered, afraid to turn and find him. . .not there.

I didn't like to think my psychosis has gotten so bad that my subconscious was pretending it could actually hear him. I didn't want to be haunted in the daylight by the conjured up ghost of my twin.

"It's me. I'm here."

I risked taking a look. He was there, standing in a standard issue cotton jumpsuit. My eyes drank him in. God, he was so much thinner than I remembered, gaunt with a heavy growth of facial hair, but his eyes still twinkled to see me.

"Two halves," I mouthed and he smiled broadly.

"Same coin," he said softly and my legs almost buckled under me.

"How? I don't understand."

He opened his mouth to answer but, before he had a chance...

"Mr Brandon, come with me please."

Nurse Esme gently touched Masen's arm and I ground my teeth in irritation. He'd only been here a minute and, already, she was taking him away from me.

"Yes nurse," he said, nodding slightly to me before allowing himself to be led away by the arm.

She chatted and chuckled as she walked him along the corridor. Like a fool, I just stood there, watching.

"Who's that?"

Charlie's baritone directly in my ear startled me. It was the first time I'd heard him speak. I frowned.

"His name's Masen, why?"

I turned but Charlie was already walking away. Damn psycho. I chastised myself for answering him. I must've been slipping. Either that or the meds were starting to loosen my tongue.

I waited in the TV room for him, pretending to watch the game with a couple of other residents, my knee bouncing while the excitement churned in my gut. He was here, my brother, my missing piece. I felt like punching the air and yelling a victory chant but I kept it bottled up. I was under constant surveillance, after all.

I felt his presence before I saw him, like a warm blanket being pulled around my shoulders, so comforting and familiar. He slid into the chair alongside.

"You have no idea how hard it was to get myself sent here," he chuckled softly, cautious of being overheard by the white coat brigade.

"Really? I found it easy enough," I whispered.

"Yes, but you have a certain je ne sais quoi," he quipped.

"You calling me a psycho?" I chuckled and he laughed.

"If the straight jacket fits," he parried, his lips pulling up on one side into the crooked grin I loved.

"I've missed you so much." It was like I could finally breathe again. He was my air.

"Me, too."

His hand pressed my knee to still its jumping.

"So, how did you manage it?"

He threw his head back and roared laughing. Phil screwed up his face and growled at him for interrupting his viewing pleasure.

"I had to act real crazy. Ate some bugs, indulged in a little self-mutilation but I quite enjoyed that. I stopped washing and shaving…oh, and I kidnapped a guard and threatened to bite his ears off if they didn't let me have a puppy."

I laughed out loud, too, picturing him in my mind with someone's ear in his mouth like some kind of morbid chew toy. Having him with me was better than Christmas.

"Well, Masen. I'm glad to see you're settling in."

Nurse Esme wandered into the TV room with the drinks cart. Her blue eyes moved between the two of us and she frowned. "Did you two already know each other?"

Haggard or not, she could see the resemblance between us but was either too polite to ask outright or too clever, knowing how twitchy us psychos could be.

"Nope," Masen answered, popping the "p" before giving a huge toothy smile that had her blushing like a teenager. "I've never seen him before in my life."

She shrugged it off and got on with serving drinks.

We stayed close to each other for the rest of the day talking, reminiscing and rebuilding our bond. It was the happiest I'd felt in years. Masen was there and I was whole again.

For the first time since I'd arrived, I went to bed feeling like my worries were lifted. Masen was just a few feet away and we would be together every day. It was a miracle.

I woke the next morning refreshed and hopeful but confusion soon settled over me.

Screaming! A high pitched female voice and heavy footsteps clattering past my door had me raising my head even though I didn't rush to see. One of the lunatics was no doubt trying to take over the asylum again. It happened from time to time. One of them would forget to take their meds and go on the rampage. It was a little extra side show for the rest of us.

"Call a paramedic," A male voice shouted.

I stepped into the corridor as four members of staff manhandled a writhing Charlie past me. His hands were cuffed behind his back and they each had hold of either a leg or a shoulder but he kicked and squirmed in their grip, clearly much stronger than his average sized frame should support.

"She's mine. He had no right to look at her."

I chuckled, only the second time he'd spoken and already he'd lost it. He bucked violently and one of the guys struggled to keep a grip of his leg. Esme was farther down the corridor being comforted by another small dark nurse whose name I couldn't remember.

"I only said good morning to him and. . .and,"

She caught my eye then burst into a fresh round of tears. Panic gripped me. My heart rate accelerating as I started to run. I rounded the corner and there he was.

Masen. . .lying in a pool of blood at the side of his bed. A stake, most probably fashioned from a wooden table leg, was pushed clear through his chest. His skin was already ashen and sheened with sweat.

There was a high-pitched, keening wail. I think it came from me. His eyelids fluttered as he suddenly lurched, gasping a lungful of air and holding a hand out for me to take.

"I. . .I love you," he managed before his head dropped back to the floor.

"No!" I screamed, a pain shooting through my chest as sharp as if I'd been impaled. I slumped to my knees and shoved the male nurse out of the way. "You can't leave me, not now. Please!"

There was so much blood. . .on the floor, the nurse, on me. His precious life force was pulsing from him. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't meant to die at the hands of a deluded madman. He was here to save me.

Tears stung my eyes and blurred my vision. I used my hands to try and stem the blood flow before the ambulance arrived but it was too late to save his life. The sharpened piece of wood had severed a major artery and he'd bled to death. I suppose it was the way he would have wanted to go but where did it leave me?

Catatonic was the answer. For a week, I didn't speak or wash. I refused to attend my sessions. I just wanted to waste away. But not even a full blown retreat into my own head could stop the constantly aching pain in my chest.

Charlie was drugged and moved to a separate wing with the other, more aggressive residents.

I was totally alone. The connection was severed the moment he died and now I was set adrift on a sea of grief. I'd heard it said that people could die from a broken heart but mine stubbornly refused to stop beating, no matter how hard I willed it to. Masen had saved me, knocking at my door 8 years ago with a file of secrets under his arm and we'd become more than just brothers We were one…two sides of the same coin. If I could have crawled inside of him and merged us into one being, like Jeff Goldblum's character wanted to with Geena Davis in The Fly. then I would have.

Clearly, I had no wish to even try and go on without him. Living in this mausoleum, denying my compulsions was only bearable when he was incarcerated, too. But knowing he was lying cold in the morgue made it intolerable.

I'd watched the kitchen staff for days, needing the opportunity to sneak in there unseen. Unfortunately, security was tighter than ever, the death of an inmate making everyone that little bit more nervous.

Eventually, I shambled back to group therapy. Newton looked delighted to see me again. I held back at the end of the session and asked if we could speak in private. He was delighted to close the door and sit down with me, finally believing he was making headway with the locked down psychopath. I humored him, speaking for a few minutes about how Masen's death had affected me. He was totally unaware of our family connection and I didn't bother to enlighten him. At the end, I grit my teeth and asked for a hug. The fool was only too eager to oblige. I wasn't so stupid as to think he gave a shit about my state of mind. He was too busy thinking about the plaudits he would earn for cracking the conundrum that was Edward Cullen. He was so preoccupied he didn't even notice as my hand slid inside his breast pocket and carefully removed his pen.

That night, I lay on my bed, eyes fixed on the small window as I rolled the cool steel between my fingers.

"Two sides…same coin," I whispered to the stars as I unscrewed the lid from the steel fountain pen.

With one finger, I trailed along my neck, feeling for the pulse of my carotid artery. When I eventually found it, I paused a moment, remembering Masen's face, smiling and encouraging me to be brave as I plunged the nib of the fountain pen hard into my throat. I felt almost relieved as the instant wetness proved I'd hit my target on the first attempt.

I lived by the sword and I would die by it. My life force slipped away quietly and I welcomed the shroud of black nothingness that cloaked me. It would, after all, lead me back to Masen, my other half. I was certain he would be waiting for me on the other side. Nothing as trivial as death could keep us apart.

We would share our eternity together.

The End

A/N So there you have it, hands up if you shed a tear for Serial Killerward, and then felt weirded out. *waves like a mad thing*

Any readers who have read my other stories will know I love to bring you something unusual, but this was my first venture into darker territory and I would love to hear what you thought of it.

If you've enjoyed it, you might like my one shot Metamorphosis of a Killer, it features an out of control feral Jake after he becomes infected by vamp venom which mutates his DNA. It's Jacob but it has a cool twist at the end.

Special thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed and favorited. It means a lot to know you enjoy my words.

Claire x