Yesterday was the first and only time I went out to get coffee for myself. Somehow, despite the fact that I should be happy now that three of my major troubles are out of the way, I feel burdened. I can't sleep nights, I can't take a shower without glancing out the bathroom window every few seconds.

It started with the note I'd found on my table one morning. It was written in my handwriting, but I sure didn't remember writing me a note the night before. All it said was, "I'm coming home.", but it sent chills down my spine. It was reminiscent of the behavior of my twin brother.

He'd always been drawn to the esoteric and the strange all his life. It got worse when he was in his teens, when he became a drug addict. He'd admitted the feelings he went through while he was high helped him to forget the harsh, bitter reality of his life. The more involved he became with drugs, the more estranged we became, and eventually he completely disappeared off the face of the map.

What irked me the most that even during mother's funeral, I never saw him around. I could never forgive him for not coming to hold her hand while she lay dying of terminal cancer. In her last days, all she asked for was to see him again - I suppose the knowledge that she never would killed her as much as the cancer did.

But why return to me now? Especially when his name was next on my hit-list?

I was staring blankly at his name when there was a pounding on the door. Three long, three short, just as I'd told friends to when they came calling. Of course, this wasn't just any friend; Martin had helped me in my direst times of need, and I'd been expecting him to come over to tell me about the whereabouts of my brother.

I opened the door and Martin pounced on me like a tiger going for the kill. Caught unawares I somehow found it in me to dodge slightly, and the blade he was clutching sliced cleanly across my cheek instead of across my throat as intended. I was so surprised I couldn't help but scream in pain.

With cat-like grace "Martin" landed on his hands and feet in a crouching position. I realized Martin probably wasn't going to get back to me after all. The man dressed in his bloodstained clothes was my brother.

He stood and turned round to face me. My brother had been strange in the sense that he was every bit a reflection of me. In our childhood, it was unnerving to watch us enter a room and act the exact same way; every subtle nod of the head, every nuance of our laughter.

..I realized Martin probably wasn't going to get back to me after all. The man dressed in his bloodstained clothes was my brother..

Now he was the one smiling, his yellowed teeth bared viciously. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it abruptly, lunging for my exposed throat once more. I grabbed his thrusting hand and threw him behind me with the force of his movement - but just as swiftly I found myself flying over his prone form, slamming hard into the wall behind me.

Through stars and tweeting birds I glimpsed him moving surely for me. I kicked out blindly and caught him in the shin, knocking him to his knees. I went for his face and jammed my thumbs in his eyes, getting a satisfying agonized scream in response. Turns out I was the one screaming instead; I'd looked down to find his dagger stuck in my foot.

He shoved me away and grabbed his face painfully as I fell to the floor, pulling the blade out of myself with a jerk. Grabbing the dusty "Welcome" mat near the front entrance I wrapped it around his head, choking him. In return he slammed his elbows into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

As I tumbled backwards he grabbed a vase off a nearby shelf and smashed it over my head. Knowing $3000 had just been wasted like that hurt me more than my head did. I tried to stand but the room was already spinning around me. Next thing I knew there was a knee in my stomach, crushing my belly and sending me sprawling yet again.

He towered over me gloatingly, coming down to me to place his hands tightly around my throat. I struggled hard but he gripped tighter still. The room spun even more violently around us. Grabbing his face and attempting to push him away, I scratched ferociously at his eyes, watching him open and close them repeatedly to shake me off.

I couldn't breathe.. with one hand I desperately tried to reach for something - anything! - in range to hit him with. My hand closed around the grip of something thin and I thrust it into his face. He squealed like an injured pig, blood spurting out in gushes from his cheek as he stumbled backwards.

As he fell onto the floor, clutching at the remnants of his face, spouting vile obscenities at me, I crawled over his body and stabbed again. I brought my hand down repeatedly, again and again as he shrieked and shuddered and struggled to protect himself. My hands were warm and slick with both our blood, and my shirt was covered in it. Blood splattered with each strike, flowing copiously from his wounds to coat the floor in a thick viscous layer.

By the time I was done I was horrified to see what little remained of my twin brother. It was.. like I'd just killed myself, and my soul was hanging around to see what was done to my body. I fell back and chucked the knife away, still gasping for sweet, sweet air.

Sometime later, I turned painfully, reaching for a small pocket diary that had been knocked off its place in our struggle. I smeared the fourth name in it with a bloody finger, flipping the book shut and gazing at my twin's corpse.

Two more. Just two more to deal with and I'm free..