(Pre read? The songs Falling Apart by Zebrahead and Coming Undone by Korn go with this semi-well, just in case you want some fitting music XD) Anyway, this fic has been shorter than I thought it would be, but I really wanted to write this chapter, so I skipped over the rest of the list. XD Hope you guys don't mind, thanks for sticking with this fic, and enjoy the last installment of Madness Takes Time!

Jizabel sat slumped in an armchair, his gaze flitting assiduously between the floor and the clock softly ticking on the wall. His slender, pale fingers drummed lightly on the arm of the chair. The fingers of his right hand. Left. No, right's right. Well of course it is, or it would be called left. But then what would left be called? Right? But it's not right, it's left. There can't be two rights, there has to be a right and a left… Unless you switched the directions completely, then it would have to be left is left and right is right. But then, where's that leave north, south, east and west? Would north be south and south be north, and would that make east be west and west be east? That's the same thing…

"GRAAAH!!!" the doctor cried with frustration, grabbing handfuls of his gossamer silvery hair with both hands and standing quickly from his seat. His cry of anguish was stopped short when his foot accidentally slipped into the leg of the chair, scooting it noisily backwards and causing him to jump with surprise at the sudden sound. This set off a perfect domino effect… He got furious at his own timid stupidity, and he took this fury out by swinging an arm out in a wide circle, smashing into several glass containers and making them crash onto the floor. He put his head in his hands and staggered backwards, collapsing limply back into the chair that was now misplaced.

Logic. Logic was what he was missing, That was the key element! His brain had shut off—he couldn't do anything right, and the worst part was that he didn't have the slightest clue why… He had considered taking medicine several times, but he was overly cautious… He didn't want to accidentally give himself an overdose. So, instead of taking action, he just sat dejectedly, sighing into his hands…

The list. That's what he could do to occupy his time. Murder was a great way to relieve stress, as he had found out a long time ago… He chuckled at the very thought of it. He reached into his pocket and fumbled around for the slip of paper, grabbing it roughly and ripping it out of his coat. He unfolded it, carelessly jerking the folds and looking at the next, the last, name…

A grim smile stretched onto his face, his amethyst eyes acquiring an even madder glint. He was in the middle of a long, drawn-out chuckle when a tentative knock sounded on his door… Jizabel didn't stop laughing or stop grinning as he stood shakily to answer it, opening the door and letting it swing. In the doorway stood none other than Cassian, looking up at him confusedly and innocently. "Uh, hello, doc, I was just wondering what the…crashes…were…" His voice faded as he surveyed the room's condition, his eyes alighting upon the layer of shattered glass littering the floor. "Doc, are you okay? You don't look so hot…"

Jizabel barely let Cassian finish his sentence before blurting out. "Cassian, magnificent news! Look! Look who's on my list!" He shoved the piece of paper in his face, looking extremely excited. He then let the note drift to the floor as he whipped around, striding to his medical supplies and fondly admiring the gleam of the room's light flashing off a scalpel.

Cassian bent and picked up the paper, looking at it curiously. "What the hell is this? And why is the last name—"

This time, he didn't even get to finish, for Jizabel's finger was on his lips before he could say anything else. "Just shush, okay? This is the last name. This is the last life," he said, chuckling madly, looking an alarming cross between insane and deadly. "Just. One. More." With that being his final word, he seized a scalpel and headed out the door, walking with his back slightly hunched like a hyena.

As he walked down the hall, he held his arm out, scraping the scalpel edge on the wall and filling the air with an irritating screech like nails on a chalkboard. He threw open the front doors so fiercely that his arms stung, and he followed it up with descending the front stairs in the same manner, skipping every other two steps. His insane grin never wavered as he strode down the streets of a sleeping London, walking down the middle of the street and keeping his stare directed in front of him.

He didn't need the address. He already memorized the location, the number of the house, hell, he even memorized how many steps led to the front door. After all, it was the house of his favorite little brother…

Cain and Riff were in the first's office, both silent. Cain sat at his desk, sipping at a cup of steaming tea and writing a letter to a girl he had met. Riff stood at the door, keeping everything under a watchful, vigilant gaze, his face stoic. He was almost falling asleep, for the rain outside was making a lovely sound as it gently drummed on the roof… They both jumped with fright as thunder suddenly clapped, however…then neither of them were tired.

Cain, who was angry at the thunder for making him mess up his neat cursive, recognized with a sigh that there was a knocking coming from the front door. He looked to Riff, who silently nodded and took his leave to answer the door. Cain smiled and reached for another piece of paper—He could always count on Riff to be—

"AAAAAAGGH!!"

His pen went scrawling across the paper again as an inhuman shriek emanated from outside the room, causing his heart to painfully skip a beat. "What the hell??" he grumbled, looking towards the doorway. Maybe he should go to investigate…

He remained motionless as sounds of a struggle followed the scream, his eyes widening. What the hell was happening? "Riff?" he called cautiously, somewhat scared of what would happen next. No one answered. Instead, there came a pained yell and a splatter, like someone had just fallen in a puddle. Cain's heart was racing as he slowly stood, creeping to the door…

As he peered out of his doorway into the darkness of the main hallway, he could see a flash of silver, illuminated by the moon shining through the window. But something else was also luminescent… A rich scarlet color one could only assume was blood. And, judging by the amount that was lit up, there was a hell of a lot of it.

"Where's… the damn… LIGHTS?" yelled a rough voice suddenly. The voice was not only rough but incredibly pained, like it's body had just broken a limb and was now dragging itself around.

Cain nervously edged out of his office and switched on an oil lamp nearby. The next events happened in very quick succession—the light blared into the main hall, Cain saw what was in the blood, and he bent immediately and threw up everything he had eaten in the last two days. In the pool of blood laid the body of poor Riff, his eyes clouded and his chest spurting scarlet. Kneeled next to him was Jizabel, his breathing labored as he clutched one side of his face. He looked up while Cain was still vomiting, a smile drawing itself across his narrow face. "Ah, there they are!" he said in a happy voice, struggling to his feet and staggering. "I knew there were lights around here somewhere… Wish you could've turned them on sooner, though." He frowned, stumbling closer to Cain. "I didn't get to see the life leave his eyes!"

Cain weakly looked up and inhaled sharply. Not only was the doctor in his home, but his arm and coat front was soaked with blood, and even more of the liquid was dripping viscously down one side of his face, running down his arm and matting his hair together.

"W-what are you doing here?! What did you do to Riff?!"

Jizabel chuckled in a low, gravelly voice. "Why, I killed him, dear brother. He was the last on my list. Stuck this knife," he paused to throw a blood-stained scalpel at Cain's feet, "right through that oh-so-faithful heart of his. But don't think that it wasn't fair…" He knelt down to look at Cain directly, lowering his hand and revealing a gaping hole where his eye used to be. "Don't you just love the irony, Cain?"

Poor Cain was in a state of speechless shock…it was all so sudden. Riff was dead, the doctor killed him, and now Disraeli was actually in front of him, missing an eye… But he didn't have much time to think, seeing as the doctor was picking up his scalpel again.

Jizabel looked bored, standing up and looking down at his bewildered brother. "Nothing to say? No, 'Congratulations, brother, you just accomplished what you've been trying to for years!' or, 'Wow, Jizabel, you just killed my seemingly-immortal butler!'?" He shrugged, smiling slyly. "Oh well. No last words? Fine with me." With no warning, Jizabel swung the knife downwards, slashing Cain deeply on the arm

The latter cried out in agony and jolted to his feet, snapped out of his trance with intense and sudden pain. He dodged just as Jizabel attacked again, wheeling around and dashing up the stairs to a room where he knew there was a loaded gun…

Not that there was any real rush. The doctor wasn't running, trotting, or even jogging—he was simply sauntering, letting his eye socket drip blood all over him and the floor below. He ascended the stairs after Cain calmly, leaning heavily on the banister with an outstretched arm for balance, laughing madly the entire way. Cain bolted into a dark room, his hair sticking to his forehead from his nervous sweat and his eyes wide with fear…he had never seen his brother this insane, not even in his nightmares. He blindly stumbled about in the darkness of the room, desperately searching for something, anything, that could possibly be used as a weapon.

Finally, after several drawn out seconds, the doctor had reached the top of the stairs, now creeping down the hall. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, Cain! I have a job to finish, and I can't do it without you!" He laughed again, sending a chill running up Cain's spine as it echoed throughout the hall.

Cain heard the heavy footfalls of his brother coming closer and closer, and he hurriedly quickened his pace. He was about to give up and trust his fists alone when his hand landed on something cold and metal, his finger instinctively intertwining itself with the trigger…

Jizabel, who was now humming to himself, lurched to the opening of the room, shifting his weight against the frame of the door, chuckling weakly as if someone just made a joke. "So Cain, ya in here? We really need to have a little talk, you little brat." As he said this, a little part of his old personality fluttered back. Great, he thought. NOW it comes back.

"Sorry, I don't have little talks with monsters," Cain snapped, on the verge of tears after a horribly vivid mental image of Riff flickered into his head. He was filled with a new kind of rage as he loaded the gun, trying not to make too many noises.

"You're one to talk about monsters, aren't you? At least I wasn't born one," Jizabel growled, his grin fading considerably as he staggered further into the room.

"I was, and I still got more attention than you did. How did you manage that, doc?" Cain replied curtly, buying time while he finished loading the pistol clutched tightly in his hand.

The doctor stopped talking for a moment, not walking either. "…Are you really going to shoot me, brother?" he said, his voice actually genuine.

Cain paused also, done loading and looking through the darkness at what he thought was Jizabel's form. "Well, considering all pros and cons, I decided that your life was a perfect match for Riff's." He waited for an insane outburst of anger or some sarcastic comment to come flying at him, but when all he heard was a soft, sane laughing, he tilted his head.

"What if I said that I agreed, Earl? Do you know how long I've been waiting for death to finally catch up with me?" he laughed weakly, his tone changing from mad to desperate, sad, even. "I've cheated it too many times for one person. Time to pull the trigger."

Cain had to stop and think for a moment. It sounded like Jizabel was actually asking for him to shoot, point blank, just like that. He waited for more to be said, simply standing and pointing the gun without a word.

"What, are you deaf? You never were a very good listener… That's why you have so many scars to prove it, am I right?"

Cain growled as his finger tightened around the trigger, but even though he had all the intentions in the world to shoot, he still couldn't bring himself to do it.

The doctor was getting desperate now. "Cain, listen. I deserve death. I've intentionally made your life a living hell, I've killed your best friend! Don't let a man like me live…please." His voice was now slightly choked as he staggered forward more, holding his hand over his eye again.

Cain licked his lips in preparation—the doctor actually sounded serious. "…You're sure?"

Jizabel weakly chuckled, softer than before. "Madmen aren't sure of anything."

The younger man tried to laugh, but it didn't come, so he counted down from three…two…one…

BANG!

Jizabel's amethyst eyes glazed over as his hands covered the clean hole going right through his chest, making blood spurt the same way Riff's did. A metallic clang sounded as the scalpel in his hand dropped to the floor, and soon after, so did the doctor, dropping to his knees. He could feel his body getting cold, his heart slowing and slowing…and yet, there was still a smile on his face, like everything was finally right. "Thank you…brother…" With those being his final words, Jizabel fell forward and breathed his last, dying with a grin on his face.

Cain dropped the gun and knelt by his brother's side, gently closing his eyes. "Farewell, brother." He stood and slowly walked out of the room, closing the door behind him on his way out.

It was dark, and it was going to be for the rest of eternity.