Surprise, motherfuckers! (I love you forever if you read that in Doakes' voice).

Promise I haven't flounced on this thing. It's actually more stuck in my brain than ever, so for those that were wondering if I'd abandoned it, let me respond with a loud, resounding "HELL NO, BRO!".

Please give warm, smushy hugs to Chrisska, Ordinary Vamp, Landdownunder and Besotted for beta'ing and pre-reading this mess. Those guys deserve some kind of fic medal. All donations for their therapy are appreciated ;D

Suggested listening: 'Bela Lugosi's Dead' by Bauhaus

Chapter Ten:

'The Cullen Show'

I'm on hidden camera or in some kind of 'Truman Show' situation.

That's the only explanation my muddled brain can come up with as I regain consciousness and blink up at the night sky.

My breathing is still heavy, and the stench of my own vomit permeates the air. This whole scenario is beyond surreal, and I'm paralyzed by my own fear, not daring to look up and confirm what I just saw.

She really is fucking nuts.

Self-defence? You didn't see the whole thing, man.

He attacked her.

She attacked him.

Just shut the fuck up and play dead!

As I lay there like a lamb ready for slaughter, I naturally begin to wonder what the hell happened to my 'fight or flight' instinct. My heart is really the only thing moving right now, and it begins to race faster as I think about why I should be doing the latter. The thought finally gives my body the boost of adrenaline it needs to move, but as I lift my head and slowly draw up my legs to stand, I realize that I'm now alone - well, not really, but it's just me and a bloodied corpse on the ground. Not exactly 'company'.

Jesus, how long was I out? Where the fuck did she go?

I'm obviously wary as I stand on unsteady feet, spinning around in place to try and find her, and more importantly, the giant knife she was just wielding.

I see the knife when I turn back to the body. It's standing gruesomely upright, directly in the middle of his chest. I'll readily admit it's not the prettiest of sights, but at least it's not in her hands anymore. Or in me. That, I'm thankful for.

I rub a hand over my face, feeling anxious and unsure of what my next move should be. If my 'Truman Show' theory were actually legit, then no doubt the audience would be yelling at the screen right now for me to call the cops and run like the wind. That's what any sane person would do, right? I've yelled that exact thing at movies and TV shows countless times myself. The only problem is I puked all over the crime scene, and Bella no doubt left evidence leading back to us all over the fucking body.

I begin to pull at my hair, a habit I picked up from my absent father, no less.

Okay, I try to reason, taking steps back as I release the tangled strands. Bella is either in the house, or in the woods. I turn and narrow my eyes at the building like it holds the source of all my problems. Which, in truth, it probably does.

If she's in there, then following after her is probably not my best option. Following her here in the first place is the worst idea I've had since that time I tried to jerk off on the trampoline, and I'm not entirely sure which scene will end up messier.

Taking a deep breath, I curse my morbid curiosity. For some fucked up reason, I really, really want to investigate the house. I actually take a couple of steps toward it before common sense kicks in and I check myself.

Come on, man! Are you really that fucking stupid?

I'm completely unarmed, and I don't even have gloves. Maybe if she's wasted like Em and Mike said she was, then I'd have an advantage, but a quick glance back at the dead giant on the ground tells me I'm kidding myself.

A loud metal-on-metal sound comes from the direction of the house a second later, interrupting the internal argument I'm trying to have.

With a fleeting glance at the house, I decide the woods are my best bet and bolt straight into the darkness like the pussy I am. My arms may have flailed a little, but if anyone asks me later I'll deny the shit out of it.

Fuck, I hope they leave that out of the dramatic reconstruction when this is on the Crime Network.

Taking cover behind the trees, I watch as bright car headlights move across the grass and mud of the backyard at an alarming rate. I'd think Alice was driving if I didn't know any better.

As the old, unfamiliar, sedan slams to a halt and the driver jolts forward, I recognize Bella behind the wheel. I really can't bring myself to be surprised. At this point, I'm prepared for Bill freaking Murray to fly down from the sky on the back of a pink unicorn.

Bella swings the door open and hops out of the car, taking long, quick strides to the place where I passed out. I'm still not sure about her sobriety, but she seems pretty coherent as she yells "Fuck!" loudly to the sky. She's clearly surprised and frustrated by my disappearance as she runs both of her hands through her long hair. "I was gone for two fucking seconds, Cullen!"

Maybe I should've moved the body, too? Just to fuck with her.

I stifle a chuckle at the thought.

Taking quiet steps back, my anxiety returns as I watch her slowly scan the surrounding area, obviously looking for me. Did she really expect I'd stick around for this knife party? Technically I did, but I didn't think she knew me well enough to anticipate that.

Bella appears to give up, staring at the ground weirdly for a few seconds before shoving something shiny in the back pocket of her jeans. In a rush, she turns and takes the remaining steps toward the body in the grass. Her back is to me as she leans down to grasp the knife handle. I can't see all the gory details, but I still cringe when it takes a couple of forceful tugs to finally pull the blade free from his chest.

It's gross, but I'm strangely fascinated as she stands and casually wipes the bloody knife on the side of her jeans, reminding me of Mom preparing dinner or something.

Dear, God, please tell me she's not gonna eat him too, I nervously joke to myself.

The ease with which she handles the body and the lack of remorse she's showing is unsettling. Bella seems more disturbed and pre-occupied by my disappearance, than by the fact that she just fucking killed somebody. If it were self-defence, then surely she'd be a nervous wreck by now? She would have called the cops and tried to explain?

Just like you did?

Okay, maybe not, but she shouldn't be this… calm.

Next, she rifles through his pockets, pulling what I think is his wallet, a pack of smokes, and a lighter from his jeans. She pockets his wallet, and I watch as she lights a cigarette, pushing aside the thought that I could really use one myself right about now.

Bella startles me when she turns abruptly to discard the knife, stabbing it into the ground to grab the guy's feet. She turns him ninety degrees, and I watch as she struggles to drag what must be at least two hundred pounds of man across the dirt. She has to stop twice, and I'm instantly reminded of the Call murder; of the forensic evidence that indicated a man's body was dragged from one point to the next, exactly like she's doing right now.

She killed him, too, fuckwad.

My thoughts are all over the place, and every thing seems to be unraveling like some kind of weird movie montage in my head. One major thing I am surprised at though, is the strange sense of deception, and kind of… betrayal? I'm feeling. Bella killed Call, and that means she actually stood there in my room last night and listened to me try to explain the evidence surrounding her own freaking murder.

Two ominous thuds sound loudly, breaking my train of thought as Bella drops the guy's feet to the ground. She moves to kick him sharply in the ribs as she mutters something I can't hear and spits on his body, delivering another swift kick.

It's completely illogical, but instantly I want to run and scream at her for being so fucking stupid. She basically just left a signed confession on the body. Her dad was a cop for Christ's sake! Surely she knows better?

Obviously, Bella doesn't hear my mental warning and begins to drag the body the rest of the way to her car, popping the trunk of the sedan and taking a further ten minutes to actually get him inside.

I'm seriously about to intervene, but then Bella pulls a can of gasoline from the trunk. At first I think she's just moving it to make space for the legs, which are stuck awkwardly upright in the air, but then she shakes the can, testing the volume. She eyes it for a moment, before walking around the car to the spot where I puked and proceeding to pour a good third of the can on top of it.

Now I'm definitely confused. She leaves her DNA evidence everywhere, but takes the time to eliminate any evidence suggesting I was there too? And why the hell doesn't she just burn the body while she's at it?

As she squats down and lights the gas with her stolen lighter, I can almost see the moment the next idea hits her brain. Her gaze moves to the house, and without a second thought she marches over to it, gas in hand.

Bella drove away- dead, leaky guy in tow- twenty minutes ago.

I still haven't moved.

Well, I had like four smokes, but I still haven't physically moved from my spot in the woods. The house is fully ablaze now, and I can hear fire sirens wailing in the distance. They're telling me to move.

I'd decided to cut myself some slack, needing the time to absorb everything, but now I really should go. With a final glance at the burning building, I turn and leave, taking the evidence of my presence with me.

It's four in the morning by the time I reach my car in the beach parking lot and begin the drive home. I don't even know what I think anymore. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically, but the fact that we have a murderer living under our roof means I can't afford to sleep.

Without knowing Bella's motive, I can't know if she's a threat to my family, and I'm definitely not willing to take that chance.

I open the front door cautiously and peer around the edge, feeling like a cartoon character with my overdramatic gestures. The house is still, everyone probably- hopefully- still sleeping, like they should be.

A nagging fear lingers in my head though, pushing me to search the other rooms in the house.

Starting in the kitchen, I pull the largest knife I see from the block on the counter, grimacing at the slicing sound it makes.

Am I really willing to use it, if it comes to that?

I don't think I could kill anybody, let alone a girl, but I push my doubts aside, warranted or not, and make my way to the living room. When I flip on the lights everything seems to be in place. There are two empty wine glasses and an open DVD case on the floor, remnants of Mom and Dad's earlier activity.

The garage, office, Alice, Emmett's, and Mom and Dad's rooms are all thankfully clear of sociopaths. Well, I didn't actually dare look in my parent's room, for fear of further mental scarring, but the sound of my Dad's snoring in time with Mom's soft breathing was the best thing I've ever heard.

A couple of quick calls leave me satisfied that Alice is safe at Jessica's – cough – Jasper's, and Em is on a impromptu, hormone-fuelled visit to see Rosalie at UW for the weekend.

Making my way up to the third and final floor, the sight of my bed laying in wait is almost too much of a temptation. I stare, and maybe drool at it for a few seconds, before shaking my head to wake myself up and check the bathroom.

It's clear, and the only room left to check now is Bella's.

I don't know why, but I knock on the door, like I'm expecting her to say 'Come in' or something. There's no response, which I think is a good thing, so I push it slowly open with the toe of my shoe. My shoe that still smells like vomit, by the way.

Maybe I should jump all over her bed with my puke-shoes?

That would be fun, but ultimately pointless since she doesn't even sleep in it.

The room is dark and eerily still, just like the others. When I switch on the main light I see the bed is pristinely made, with everything looking like it did before she arrived. There's still no girly shit, just like I noted the last time, but the drawers are now filled with stuff Mom has bought her over the months.

As I'm rummaging through the drawers and closet, I realize it's stupid of me to be disappointed at not finding a notebook or something with her evil master plan fully detailed. I expected to find at least something out of the ordinary, though.

That 'something' comes when I walk into her bathroom. Everything is still perfect, just like the room, except for the fact that there's a mountain of pillows in the bathtub.

Bingo!

It's no shine to the devil, or pile of animal corpses, but sleeping in the tub can be perceived as psychotic, right?

Probably not, but it's still something I can happily deposit in the bank of 'Weirdo Shit Bella Does'.

I shift the pillows around haphazardly, just to annoy her if she does return, before kicking my sneakers off and making my way back to the front entrance, knife still in hand. I take a seat at the foot of the stairs, leaning my back with my head against the wall and legs stretched out on the step.

I begin to wait.

And wait.

Slurping.

I reluctantly open my eyes to see the outline of Bella casually slurping on a juice box as she turns and closes the main door. Memories of last night naturally flood my brain, and I struggle to work out if I'm dreaming or not.

"Bella?" I ask, squinting as if talking to a ghost. When my vision clears I see that she really does look half-dead. Dark circles mar the skin under her eyes, and if possible she's even paler than usual. The blood and dirt stained clothes totally help with the whole 'back from the dead' vibe she's giving off too.

"You were here the whole time?" she asks, confounded. "I looked for you."

"Not very hard," I grumble as I sit up from my slouching position against the wall. I seriously think I hear my spine creak as I move, flinching when I feel the point of the forgotten kitchen knife dig into my thigh through my jeans.

Bella's eyes dart straight to it, widening briefly. "So is this a new fetish, or were you planning to stab me with that thing?" she asks with an air of irritation.

"You're cracking jokes?" I ask, rubbing the back of my neck with my free hand. "The cops could be surrounding this place with M16's for all you know."

"But they're not, are they?" Bella says, scrunching her nose. "If they were you wouldn't be sitting there clutching that thing like a scared little girl."

"Overconfidence. That's another tick in the sociopath box," I mumble to myself, shifting the attention of my hand to my aching ribs.

"I'm not a sociopath, asshole, but I am really fucking tired." Her dark eyes feel like they're burning a hole straight through my head. "We really need to talk," she adds seriously.

"We do?" I ask, kinda bemused. We completely need to of course; I just didn't expect her to agree with me on that.

"Yeah, but first, I need sleep. So much sleep," she says, tossing her juice box in the trashcan by the door.

"Are you joking?"

She regards me apathetically for a moment, before moving to step over me on the stairs.

"Ugh, no," I insist as I grab and pull her back by an ankle.

"Fuck, Edward!" Bella screeches as her fingers claw at the steps I drag her down. She ends up half-kneeling on two of them, before swivelling around to sit on the step above me.

I'd feel bad. Except I really don't.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she says with a glare.

"Oh, I don't know, I just saw you fucking stab someone to death. Not to mention your crossing arson off your bucket list."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Please explain," I say, arching an eyebrow.

"I already said I will, man. I just need a couple of hours, please?" Bella pleads as she lets out a deep sigh, visibly tensing her jaw as she closes her eyes. "I can explain, with proof to back it up, I promise. But right now I feel like I'm gonna pass out."

"You could not be vaguer if you tried."

"Mmm-hmm," Bella hums dismissively as she stands to walk up the stairs again. This time she's out of reach, and so I stand with her, wincing as I follow her up to our floor.

"You can't stalk me forever, you know," Bella calls sleepily over her shoulder as she grabs a blanket from the end of her bed and heads toward the bathroom.

"I'm not stalking, I'm guarding," I correct.

The bathroom door closes with a click as she mumbles, "Potato, tomato."

Biding my time leaning against Bella's bathroom door got really old, really fucking quick. I lasted all of twenty minutes, before succumbing to my own need to sleep.

The next thing I knew, I was falling swiftly back with my head hitting cold tile.

"Edward!" I hear her kind of screech.

All I can do is stare up at bare legs. Bare legs and a pile of clothing clutched against a chest that leads up to glaring eyes.

"Adding 'Perv' to your repertoire?" Bella grumbles as she steps over my sprawled limbs. "You really need a fucking hobby."

I sit up and rub the back of my neck whilst trying to think of a witty retort. My vision is still blurry, but I can make out the sight of Bella. Bella with her back to me in nothing but blue panties as she pulls another worn t-shirt over her head.

For a moment I forget our situation.

"I'd say 'take a picture', but this isn't 1998."

"Don't flatter yourself," I answer belatedly, scratching my ribs again under my shirt. "If I wanted to see a pale white ass, I'd look in the mirror."

"Good for you, man."

The conversation on the way to the Swan House is unbearably one-sided.

I feel like an impatient child traveling to Disney Land, annoying the crap out of their parents by asking question after question.

Bella finally snaps when we pull up to the house. "Shut the fuck up!" she yells in exasperation. "Look, we're here now, and I'll answer all your fucking questions, so just take a Valium or something! Jesus!"

I sit back, kind of shocked, but I guess I shouldn't be.

As we make our way around the back of the house, I half-expect to see two fresh graves, and possibly a third open one, waiting for me. The ground is undisturbed, thankfully, but climbing through the kitchen window of the Old Swan House feels weirdly ominous, in a way I don't appreciate.

"Sit down," Bella instructs after leading the way through to the living room, lighting the camping lanterns as she goes. "Just this once, please don't be difficult," she asserts when I don't automatically do as she says.

I take a seat on the old, worn couch/bed, noting the papers and files still littering the coffee table. Bella shoves a few of them aside with a sweep of her hand, taking a seat directly opposite me with her palms flat on her knees. "I know that look," she states solemnly after a second.

"What?"

"That look means you think I'm crazy."

"I don't eve-"

"I know you think I am, but I'm not," she says, cutting me off.

"Okay?" I say, but it comes out a question.

"I'm gonna tell you a few things, but I need you to not freak out."

I eyeball her cautiously, waiting, "Well?"

"Hold on." Bella disappears back into the kitchen for a few seconds, returning with a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses.

"Drink this first."

"Bella, it's not even lunchtime."

"Please, it'll make it easier. For both of us," she insists.

"I can decide that for myself, thanks. And I thought you didn't drink?"

"I don't, I just know how your brain works. You won't drink it until I show you it's not poisoned or some shit," she says, pouring a glass for her and shooting it back. "Dad was saving this for a special occasion," Bella continues as she pours me one. "So while this is only 'special' in the way that funerals are, I don't think he'd mind."

I eye the glass skeptically as Bella takes a deep breath and resumes her position on the edge of the coffee table.

"Okay," she breathes, but falters before she's even begun. "Shit. This isn't gonna work. Will you just drink it already?"

"I'm not drinking shit until you start talking."

"Ugh!" Bella groans, rubbing her face. "Fine. First, you're an asshole."

"Wow. That's truly enlightening. You must share your teachings with the world."

"I can't fucking do this," Bella whines, letting her head fall into her hands as she props her elbows on her knees.

I actually do feel bad now. She's finally giving me some semblance of cooperation, and all I'm doing is aggravating her.

I stubbornly refuse to let my thoughts be known, and so we sit in silence for a while.

"Okay," Bella lifts her head from her hands and looks me in the eye. "Help me move this?" she asks as she stands and brushes her hands down the front of her jeans.

"The coffee table?"

"Yeah." She leans over to try and start shoving it aside herself. Curiosity gets the better of me, once again, and I stand to help her shift it beneath the boarded window.

"Are we uncovering the trapdoor to your secret 'Bat Cave'?" I joke awkwardly.

Bella ignores me, but mutters a quiet 'thanks', before moving around to grab one of the large blankets from the couch. She spreads the fabric out across the bare floorboards, and then grabs two cushions, placing them next to one another at the edge.

"Come here," she instructs as she takes a seat on the ground, laying her head on the left pillow and stretching straight out.

I move to stand by her head and stare down at her with an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Bella's jaw tenses momentarily, but then she reaches for the hem of her shirt and lifts it, revealing her stomach. "Remember this?" She asks, almost challengingly.

"You're coming onto me?" I snort.

"Fuck you, you know exactly what it means."

As Bella jerks her shirt back down, I think about what her actions might mean.

"It was one of your weird 'twin things', right?"

There's no way she can be talking about what I think she is. Not even our parents knew about that.

"Have you been talking to Mom?" I ask, even though I know that's not a possibility.

Bella shakes her head slowly, "No. Lizzie told me herself. You got it from your dog back in Chicago, right? Showing your belly as a way of giving in, or saying sorry?"

"You're so full of shit!" I blurt, not willing to accept what she's telling me.

How in the fuck could she know that?

"Lay down," Bella says softly, "I'll explain."

END NOTES:

'OOOF' is now officially on hiatus. Sorry, guys, I know it's a shitty place to leave it, but new work and family obligations mean I simply don't have to time to write at the moment. Hopefully it won't be too long though.

Huge thanks and hugs to those of you still reading, reviewing, and rec'ing :)