The rain continued through the day. Driving home, Sarah ran on autopilot down the familiar roads and back along the bumpy lane which led to her house. The windscreen wipers squeaked annoyingly and added a surreal accompaniment to the song on the radio. Shania Twain had never sounded better.

Turning through the last twist of the route between the trees, the farmhouse loomed out of the dark. The bare window of the bedroom watched Sarah's return.

All she wanted was a bath. The guys had hogged the bathroom at Duncan's and she'd felt so embarrassed about her antics the night before, that she'd left as quickly as possible. Now that hot soak would be the only thing to remove her headache and her shame.

Once settled into the warm bubbles, she dipped her hair backwards into the water and closed her eyes. Heaven. The bath enclosed her in a steamy embrace of rose petal perfume. She breathed slowly and languished until the water started turning tepid. Rain tapping at the window became a mantra to her moment of meditation.

A door slammed downstairs.

"Damn it." Sarah raised her torso out of the bath, wiping vapour from her face and reprimanded herself. " If you've left that bloody back door open again, you prat..."

She dressed briskly and took a brush with her as she trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen. A deep, grey cloud lingered over the counters near the cooker. She could smell something burning.

"Shit!"

Rushing over to the cooker, Sarah yanked open the oven door, expecting a gush of smoke to pour out.

Nothing.

As strongly as the stench of burning that her nose had picked up had been - it was now gone. The smoke over the work tops had disappeared. She shut the oven and sniffed at the clear air, looking around the long room.

Duncan's camera rested on the table. A flash of lightning glared across the skyline, showing up angrily behind the treetops outside the kitchen window as they stood sentinel against the storm.

Sarah moved to take the camera. On her second step the red record light flicked on at the top of the machine. She froze. Something was behind her. She could feel the energy - electric and brooding like the storm, solid. This is it! By a fantastic stroke of luck, the video camera would be able to capture whatever it was that was happening. This was great.

Moving only her eyes, Sarah attempted to catch a reflection in the dark kitchen window of whatever was between her back and the utility room door.

Thunder burst through the silence and she jumped on the spot. The atmosphere in the room transformed immediately. The heavy presence had passed, the hairs no longer stood to attention on her skin.

She darted over to the table and snatched up the camera, willing it to have served its purpose. The recording window was on pause. Yes!
Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the stop and rewind buttons until the film ceased to reel back, ready to be played. Staring intently at the screen, Sarah held her breath while she pressed play.

Nothing.

There was the kitchen. A slight blur of dark movement that any shifting shadow could have made, and then nothing until a flash of brightness lit up the units, floor and hallway. Then again nothing. The motionless, low frequency hum of the recording was eventually broken by the muffled boom of the thunder that had made her jump.

There was nothing else on the film.

For a few minutes it didn't register with Sarah's anxious brain. That was just it. The camera had recorded nothing. Not even her! Another fact scratched in her mind, it had turned itself on to do so.

Panting with excitement, she sprinted to the telephone to call Duncan. Perhaps Luke would still be there with him.

She dialled in the number and rattled the handset impatient for the ringing to stop.

"Pick up. Pick up you prats."

Duncan's voice answered in his formal business manner. "Duncan Goodwin here. Can I help you?"

"Yes! You won't believe what I got on film Dunc, is Luke around? It was absolutely crazy. First I got the smell of some - "

"Woah... Woah, Loopy. Take a breath, girl. Speak slowly and take me through it. I'll put you on speaker phone so farmboy can hear you."

Sarah explained the event then held onto the line in anticipation of her friends' replies. She bit her bottom lip and tapped her foot. They seemed to take forever.

Luke broke the moment of apprehension. "Umm, Sarah," he cleared his throat. "How sure are you that it was actually filming and not just left on pause?"

"I don't believe this." Sarah was taken aback. "Why don't you believe me?"

"It's not that we don't believe you, Sarah, but more that we find it hard to swallow that you weren't actually on the film."

She could hear Duncan muttering in agreement in the background.

"Okay then, Duncan. How do you explain the batteries lasting on pause for the entire day and night then?"

Duncan had come back to the phone. "Ah, now that is a bit of a mystery, true."

Sarah pushed her damp fringe out of her eyes and noticed the time shown on the clock on the wall.

"Damn it guys, I've got to go for my meeting with dad now. Look, I'll bring the camera into work tomorrow and you can come and check it out for yourselves, okay?"

"Okay, Loops. See you then."

From the distance, Luke called out, "Bye Sarah! Keep cool and good luck with your dad."

After hanging up, she belted around the house getting ready and cleaning up anything left over from the Friday evening's get together. She left the house by the back door, slamming it hard and locking it with a determined grip on the key.

"Now I know you're locked." She pulled a face at the door and went to her Land Rover.

**********
Luke pressed the red end call button on Duncan's mobile. He took a deep breath and passed it back. They sat at the breakfast bar, finishing off bacon sandwiches.

"Guess I'd better be going." Luke stretched his arms out sideways and yawned. He hadn't got much sleep with the thought of the family lunch to come.

Duncan kept eating and looking through the sheets of contracts in front of him, brushing away the crumbs of bread as he went along.

"Yep. Piss off, mate. Cramping my style."

Luke grinned and flicked an unwanted piece of crust from his plate and onto Duncan's papers.

"Later, loser."

**********

Sarah maneuvred the car to avoid the numerous puddles and downed branches, from the previous night's storm. Doubling the time it took to drive to the asylum - or psychiatric hospital in politically correct terms. For the first time ever, Sarah let out a breath of relief when she arrived at the grey, Victorian mansion.

Set back from a wide, circular driveway, the cold exterior always gave her the creeps. Or perhaps it was just the impression of the people she had met during her numerous visits that manifested into that feeling.

She parked and pulled the hood on her black anorak over her hair in preparation for the dive from the car to the steps of the front entrance.

The video camera had left her mind spinning with inconclusions. She knew what she'd seen. The recording light had switched on while she was in the room. Usually in pause mode the light stayed off. Shaking her head to bring herself back to the task in hand, Sarah braced herself and jumped out of the vehicle.

After dashing up the front steps, she caught her breath and shook the rain from her jacket while she sheltered under the entrance canopy. She waved up at the security camera above the door, pushed the button to enter and heard the buzz and click of the lock being released.

Stepping in onto the plastic-covered doormat, Sarah shuffled her trainers in a polite attempt to remove the wet grass from her mad dash across the front lawn. Original chandeliers, spaced at even intervals, cast bright light on the beautiful, tall, elegant corridor. The first door to the left opened onto the reception desk and waiting room. An impressive curved staircase stretched up to the right of the entrance. Unfortunately the timeless grace of the interior design was completely undermined by the terrible stench of cabbage boiling to death in the kitchens for Sunday lunch.

Sarah wrinkled her nose in disgust and went to sign herself in.

**********
Luke parked on the grass verge opposite the steel gate to his family home. He turned off the engine but kept the tape cassette playing. Creedence Clearwater Revival had a calming effect on his jagged nerves. Rain hammered on the roof of the already well-battered jeep, the metallic knocks accompanying the band's steady beats.

How bad could it be? He hadn't seen Chris for over three years now. Surely the army had gotten rid of some of his brother's pent up aggression and sarcasm? Why would he want to waste his time bullying his not-so-little brother anymore? Come on. Face the music. Get in there and get it over with.

Luke stroked his long, soft beard, smoothing the hairs together into a triangle, easing his anxiety under control. He wasn't that shy, nervous child anymore. Far from it. He'd experienced things that would probably make his older brother baulk and run. He supposed the same could be said about Chris's time in the military, too.

Blowing out his breath, he switched off the cassette and climbed out of the jeep to go and open the gate. By the time he'd returned to the vehicle, driven through and walked to the back door, Luke was soaked to the bone. He stamped his boots on the rubber mat outside and shook his head like a dog. The thin shirt he was still wearing from the night before clung to his body, his long hair straggled and wavy with the damp.

Luke Tyler inhaled deeply and opened the door.

**********
"Miss Laker? One moment please."

Sarah stopped on the fifth step of the staircase up to her father's room. She peered over the banister and smiled falsely at the receptionist.

"Yes?"

The lady dressed in a smart beige trouser suit tucked back her mid cut grey hair behind her ear and held up a form for Sarah to take.

"I forgot to give you this. It's for the next assessment to be done. We just need your signature."

Sarah smiled in the same weak way once more and took the paper. She continued up the wide staircase, her legs and feet becoming a bigger weight with each step. Why did she insist on coming back here? There was never any change. The sliver of enthusiastic optimism she'd felt the day before was drifting away the nearer she got to the room. There were only so many times she could bear to be ignored by the man she'd once adored. The man she'd believed to be invincible - as every little girl does - a superhero who could take on the world and make her feel safe and protected. That man had been lost for too long, her heart ached to meet him again.

Standing outside her father's door, Sarah stared across the landing at the huge square-paned window which looked over the gardens. It was only eleven thirty but the storm had turned the day to night. The pine trees that lined the pathway bowed and waved with the force of the winds.

She placed her hand on the ceramic door knob and knocked gently as she entered.

It was dark in the room, apart from the reading lamp on the pull-round table next to her father's chair.

Neil Laker sat in front of a tall, barred window in his brown, leather armchair. Someone had thought to bring it over from the house for him after her grandfather had told her that her father would not be returning to the farm.

As instructed, Sarah left the door open and went to sit down in the much less comfortable plastic chair opposite him. Her voice trembled faintly, the underlying emotions ebbing and flowing, threatening to burst free if she didn't pay enough attention.

"Hi, Dad."

Neil watched the rain. His greeny-blue eyes followed the trails the water made, snaking bubbly patterns through the dust of the exterior glass.

Sarah folded her hands in her lap, lightly touching the damp cotton of her long black skirt. He looked older today, as if he had aged several years over the few weeks since her last visit. The yellow glow from the table lamp angled upwards towards his face. It highlighted the encroaching grey at his temples and the short cropped line of his receding dark brown hair. He held his head still and high. His shoulders were broad but his once strong and solid frame had diminished throughout the years of little physical activity. He had always been a healthy, active man, and this version of him had crept into existence in the space of just a few years since her grandfather's death in 1994. She had the feeling that his passing had been the catalyst for her father's further deterioration.

"Are you okay today, Dad?"

She glanced around the room, checking for signs of turbulent behaviour. There were no new dents in the walls or any of the sparse ornaments stuck back together. Now and again she'd be called by the wardens to advise her of one of her father's outbursts. They happened less frequently these days, but usually resulted in either a photo frame needing to be replaced or damage to the furniture. The latter being something that she always felt obliged to pay to repair, even if the insurance covered the costs. She supposed that she felt culpable for his violence, and as it was the one thing she could help him with she was happy to do it.

Two photos in fake brass frames stood on top of the walnut chest of drawers on the wall beside the door. One was her parents' wedding picture, the other of her and her grandad feeding a bottle of formula to an orphan lamb. She had imprinted the images into her memory and could recall them at will in all their happy glory.

Neil shifted in his seat, causing a groan from the worn out leather. It had been her great grandmother's chair. Her grandfather had been born in it, and she'd listened to his stories of previous generations of Lakers while sitting curled up happily with him in that chair. The strange and slightly creepy historical figures reliving their lives through her grandfather's words. Robbers, housemaids, farmers and even the infamous Witchfinder General, who had sent women to their deaths, in the town square not ten miles from this spot. All had their stories brought to life within the comfort of the green leather.

He blinked his eyes as a familiar scent wafted between them. Lavender. He stuck out his tongue and wrestled his jaws into action.

"Maria...?"