"Come in Luke. Good grief! Go and change your shirt. You must be soaked."

Luke's mother turned round with her hands full of a large tray of roasted vegetables. She shook her head as if in disappointment over the state of her dishevelled son, who was several inches taller than herself. She put the tray down on the cooker top and began to baste the food with the steaming oil and juices.

"Put those wet clothes straight in the wash bin and hurry yourself up! Chris and Dad are already at the table. Come on, chop chop!"

He could tell she was excited about the prodigal son's return and had been to the hairdressers the evening before to make the best impression. She was wearing her favourite Sunday floral dress and kitten heels. Totally unheard of during her normal daily routine of chicken coop cleaning and dealing with mucky farm dogs.

Luke slid off upstairs and changed, picking out the mummer of laughter and loud male voices coming from the dining room downstairs. Of course his mother would have set up the big table in the one room they only ever used for Christmas and Easter. The bench in the kitchen was always good enough for when it was just him. He rubbed his hair with a towel and combed it back into a short plait.

Wearing a Guns 'n' Roses t-shirt and fresh jeans, he took the stairs two at a time to reach the living room. He passed through it and into the long corridor of the relatively new building, pausing at the end where it curved to meet the open archway into the dining room. Here goes nothing.

Chris was sitting at the far side of the round table which stood in the centre of the square room. The ceiling lights of glass tulips sent out a brilliant glare, causing the day to look even duller through the window behind him. Chris looked up from his plate of toast and pate' starter and welcomed his brother with a half smile which seemed genuine.

"Ah, at last." David Tyler turned himself round in his chair to face Luke in the entrance. "We'd almost given up on you. Well come and sit down, your mother's bringing the duck in a minute."

Taking the chair to the left of the room, between the other two men, Luke started on his food with tentative movements.

"How's Sarah getting on these days?"

David kicked off the conversation, Luke knew he was wishing with all his heart that his two boys could get through this lunch without upsetting their mother this time.

"She's okay."

Chris put down his knife and fork and rested his elbows on the table, folding and unfolding his thick fingers. He watched his brother with a fixed expression, his deep brown eyes shining in the glow of the bright lights.

His father kept going with the smalltalk. "I think we should give her a hand with the grazing though. Bit overgrown now."

"Sure, sure. I'll take the ride-on mower over next week. We can bring the grass back for hay again, right?"

"I'd have thought so."

Luke became more and more conscious of being watched as the silence settled over the table. He put down his knife and sat back.

Angela Tyler bustled into the room, her slender, sunworn face sweating from the heat of the kitchen. She put down the serving plate of Sunday roast and swept her strawberry blonde hair back into its French pleat, wiped her hands on the apron around her waist and sighed happily.

"Ah, there we go boys. Father, can you do the honours?"

David waved his wife to the vacant seat and stood up to sharpen the carving knife. He grinned like a child at Christmas as he wiped the blade back and forth along the steel sharpener.

"Right then boys, who wants a leg?"

Chris, still staring at Luke, muttered under his breath. "Only bit of bird you can get your hands on."

"I'm sorry Chris? Speak up will you? I didn't catch that?" His father inclined his head of thick, dark hair and lifted his chin, his large belly poked loose a gap between the buttons on his purple shirt.

"I said that Luke had better have one." Chris scratched the black stubble on his cheek. "As its the only bit of leg he'll get."

The tension within the room was brewing. Angela faked a laugh and sent a look to Luke signalling him to join her in a light-hearted reception of the 'joke'.

David expertly carved the duck and held out his hand to take Luke's plate. Ignoring Chris, the blonde young man exchanged glances with his father, each reading an understanding of the others' intention for tranquility. Luke took back his full plate.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Chris?" Again, the big figurehead of the family reached out to take a son's plate.

"Sloppy seconds, ey Dad?" The cutting edge of sarcasm in Chris's voice slipped into something much darker and more malicious. "Bet you had some of that with Duncan Goodwin's dead bitch, hey Luke?"

Angela gasped and covered her mouth with her hands in shock. Luke slammed his cutlery down, making them clang and skitter across the polished surface. He looked at his dad, who was still standing, and he could tell he was struggling to keep his temper. He held the pointed end of the long knife toward his firstborn.

"What did I tell you about that Chris?" His deep voice wavered. "Don't go starting all this up again. There's no need for it."

Chris grinned and held up his hands in submission. "Okay, old man. Just busting little bro's balls a bit. No harm meant. " He scowled at Luke. "If he really has a pair of balls to bust that is!"

"Fuck off, Chris." Luke growled through gritted teeth.

"Boys, give over, now! Think of your mother."

The Tyler men sized each other up, all three pairs of identical dark brown eyes large and wary.

Angela gulped a big swig of red wine before speaking.
"Can we just have a nice, civilised meal together for once? It's been so long since I had you all sat together."

Unshed tears, threatening to breakthrough, caused a tremor in Angela's voice as she attempted to lighten the mood. Luke guessed it had been one of the main roles in her life.

"Why don't you tell us some more about your last posting in Germany, Chris? I'm sure Luke would be interested in the October Fest thing you were telling us about earlier."

The soldier cleared his throat and let the muscles in his face relax as he smiled almost sweetly at Luke. He cracked his knuckles loudly, picked up his fork and began to gather his food for a large mouthful.

"Of course, Mother. Where to begin? Ah, yes, ok, so there's this big party that lasts about two weeks over there. Loads of beer and these huge pretzels..."

David sank down into his chair before passing a plate and a smile to his wife. Angela returned the gesture and winked her blue eyes back at him.

Chris continued while Luke began to ease his clenched up fists.

"...loads of beer and gorgeous blonde birds with enormous breasts..."

Something changed in Chris's tone alerting Luke of the coming insult, but his parents were oblivious.

"... huge breasts and, well, easy to shag. Just like that little slut, Clara Trench."

Luke leapt up from the table like he was on fire. He snatched up his fork and took a step towards his brother. Chris jumped up also, grinning he like a devil at Luke's reaction. Their mother screamed out hysterically. Kicking their chairs away, the brothers lurched at each other around the table. Before the two could meet, David raced faster than lightning to stand between the two of them, holding each back at arms length, blocking any violent intents with the mass of his tall, large body.

"That's enough!" David boomed at them while they glared at each other. His father hung his head in disappointment. "If you can't be civil then you'd just better go." His voice dropped low. "Go, now."

Luke put down his fork quietly and turned to leave.

"Not you, Luke."

**********
"Maria? Do you mean mum?"

Sarah leant forward and placed her hands on her father's knees. She could feel the bone easily through his thin, cotton trousers.

"What about Maria, Dad? Talk to me, please."

She continued to plead with Neil for the next ten minutes, willing him to bring himself back to the subject. Just as she'd begun to give up hope, Neil's pale eyes watered over and he looked at her, fully conscious of her presence. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for breath and spittle collected on the corners of his dry lips.

"Sarah?" he wheezed. "Is Sarah safe now?"

Sarah rapidly nodded her head, wishing clarity from her mind to his. "Dad, I am Sarah!" She squeezed his kneecaps, biting her bottom lip. "Why wouldn't I be safe, Dad?"

Still gazing into his daughter's eyes, Neil Laker left the world of reality. She watched him drift away on memories of the past. His voice rattled on in a monotonous tone.

"Why didn't it want me, Maria? Why did it have to take you?"

Sarah moved even closer, literally on the edge of her seat, nervous and excited all at the same time, desperately hoping that the memories of her mother would spark her father back into a more active state at last. She had to keep poking him, pushing him to come back to her. He was the only family she had left and she was tired of being alone within an empty home.

"What took Maria, Dad?"

Speaking but not replying her father continued. " Why you? It should have been me. Never Sarah.... No...Never Sarah!" He started to raise his voice, quickly arriving at a crescendo of shouting that echoed off the bare walls of the sparsely furnished room. "Sarah. Sarah! Tell me that you're safe now. Maria... Maria don't do it. Please! No, Maria...!"

Sarah tried desperately to calm her father down, grabbing him by the arms then putting her hands on his face all the while talking to him softly, trying to reason with him, but to no avail.

A male nurse bustled into the room and hastened to deal with the patient. He looked sympathetically at the redheaded young woman and kneeled down in front of her father.

"You should go now, Miss Laker."

Sarah stood up to go and found that her knees were shaking. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard her father mention her name. Her mother's, yes. But not her own. Ever.

"Can I wait downstairs until he's calm?" She desperately wanted to know more.

The nurse shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea. He may have to be sedated."

Neil was now beyond reach of reason, shouting in words of nonsense and flapping his hands at the space where Sarah had been sitting.

She lightly smiled to thank the nurse for his assistance and left the room.

*****

Neil saw her in the chair. Maria. She was on fire. Her beautiful long, plait of sleek, black hair was glowing red and orange as the flames curled around the twists of hair. Her scorched flesh stank like a sick version of roasting pork. The moisture in her hazel eyes bubbled with the heat of the fire. As it engulfed her whole body, his dead wife slowly opened her mouth. Her hot breath released a perfume of lavender and her dry voice scraped softly.

"Sarah.... It wants Sarah."

Neil began to slap at his head, shaking himself backwards and forwards in his chair, the smell and heat of the burning body tormenting his mind.

"No, No, No, No!" He repeated over and over, unable to free himself from this terrible vision.

He didn't hear the nurse call on his walkie-talkie for help and a syringe.

*****

Sarah stepped out into the grey day. The rain had stopped, leaving thick puddles of stagnant water across the gravelled driveway. She took out a tissue from her coat pocket and dabbed at the tears formed in the corners of her eyes. The mascara formed bleak ink stains on the surface of the tissue and she was entranced by the picture it created there. A butterfly of spidery wings, black and smudged. The image flickered slightly. Was it just the moisture in her eyes blurring her vision or did the mascara wings flutter? She felt too tired to care. Emotionally drained, she walked over to her car and got in.

*****

The tissue with the butterfly design fell from her pocket into a shallow pool of rainwater next to her Land Rover. As she drove away, the motion of the vehicle sent the tissue floating across the puddle. The wings of the butterfly flapped aimlessly as the material flooded and sank.