"How's the video camera working out? Does the infra-red function okay now?"

Duncan passed Sarah his lit cigarette as he spoke. He didn't really like smoking but it was a ritual weekend thing between the three of them. For this reason he'd often start one off and move it on to her as quickly as possible.

Taking it from him, she brushed lightly against his long fingers.

"Yep. It seems to be all systems go. No more glitches. Don't see any millennial bugs going on in that one." She sniggered at the latest standing joke they shared.

"Oh, Christ. Did I tell you that woman called me up again yesterday?"

Duncan sat upright in his garden chair and put down his glass, making his hands free for the exaggerated gestures she was sure she would see from him, as he emphasised the coming anecdote.

After eating they had moved on from beer to whisky. Luke was laying back in his lounger, a cigarette in one hand, his arm lazily dangling over the side. His other hand cradled a tumbler of the tawny spirit upon his broad but strong stomach. He had his eyes closed.

"Well," Duncan continued. "Silly old bat wanted me to come over again, with a new keyboard and mouse again, 'cause she'd heard someone in the library saying that only newly manufactured equipment, from this year, could cope with the digits changing to 000. Work that out."

"I haven't heard that one before. But is there some truth to it? How do you really know what's going to happen when things change from 1999 to 2000? Is it in part of the programming or something?"

"Oh come on! I thought I'd explained this to you before. Boring."

Duncan faked a yawn and threw himself back in his chair before sipping his drink and rolling his eyes. The Chinese dragon tattoo on his lower left arm became visible as he lifted his glass. The big blue image appeared as his unbuttoned shirt sleeve slid up. He'd had it done on his twenty-first birthday in honour of his mother's Asian background.

Sarah kicked at the bottom of his seat, causing him to spill the whisky down his chin.

"Shit. Watch it will ya. New shirt, this."

"Don't be so cocky then Dunc... And why am I smoking again?" Sarah held up her cigarette and examined it from all angles, her vision beginning to double from the combination of strong liquor and exhaustion. "And who started the 'packet process' anyway? Luke or Clara?"

Keeping his eyes shut and raising his left eyebrow, Luke growled a reply.
"That would be Clara. She was desperate to get rid of the evidence before we got on the bus. I always had the walk from the bus stop to the farm to smoke up the last one. Complete waste of time though, my old man's been secretly lighting them up in the barn for years."

"Really?" Sarah interrupted, incredulous at the news. "The two faced old git. He had you scared out of your wits that he'd catch you with cigarettes. What was it that he always said he'd do to you?"

Unmoving, Luke opened an eye and peered at her.
"Said he'd light the whole pack and stick them all in every orifice he could find."

Duncan started laughing in his wheezy, squeaky way. "Yeah, thought it sounded like something lame Clara would come up with - The 'packet process.' How daft was that?"

Sarah jumped to her oldest friend's defence. "Well it stopped me from getting grounded with a clip round the ear from grandad. Saved Dunc from having his dad kick his arse, and Luke from having his bumfluff set on fire. And, it brought us all together."

Duncan sat upright again, fixing his pale blue eyes on Sarah's face. "How do you figure that one out then, Loopy Laker?"

"You really have no idea?" Sarah sighed loudly, plopped her glass onto the concrete with a clink, and leaned back in her chair. "That Friday, after the first week of college, we were all waiting for the bus home. Clara and me were trying to finish up the packet. We offered them to the girls from our theatre class but they were all goody two shoes - no drink, no smoke, no sex."

"Not what I heard." Duncan grinned.

"So she offered the last ones to you and Luke, who was standing next to you in the line. Ring any bells, dumbo?"

"Ah, shit, yes. She was wearing that really super-short skirt right? The one with the split up the back where you could just make out her - "

"Yes, you pervert. That day."

"Ah! So that's where 'packet process' started. Trust Clara."

Duncan had a wistful look in his eyes as he bent his head, contemplating his diminished drink. The three friends sat in silence for a while. Who would have thought things would turn out the way they had since that first meeting.

Likely, Luke was remembering the first time she'd noticed him, when she and her pretty dark haired friend, Clara, were getting off the college bus on the first day. His was the last pick up and the first drop off so he wouldn't have seen them when he'd got on.

She guessed that Clara Trench was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. Dark hair and eyes, great figure and a natural sweetness about her. But Sarah was the one who'd first made his acquaintance, caught his attention as such. She'd always been bigger than Clara, a size eighteen usually, with auburn hair and green eyes. She supposed her ridiculous laugh and smile were what he would remember the most.

And obviously, Duncan remembered the skirt. He'd had a lot of girlfriends and a few one night stands before Clara had come into his sights. They'd been together for nearly a year before Clara admitted she'd let him take her virginity. Duncan had said that his first impressions were, 'Beautiful girl. Fantastic body.' Sarah believed that Clara would have done anything for him, but she'd also made him work for it. He probably would have done anything for her, too. He'd never have admitted it though. Sarah guessed Clara Trench was his first true love.

Sarah had known Clara since nursery school, and maybe even before that. They'd grown up as partners in crime, inseparable and as close as sisters. They'd spent summers together during their teenage years, sitting with their feet dangling in the cool, clear stream at the bottom of Sarah's fields, imagining away their childhood. Sucking on apple flavoured boiled sweets and sharing plastic bottles of cider, giggling over older boys at school. Coming up with stories of what would happen if they got to meet Jon Bon Jovi at one of his concerts and all the depraved things they would like to do and have done by him. Laughing and ignoring the fact that Clara's mother had basically kicked her out of her house from six in the morning till nine at night so that she could get some drink in her and sleep it off before her night shift cleaning at the hospital.

Clara had given Sarah her first kiss. She never could work out exactly if Clara had meant to reveal her true emotions to her that day. However, her eyes had betrayed the love she couldn't conceal. It had happened so quickly, unexpected but not entirely unwelcomed.

Sarah had helped Clara's destroyed mother to pick out a dress to bury her best friend in, two days after her eighteenth birthday. Death had gripped so much of her life, sank its greedy claws into her heart. The cold, hard block of grief that had filled her during each passage of loss still haunted a corner of her body. Sat dormant and ready, just waiting to consume her again. She bit down on her bottom lip as it trembled, blinking rapidly to stay the tears.

Luke started snoring. A loud, rattling, nasal drawl, beginning slowly and piece by piece arriving in a crescendo of immense volume, before blowing itself out like a storm and settling back down to begin again.

Sarah looked at Duncan and smiled. He seemed to find it hard to return the gesture and rose out of his chair instead, taking hold of the bottle of whisky as he did so.

"I'm going to bed."

Sarah nodded, knowing what he must be feeling right now. She got up and wandered into the utility room. She pulled the warm, wollen picnic blanket from the top shelf above the washing machine and went back outside to Luke.

Prising his glass carefully from the grip of his large, strong hand, she wrapped him up in the burgundy blanket and was rewarded with a grunt. She brushed the long strands of hair away from his face and smiled at his peaceful expression.

"Sweet dreams."

It was almost pitch black now, the moon was deeply covered with cloud, but the warmth of the July night still held on. The tranquility of leaves rustling was suddenly wrecked by another bout of booming snores from the big man.

Smiling to herself, Sarah went back inside. She left the backdoor open and took out the key, leaving it on top of the washing machine. It had a nasty habit of turning itself. Much like a lot of the unnatural actions that happened in the house, she knew it was down to more than the age of the building. She'd catch it for sure one day, it was just a matter of time. This particular door was a constant focus of her filming and her memories, it had a life of its own. She didn't want Luke to be left locked outside when he eventually woke up.

Closing the utility door behind her, Sarah could make out a shape at the far end of the dining table. It wasn't that she saw the shape exactly, more that she felt there was a substance of some kind, something solid.

She crossed the kitchen floor and stopped behind the curving counter top, her breathing becoming deeper. The light from the hallway, that had been left on, didn't reach the darkness beyond the dining room window, but its dim reflection glinted on the white, window latch. It was hooked open! Everything was still. Through the gap in the window she could catch the low echo of Luke's snoring. She took a deep breath and moved round the counter, slightly closer.

Now, standing in relative darkness herself, she recognised the shape of the dark mass at the end of the table.

Duncan.

Her skin crawled with rippling prickles of icy fingers up her spine. What was he doing? She tiptoed closer, making it to the first of the dining chairs. She forced herself to lean on the chair in a relaxed position, her arms crossed with her chin pointed towards Duncan. Convincing herself that all was normal.

He sat in her grandfather's chair, still as a stone statue.

Sarah's eyes grew accustomed to the dark and she could pick out his facial features better. He stared at the table top, a grim, hard expression on his face.

A rumble of snoring from outside roused Sarah from her transfixed state and she broke the silence. She addressed Duncan in a whisper.
"How did you mend the window latch?"

Duncan lifted his gaze from the table and glared into Sarah's eyes. A chill wrenched a shiver through her shoulder blades and across her neck. He said nothing.

Feeling extremely uncomfortable, Sarah supposed that he was having a rough night of hard memories to deal with. A subtle hint of lavender blew through the gap in the window, then disappeared as quickly as it had come. Forewarning her that all was not as it should be.

"Don't stay up all night, Dunc." She unwrapped her arms from the chair and stood up to go. Best to let him have some time to himself. "You know where I am if you want to talk."

There was no response. She felt him watch her as she left the room.

Turning off the hallway light, Sarah started up the narrow staircase, her feet burying into the thick carpet. Poor Duncan. He made out that he was the great Casanova, playboy and wealthy entrepreneur, but both she and Luke knew his softer side. Clara's death had been extremely painful for him. As it had been for them all. But looking at him just now, she was particularly worried about this new reaction, it had similarities to the stories her grandfather had told her about her father's fall into insanity and the behaviour she'd witnessed in him herself.

Halfway up the stairs, the top landing lights suddenly flicked on, illuminating the stairs and blinding Sarah for a second. She sheltered her eyes with her hands and looked up.

There at the top of the stairs, holding onto the side of the wall as he made his way down was Duncan.

Sarah gasped. Was it really him? Dressed in just his blue boxer shorts, with messed up hair, he rubbed his eyes and looked down at her.

"What's up, Loopy Laker?"

Her head began to spin and she felt like she was going to tumble backwards down the stairs. Grabbing onto the railings to steady herself, Sarah rushed back down into the hallway, leaving a bewildered Duncan to stumble down after her, yelling.
"What the hell's going on?"

Running into the kitchen, her heart racing, adrenaline pumping through her, Sarah flicked on the lights, the brightness attacking every corner.

Nobody sat at the table.
The window remained shut tight.

Sarah collapsed in a heap on the floor, her hands shaking, her lips cracked and dry. Tears pricked at her eyes, her mouth bearly able to form words.

"I... I saw you.. I saw you there... You!"

"What? That's not possible Loops. I was upstairs. Are you sure it wasn't the whisky? We've all had a bit tonight and..."

"No! It's not the drink. You were there and the window was open."

"Let's take a look at this." Duncan moved over to the window and attempted to wrench open the bent latch handle. As he pulled at it, half of the broken metal came away in his hand. "What the fff...?"

Sarah sat cross legged on the floor, her hands in her hair, staring at the pattern in the cool floor tiles, attempting to gather herself together. Is this the way her father had gone? His mind torn apart from battling with what he saw? She gripped handfuls of hair and yanked it repeatedly. Would she keep having these visions until it drove her mad? She wanted to believe her eyes but if they lied to her how would she know? When she finally trusted her voice again she spoke carefully and without emotion.

"I think I need to go to bed."