"I think she's possessed. Mom needs an exorcism." Erica's seventeen-year-old son did not want to be discussing his mother's breakdown. He thought it was a total waste of time. He didn't know what all the fuss was about. Hell, she freaked out. What was the big deal? He reached for his earphones and hoped no one noticed when he tuned out.

"Don't be ridiculous. It was probably an allergic reaction to something she ate." Peter refused to admit that his gentle, even-tempered wife possessed an evil bone in her body. After twenty years of marriage, Peter thought he knew Erica better than anyone. A devoted mother and wife--the family was her life.

Peter resented the doctor's probing questions. The innuendos that he was some closet abuser or that Erica harboured rage, wounded Peter deeply. They had a perfect life. What could have caused his wife to go beserk?

Three generations were huddled in the living room of the shared family home. It was difficult to dismiss Erica's temper tantrum. Each person had a different perspective, but all of them were rattled by the scene that occurred only days earlier.

"What does a man have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?" Alex Borden was barely listening. It was all nonsense. Why couldn't they just admit that it was hormones and leave it at that? His daughter was getting to that funny age--damn near fifty.

He rolled his eyes as he watched his wife scurry to the kitchen. After living in a cat house--what else could he call four noisy women under one roof--he'd seen it all. He looked over at Peter and smirked. If he was his son, he'd teach him how to man up and lay down the law in his own house. "And put a shot of whiskey in that coffee. All this jaw flapping makes a man mighty thirsty."

Sarah Borden berated herself as she grabbed coffee and cups. Why do I jump the minute the old man barks? she wondered. Even after fifty years of marriage, Alex could make her nervous, fearful that she wasn't doing everything to his liking. She should have realized he'd want his coffee. She sighed deeply as she prepared the refreshments.

She simply couldn't understand how Erica could lose control like that. She'd taught her daughters better. She located the alcohol and found cookies easily. Everything was where it was supposed to be.

The doctors told Peter they suspected that Erica's meltdown was a psychotic episode, likely an isolated incident brought on by some traumatic event. But no one in Erica's family could offer a clue as to what that trigger might have been.

It had taken Sarah all day to clean up her daughter's mess. She clucked as she brought the tray into the living room, remembering the aftermath of Erica's fury. She glanced around, ensuring that everything was back in its place. Erica would be home soon. She liked things just so.

"You have to put your foot down, you hear, Peter?" Alex was pouring a generous shot of whiskey into his cup. "Erica's my daughter, Son, but you have to make women understand you're the boss."

"I don't get it," Peter said. "She was like an animal. Erica kept lunging at me like she wanted to hurt me. The paramedics had to sedate her. She kept repeating the same thing--over and over again--like I was deaf. "

Sarah's veneer cracked. She leaned forward as if she was afraid she'd miss a word. "Well, we're waiting. We all want to hear what our Erica had to say."

"She just kept screaming--put down the God damn toilet seat."

"Well, that can't mean anything," Alex mumbled.

"Probably not," Sarah said, reaching for the whiskey.