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	The woman was neither young nor old.  She shifted back and forth in her bed,
sweat smothering her.  Her face tightened as she shivered, her sleep giving her
no rest.  Her hair was bedraggled.  She was moving uneasily back and forth thru
the covers, and then it happened.
	She awoke and screamed as the sweat continued to drip down her face.  She had
trouble regaining her breath.  She didn't have asthma, but it seemed that way.
	She called out for help as she removed her hot quilts.  "Sean?  Charles? 
Rahne?  Anyone?"
	It was futile, of course.  Sean was in the states, at the Massachusetts
Academy.  Charles was lost, gone to who-knows-where, and Rahne was out in town,
probably shopping for her birthday present.  The woman smiled at this thought,
but the smile was only momentarily present.
	She had the dream again.  Moira pulled her knees close to her body, pulling
her nightgown over her feet, so she was bundled up, closed off, and secure. 
"Oh, God . . . I wish that there was someone here to talk to."
	But there was no one.  NO ONE.
	No one to talk to . . . about the dream.
	"No one . . ."
	She sat up, and stole a glance at the alarm clock.  It was nearly 6 O' Clock. 
Time to get to work, researching whatever.  
	By herself.
	She got out of her bed, pulled off her nightgown and on a sweatshirt, a pair
of pants, socks and a white labcoat.  She adjusted her glasses before glancing
in the mirror.  Her hair was a mess.
	She set to combing it before she saw a glance of a face, not her own, in the
mirror.  She dropped the hair brush and gaped a minute before trying to scream.
 Her voice wouldn't allow it.  
	She closed her eyes and when she re-opened them, the image was gone.  "It was
only a dream, it was only a dream, it was only a dream," she continually
repeated.  "And that . . . that was just me mind playing tricks on me.  An . .
. an after-effect of my dream."
	The woman went to work in her laboratory.

      	Hours passed until the high- noon sun hit Muir Island.  Moira McTaggert
yawned.  "Lunch time . . ."
	She picked up her sandwich, a mixture of peanut butter and jelly.  She took a
drink from her glass of coffee.  The woman took another bite of her sandwich
before setting it down.  She couldn't shake the feeling that something was
about to happen, though she didn't know what it was.  Just a disturbing sense .
. . that she was going to see something . . . something that she didn't want to
see.
	She tried ignoring it.  "Rahne should be home by now," she said aloud, to no
one in particular.  "I hope she didn't run into any trouble."
	"Mom, I'm sorry."
	The woman looked up.  "Rahne?  Is that you?  You're late."
	"Mom, I'm sorry."
	"It's . . . it's quite all right, Rahne."
	"Mom . . . it's not Rahne . . ."
	"Then who?"
	There was a shimmer of light in front of her, as a form materialized on the
opposite side of her table.
	"Oh my God!" Moira said.  "Kevin!  It's you!"
	"Mom . . ."
	"But I . . ."
	"Mom, I'm sorry."
	"Sorry?  I . . ." She closed her eyes.  This wasn't possible, was it?  That
her dead son could be alive again?  Impossible.
	Her dead, twice resurrected son . . . 
	It is possible.  Her thrice resurrected son.
	She re-opened her eyes.  He was gone.  "Kevin?"
	The form re-appeared.  "Mom, I'm . . ."
	"I know.  You're sorry.  But what for?"
	"For  . . . everything.  For the trouble I caused you . . . and your friends."
	"I . . . I accept your apology."
	There was a silence.
	"Thank you."
	"Kevin . . ."
	"Yes, Mom?"
	"How were you . . . brought back this time?  AIM?"
	"No, Mom . . . I came by myself."
	"You brought yourself back?"
	"I had to, Mom . . . because I needed to apologize."
	"I . . ."
	"Mom . . . as Proteus, I blamed you for all my trouble.  I attacked you, the
X- Men, and all the others.  Because I blamed you and everyone else for
everything.  It's my fault as well."
	"No . . . you were in the right, Kevin . . ."
	"No, I wasn't.  I should have dealt with it.  I just didn't want to.  I didn't
have the responsibility."
	"Kevin . . ."
	"I had to come to apologize, Mom.  About what had happened before . . . and
what's happened recently."
	"Recently?  Do you mean the . . ."
	"The dreams.  I'm sorry, Mom."
	"I . . . So you were behind those dreams.  Do you know how much you scared
me?"
	"I'm sorry Mom.  I just wanted to tell you that."
	"I . . . I accept your apology."
	There was another long, disarming silence.
	"What now, Kevin?"
	"I . . . I just came to apologize.  To make my peace."
	"But where are you going now?"
	" . . . I'm dead, mom.  Or I'm supposed to be.  And I intend to keep myself
dead."
	"I'll . . . I'll miss you, Kevin."
	"I have to go, Mom.  For your sake, for Piecemeal's, for everyone's.  I have
to go.  Mom . . . I'm sorry."
	"I . . ."
	"I love you Mom.  Good bye."
	"Good-Good bye, Kevin."
	 The form faded.  The young woman looked at the sandwich and coffee before
here.  She suddenly didn't feel hungry anymore.  She tidied up her lunch mess,
put away all her test tubes, all while not stirring, not crying, and not
speaking.  She took off her lab coat, and glanced at the clock-it was nearly
12:30.  She went into her parlor and laid down on the couch.
	Rahne would be home soon.

This was
 "Mom, I'm Sorry"
Tom Russell Jnr.
tiffer003@aol.com 

"When the moon is in the seventh house,
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide our planets
And Love will steer the stars!"
--The Fifth Dimension "Age of Aquarius"
(If you know what it means, tell me, I'm confused.)