This is an epilogue to Legends and Monsters. If you haven't read that story yet, you're just going to be confused. Sorry. It is available at http://www.xmission.com/~ladyslvr/TPFICT/.
I wrote this because Andrew's reaction to... well, it clears up some stuff that's ambiguous in the rest of the story.
Comments, critiques, and criticism welcome, please send it to tptigger@hotmail.com (note the change of address).
Right, I've babbled long enough, time to post the blasted thing all ready.
Legends and Monsters Epilogue
by Beth Epstein
(an original series story)
I'm there again. The plascadron chasing me at every step. I can't get away. I can't get to him. I can never get to him.
Maybe this time I'll get there in time. Maybe this time... there he is, burning. His legs charred ash, screaming my name.
"I'm here father."
I try to heal him, put out the flames, bring his legs back. Fix it.
"It's your fault, Andrew," he rasps. "It's your fault."
"No, I didn't mean...." but he's dead.
"It's your fault," a ghost appears. "I'll get you." It reaches for me with ghastly arms. Chains. It's going to thrash me.
"Nooo!" I wake screaming, drenched in sweat.
It was all a dream.
I glance round the room, feeling something's wrong but unable to find out what. The picture of my father and me from last year still sits there, but there's another one there. One taken of me with John and his parents, a couple weeks ago, at his birthday party. I was the only Tomorrow Person he brought with him-- not even Liz.
*You must call me Grandma,* his mother had insisted.
Why.... It wasn't *all* a dream. My father's still dead.
I sob for a moment, then am suddenly thirsty.
I head towards the lounge to ask TIM for some water, then change direction and get a glass from the bathroom sink. It tastes awful, but I drink it, not wanting to face TIM's questions.
He'll wake up John.
I head back to my room, climb back to bed. Toss, turn, afraid to go back to sleep.
After awhile, I give up.
I get out of bed and pad down the hallway. Mike's cold is worse, I can hear him snoring from here.
I stop at John's door and knock softly. There's no answer.
He told me to wake him if I wanted. I don't really want to, but I don't want to try to go to sleep either. I slip in the door.
"John," I shake him gently.
"Go 'way, Mom," he mutters.
"John."
"What is it, Stephen?" he replies groggily, still not awake.
It could be worse. He could think I was Mike.
"It's not Stephen."
"Andrew!" He finally wakes up. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"
"I had the dream again," I nearly whisper.
John sits up, pulling me into his arms. "It's just a dream."
"I should've gotten there sooner."
"You had to get the guests out."
"I should've gotten Dad. It's my fault."
"It is not your fault!" John's reply is stern. He takes a deep breath, then starts again, his voice softer, "It's not your fault. You did *everything* you could. None of the rest of us could have saved him either."
He runs a hand over my hair, gently. I lean into his shoulder and start bawling, trying to bring the sobs under control.
"It's all right; just let it out."
Warmth and comfort fills my thoughts. My bawls become sobs, then sniffles. Gradually, I feel snug, safe.
'I still want Dad.'
"Of course you do. You probably always will, but it won't always hurt so much."
I must have been projecting.
I don't reply, just stay there, in the warmth, comfort.
I yawn.
John me to my feet, guiding me, like a drunken sailor or a lost child, back to my cabin. My cheeks are still warm and wet; they must be tear streaked.
I can hear Mike snoring. I'm glad he's asleep; I don't want him to see me like this.
John tucks me in, smoothing the covers, then my hair. "Sleep now."
He sits next to me and rubs my back. I fall into a calm sleep.
THE END