A/N: A direct continuation of "Toward Healing a Soul".
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§ § § -- March 9, 1979

"Boss, what's wrong with Leslie?" Tattoo asked point-blank one Friday evening after Leslie, pleading fatigue, retreated to her room. "She looks tired all the time, and I think she's starting to get dark circles under her eyes. Isn't she sleeping all right?"

Roarke glanced at the ceiling overhead and sighed gently. "She refuses to admit it, my friend, but she is having nightmares. Something is still bothering her after all this time, and she won't be able to rid herself of it until she talks about it." He thought for a moment and studied his assistant. "Has she mentioned anything to you?"

"If she had," Tattoo said, "I wouldn't have to ask you. I wonder what it's gonna take to get her to confide in either me or you. She must be holding something back." He looked hard at Roarke for a moment, then added, "She never cries, did you notice that?"

"Yes, I have noticed," Roarke said, nodding slowly. "Despite the enormousness of whatever she is bottling up inside her, she apparently refuses to allow herself even the release of tears. Little wonder she is beginning to suffer the effects."

Tattoo gathered together a stack of outgoing envelopes. "Well, I hope she decides to open up soon, or something terrible's gonna happen that'll force the issue. She's already made a few mistakes." His own words made him pause for a moment. "The funny thing about that is, every time she does it, she looks terrified. Boss, do you suppose she thinks we're gonna beat her for a few little goofs?"

Roarke raised one eyebrow at him and grinned slightly. "I certainly hope not." He sobered and gazed again at the ceiling, as though he could see through it to Leslie's room overhead. "I can't force her trust in us, my friend. We will simply have to be patient."

Tattoo left for home soon thereafter, taking the outgoing mail with him, and Roarke settled behind the desk with the intention of scheduling fantasies through the summer. But his mind seemed to have a will of its own; before he knew it he found himself thinking back over Leslie's deteriorating condition across the past few weeks. She had seemed so relieved when she'd made three new friends on her very first day of school, and had even suggested she ride the school bus with them so he wouldn't have to take her back and forth to school every day. Every evening when he or Tattoo asked about her day in school, she'd relate all sorts of cheerful anecdotes, making it seem as if everything was going smoothly for her. For awhile, he and Tattoo had both been glad enough of her apparent ease in school that they hadn't noticed her lack of negative stories to tell. Lately, though, it had become plain to Roarke, and now also Tattoo, that her cheerful façade was little more than that—an increasingly fragile veneer that no longer concealed the fact that she was plagued by some hidden problem or worry. It had even spilled over into the simple tasks Roarke had assigned her in the course of granting fantasies. More than once she had returned with the wrong item when Roarke sent her after something; she had accidentally hung up on a couple of business calls; and somehow she'd managed to get lost on a few occasions. It was never anything major, but when she realized what she'd done, she always had the terrified expression Tattoo had referred to. What was it that she refused to divulge to him, and why?

Shortly after lunch the following afternoon, Roarke set Leslie to stuffing envelopes, matching return letters to hopeful fantasizers with their pre-addressed envelopes. He then went out to check up on one of the fantasies, leaving her alone in the office. About an hour later he returned, with Tattoo arriving just behind him, and caught Leslie in the middle of slitting an envelope with a letter opener. She froze and gaped at them with wide, horrified eyes, her face already beginning to turn red.

"What's the matter, Leslie?" Tattoo asked.

Roarke approached the desk and realized that she was slicing open the envelopes she was supposed to be stuffing. "What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

"I…accidentally put the wrong letters in the wrong envelopes," Leslie said in a thin voice. "I was trying to fix all the ones I did wrong before you got back, but…"

"Oh, Leslie," Roarke said, sighing. "Weren't you paying attention?" Her face grew redder and she compressed her lips, although this didn't quite hide the trembling of her chin, and stared at him with an unmistakably frightened look in her eyes. Even as he watched, they acquired the sheen of tears, but she was visibly restraining herself.

"I'll fix it," Leslie insisted. "I'll do it in my room." She lowered her head and scooped letters into a messy pile, clearly with the intention of fleeing upstairs.

"Leslie," Roarke said, catching her arm. "Stay here. I think it's time you and I had a talk. This has gone on long enough." He turned to Tattoo. "I hate to burden you with yet another task, my friend, but perhaps you'd finish this for Leslie, huh?"

Tattoo nodded, knowing what he was leaving unspoken. "Sure, boss, no problem at all." He gathered the envelopes together and glanced up at Leslie, who stared unseeingly out the open French doors behind the desk. "It's gonna be all right, Leslie," he felt compelled to say. "Just trust the boss, that's all." In response he saw her clench her jaw, as if clamping down harder than ever on her emotions. With a nearly inaudible sigh, he left.

Roarke rounded the desk, turned Leslie around to face him, and lifted her head so that she had to look at him. "I don't know what else to do, child. We had hoped that you were settling in here, and that things were smoothing out for you now that you have friends. But it's become plain that something is wrong. Are you quite certain you feel up to the tasks I've been giving you?"

A hint of desperation began to creep into her expression. "I really didn't mean to mess up like that," she managed, though her voice had thickened. Despite her best efforts, a tear slipped out of one eye.

Her reaction to this was instantaneous. A look of sheer horror crossed her features and she twisted frantically out of Roarke's grasp, turning her back on him and hunching over with her hands covering her face. He heard her gasp and saw her torso begin to tremble, and he realized she was trying desperately not to cry.

"Leslie," he said softly, drawing some of her hair back over her shoulder, "if you need to cry, then by all means do so. Don't hold it in—it's not good for you."

The words seemed to at last break through her already-crumbling defenses, and she burst into sobs, still hunched over and half turned away from him with her hands over her face. Roarke gathered her into his arms; she didn't resist, simply let him hold her. When he started to smooth her hair in an attempt to comfort her, the entire dam broke loose and she stood there bawling in his embrace.

Roarke waited patiently, rocking her a little while she loosed the pent-up misery of many days. Gradually, as she cried, she relaxed against him, and he smiled inwardly, certain that he could finally help her, for this was a sign of trust.

Finally Leslie's tears were spent and she lifted her head hesitantly, staring at him warily. He smiled at her and brushed back some of her hair, then produced a handkerchief from somewhere and dried the tears from her cheeks. "Do you feel a little better now?"

She blinked, sniffed loudly and nodded as if in surprise. "I th-think so."

"Good," he said. "I believe this is the first time I've seen you cry."

"I didn't think I should," she admitted candidly, surprising him. "I was afraid to."

"Why?" he probed, keeping his voice gentle.

"Because of my father," Leslie said. "He always hated it when my sisters or I cried. It used to make him really mad, and then when we were older, he'd smack us when we cried. So we learned not to do it around him. He couldn't stand us anyway, and he didn't keep it a secret. Kristy was scared to death of him. She was always the most timid of the three of us. Kelly used to get in trouble just to make him mad. I just didn't want anything to do with him."

"I see," Roarke mused. He focused on her. "Leslie, my child, don't ever feel that you need to hide anything from either Tattoo or me. Remember, you no longer need the self-defense mechanisms you developed to ease life with Michael Hamilton. I want you to be assured that I will never, ever, raise a hand to you, or my voice against you. If something is wrong, or you have a problem or question, come to me and I will help you, all right?"

"No matter what it is?" Leslie asked, trying to cover all contingencies. "Even if I make the worst mistakes possible?"

Roarke chuckled. "No matter what," he said, nodding. "Mistakes are an inevitable part of being human, so you need not feel as if you've committed a felony every time you happen to have a mishap. Those you've made have been minor and can be easily corrected." He cleared his throat. "Now then…just what is it that's been bothering you and causing you nightmares every night?"

"How did you know I've been having nightmares?" Leslie asked, astonished.

"Obviously you were unaware that it's been showing on your face, especially lately," Roarke observed. "You claimed to be tired last night at a surprisingly early hour, and your face has a shadowed look about it that suggests you haven't been getting enough sleep. Tell me, what are those nightmares about?"

"I don't know," Leslie said with some frustration. "I really am tired all the time, Mr. Roarke, and every morning I wish I could sleep another hour instead of getting up for school. They always wake me up, but I can never remember them."

"At all?" Roarke prompted. "You can't recall even the tiniest detail?"

She shook her head for a moment, then stopped, her eyes narrowing as she strained to remember. At length she mumbled, "I think…there's fire in those dreams."

Roarke thought back. "Quite strange. As I recall, the first occurrence of this nightmare happened the night of your first day of school. Can you think of anything that might have triggered the dream?"

Leslie considered it for some few minutes, then pulled her lower lip between her teeth and met Roarke's gaze. "Well, there was one thing that might've done it. I never told you and Tattoo that I met Camille Ichino that day. Remember when I was fretting about the girls on the plane, and Myeko admitted to being one of them? Camille was the other one. She's Lauren's cousin, and her mom's going to have quadruplets."

"Ah yes, I'm familiar with that family," Roarke said with sudden recognition. "They have already made the local news once before, when their oldest daughter, Andrea, was accepted into Harvard. She is due to leave the island for Boston in August. Andrea is the first Fantasy Island student ever to attend Harvard, and I am afraid the Chronicle considered this a very large news story." He chuckled at some memory. "It was a rather sensational article, as I recall. So you met Camille formally on your first day of school, then. What happened?"

Leslie drew in a breath and told him about Camille's goading remarks that had finally driven her over the edge and made her lose her temper. "Everything was so new and strange to me already, and so much had happened to me in just a week. And I was scared enough of getting through my first day of school here. The things she said were just the last straw, and I couldn't help myself. So I blew up at her." She sighed. "She hasn't eaten lunch with us since then. Even Lauren won't go near her anymore, and that makes me feel guilty, since they related and they're supposed to be friends."

"How Lauren treats her cousin is her decision, Leslie, not yours," Roarke said, smiling to temper the words. "It appears to me that Lauren is fully aware that Camille is in the wrong, and has chosen to remain loyal to you as a result. As for Camille herself, there is very little you can do about that situation. I suggest you simply enjoy the friends you have, and try not to worry about Camille. All right?"

"Okay, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said and smiled back, then peered sheepishly at him from under her lashes. "And I really am sorry for messing up all those envelopes."

Roarke laughed. "Believe me, Leslie, there is no harm done. Now why don't you come with me to the pool so that we can be certain Mr. Anderson's fantasy is going smoothly."