§ § § - March 19, 1983

A little after lunch, Leslie and Roarke retreated into the study to resume the paperwork; Leslie had had some trouble concentrating on the mail, but finally managed to get into it. There were too many mysteries surrounding that little village—which Roarke had said was called "Glen Hollow" by its inhabitants—for her to simply dismiss the whole thing till it was time for Carl Peters' fantasy to come to an end. In point of fact, the existence of that village had bothered her for some time. She and her friends rode the shuttle bus back and forth to school most days, and since Glen Hollow lay on the route there and back, they passed through its village square every morning and afternoon. She was thus reasonably familiar with its layout, and found herself reflecting that for the most part, Glen Hollow didn't look a whole lot like a New England village. The houses were a bit different, she thought; as far as she could tell, the only thing that bore a real resemblance to the places she had known in her early childhood in Connecticut was the tall-steepled white church.

The place seemed a bit backward, too; she could recall several occasions on which their bus had circumnavigated the square and she'd seen a couple of horse-and-carriage rigs on the other side. There had been a car or two as well, but models whose vintage was older than she was. On the northern side of the square, just east of the large brick courthouse on the corner, there was a small lane that dead-ended just short of a cliff abutting the ocean. There were little Craftsman-style bungalows lining this lane; surrounding the rest of the square were small, narrow buildings with shops fronting the sidewalk and apartments on the upper floors. There were a few more such buildings just west of the courthouse; the Ring Road continued on the western side of the square, running out of Glen Hollow into the tropical jungle that held sway over much of the island, though on the square's southwestern corner another street branched away to the south, containing three or four houses before there was a slight curve to the west and you reached the power company on the one side of the road and the water and sewer building on the other. The street dead-ended there. On the eastern side of the square there were no houses; the trees began immediately upon exiting the square on that side. Going west on the Ring Road, there were several large houses on either side, before the jungle closed in once more. So it wasn't a large village; but there was a forbidding aura about it that made Leslie frown and consider the way she and her friends had reacted to the place the first time they'd ridden through on the bus. That had been on the first day of ninth grade, and as they had ridden through Glen Hollow, there had been a peculiar silence on the part of Leslie's friends.

"What's wrong?" she had asked.

"This place," Myeko said, casting Leslie a solemn look. "It's spooky. The people who live here don't ever mix with the rest of us. They don't like anybody else coming here."

"We just go down here because the Ring Road runs through this place," Camille put in. "But I swear, sometimes when we see people around this square, they glare at us like they want us to drop dead or something."

"Didn't Mr. Roarke tell you about it?" Michiko had asked.

"No," Leslie said, biting her lip. "I guess he didn't see the need."

"Well," Lauren said, "you probably won't have any real reason to worry about it, unless maybe there's a fantasy here someday or something. And you never know. But I tell you what, unless you want to be run out of town, you don't want to come here. The people are just plain weird. They want nothing to do with the rest of the islanders, and the feeling's mutual."

Leslie was still remembering that conversation now when the door opened and Tattoo came in, Susan Henderson in tow. Tattoo looked worried and Susan distressed. Roarke looked up from the ledger and watched them approach the desk. "May I help you?" he inquired. "I hope there isn't a problem, Tattoo."

"Well, there kind of is," Tattoo admitted.

Roarke waited; but Susan fidgeted and Tattoo turned to look up at her, as if expecting her to take the initiative and say something. At last Roarke prompted, "Well?"

Susan hung her head, so Tattoo let out a sigh and gave up. "We had lunch at the new lounge restaurant, and we were making a plan to have Susan meet Carter Ransom. Well, before we could leave, we saw him come in with some woman. Susan decided she just had to go and meet him, and she got up to do it, but then some guy stopped her and I guess he was trying to come on to her. She tried to get away, but he grabbed her hand—the one with the ring—and fell in love with her."

"Oh, I see," Roarke mused, looking thoughtful.

"Oops," murmured Leslie.

"Exactly," Tattoo said, nodding at her.

Susan finally raised her head, her desperation overcoming her reticence. "Please, Mr. Roarke, I need help. There wasn't anything Tattoo could do."

"This is a most unfortunate situation, Miss Henderson," Roarke said. "As I told you before, the ring can be used only once."

Susan fiddled with the ring. "I know, but—" Something distracted her and Leslie saw her attention shift to a point behind Roarke; at the same time she heard a slight rustling. Leslie twisted around in her chair and saw a cute but rather dowdy young man emerge from his squatting position behind a bush, raising a large white posterboard sign on which was printed I LOVE YOU! in huge block letters—followed by the same sentiment in Spanish, French, German, Hawaiian and even Chinese. Well, that figures, she thought, and turned back around in time to see Susan roll her eyes in annoyance at the poor besotted fellow.

Roarke, though, seemed not to notice anything amiss and said with some regret, "In any case, I'm afraid your fantasy has come to an unscheduled end." Susan let out a deflated sigh.

"But boss, it was an accident," Tattoo protested. "It can happen to anyone!"

"Nevertheless, Tattoo, my hands are tied," Roarke said firmly, while the madly grinning young man on the terrace grabbed another handmade sign. The noise he made doing it caused Leslie to turn around again to watch him, in time to see him raise the second sign, which read WILL YOU MARRY ME? Susan scowled, closed her eyes briefly in exasperation and glared at the fellow, shaking her head. His grin collapsed and he ducked back behind the bush, presumably for yet another sign.

Meantime Roarke and Tattoo argued, apparently oblivious. "Getting a second chance—isn't that what Fantasy Island is all about?" Tattoo persisted. "Besides, I've got a plan." He started to speak, then caught himself, his attention finally snared by Susan's unwanted swain on the terrace—who now was holding up a sign that read, HOW ABOUT A CHEAP, MEANINGLESS AFFAIR? Susan made another face, deflating the young man again. Leslie had to hide a smirk behind her hand.

"Yes, Tattoo?" Roarke prompted when his assistant paused.

Tattoo seemed to decide the young man wasn't worth bothering with. "Why don't we have a reception for Mr. Ransom, so that Susan can get close to him?"

Roarke considered it for a moment; then nodded a little, taken with the suggestion. "That's a very interesting idea, Tattoo," he remarked. "And you're right," he went on as Tattoo beamed in delight at Roarke's approval, "everyone deserves a second chance." He arose, smiling, while Leslie kept checking the terrace in case Susan's suitor tried again. "Well now, if you'll hold out your hand, please?" Susan extended her hand and Roarke thanked her, taking it and performing the same ritual to "charge" the ring that he had done on the terrace that morning.

Susan watched anxiously; after a few seconds Roarke peered beneath his hand, and both he and Leslie saw the gleam of the ring again. Roarke smiled reassuringly at Susan and released her hand.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Roarke, thank you very much," Susan exclaimed with heartfelt gratitude.

Roarke nodded graciously to her in reply; then he fixed Tattoo with a stern look and prodded, "You realize, Tattoo, that the success of Miss Henderson's fantasy is now your responsibility."

Having heard that, Leslie found herself anticipating Tattoo's next words, and sure enough, he fulfilled her expectations. Shrugging confidently, he replied, "It's a piece of cake, boss." With that, he urged Susan out the door, and Roarke and Leslie watched them depart.

"Geez," Leslie muttered and tossed a glance out the French shutters. "You should've seen it. This whole time there was some goofy-looking guy out there holding up signs at Miss Henderson, saying he loved her and asking her to marry him, and when she shook her head, he wanted to know if she'd have a cheap affair with him. I can't believe you missed all that."

"Who says I missed it?" Roarke asked, giving her a surprised look.

She stared at him, then rolled her eyes and groaned. "After all the fantasies I've watched you grant, and all the stuff I've seen you do, I guess I should know better by now, shouldn't I." She shook her head as amusement made Roarke's dark eyes twinkle. Leslie tossed a glance toward the door and added with a heavy sigh, "Tattoo and his 'piece of cake' fantasy. Really, I'm half expecting him to grab Susan by the wrong hand and end up falling in love with her himself."

Roarke had sat back down, and chuckled softly to himself as he watched her resume her seat and pluck another letter off the top of the stack. In truth, he couldn't say he'd be especially surprised himself if that turned out to be what happened.

When Leslie had finished the mail, Roarke thanked her before picking up the phone and making a call to the Lilac Bungalow, spending a good ten minutes persuading Carter Ransom to make an appearance at a specially arranged reception for him that evening in the same lounge restaurant Tattoo and Susan had had lunch in. By the time he finally succeeded and hung up, Leslie had been watching him for the last half of the call, looking astonished. "Well, he sure was a tough nut to crack, wasn't he?" she remarked. "It took you practically forever to make him say yes."

Roarke smiled a little grimly. "After that," he said, "Tattoo had better hope this plan of his comes to fruition. I think that, just in case, you and I both should be there."

That made her perk up. "Does that mean we get to dress up?"

He grinned. "It certainly does. Perhaps choosing your gown for the evening will get your mind off the riddle of Glen Hollow, hm?"

"Only for a while," she retorted, already getting to her feet. "I'm still going to expect to find out just what the story really is behind that place." She gave him one firm nod before rushing off to poke through Roarke's stock of costumes and ballgowns. Again he found himself chuckling quietly, shaking his head after her. The truth was that he liked her enthusiasm and persistence; it bespoke her love of the job she held and her willingness to be an integral part of his business and learn all she could about it. He arose himself, needing to handle a few small chores before he himself dressed for the reception.

‡ ‡ ‡

The reception was going off well, though Roarke and Leslie could see even from all the way across the room that Carter Ransom was less than thrilled to be there. Standing at his side was a dark-haired woman wearing a long white dress printed with softly smeared blobs of blue, green, yellow and purple; there were white flowers crowning her head in front of the upsweep of hair piled atop her head. She was gazing across the lounge as if waiting to defend the pianist from anyone who might dare approach him. Leslie, who hadn't known about Carter Ransom's companion, wondered how Susan Henderson expected to get around her.

Tattoo and Susan appeared at the top of the steps that led into the sunken lounge from the lobby in the front of the building, and he led his friend straight to Ransom and his companion, clearly making introductions. Leslie and Roarke watched Susan stick out her right hand to be shaken, only to be interrupted by one of the native girls who was serving drinks. Ransom's companion reached for one of them, causing Susan to hastily withdraw her hand. Leslie grunted softly. "Wow, she almost had him there," she muttered. Roarke said nothing, but she could see his frown from the corner of her eye.

Ransom gestured toward a table and they all took seats, at the same moment a determined-looking woman brushed past Roarke and Leslie from the back where the restrooms were located. Leslie's attention was snared by the movement, and she watched as the woman, followed by a tuxedoed man eating an hors d'oeuvre and wearing a resigned expression.

Suddenly the woman stopped and gasped loudly enough for Leslie to hear, then exclaimed, "There he is!" Leslie followed her gaze and realized that she was staring at the back of Susan's unwelcome suitor from earlier that day. He was clad in a baby-blue tux and standing in the same spot, gazing steadily at Susan Henderson. Leslie could just imagine the expression he must be wearing.

The threesome had a low-voiced conversation while Roarke's attention shifted to them as well; Leslie peered at him. "Who are they?"

"I believe the man and woman are his parents," said Roarke, just as the man made a come-on gesture and led his son over to the table where Tattoo, Susan, Ransom and Ransom's friend were sitting. "And I'm afraid they're all going to make things very difficult for Miss Henderson if she isn't careful."

"Are you going to do anything about it?" Leslie wanted to know.

"The fantasy is in Tattoo's hands," he said simply, and she let out a sigh. Nothing more needed to be said; she could see disaster coming already.

Susan leaned over suddenly, and they looked back at the table just in time to see both the older man and Carter Ransom follow suit. They all appeared to be trying to pick up something from the floor. The older man won out, and Susan visibly froze in her chair; even from where they stood, both Roarke and Leslie saw the ring gleam bright for a second before the man's demeanor changed altogether, his face taking on the same lovesick look his son had been wearing all day. Leslie let out a long sigh. "Oh, great," she muttered.

"Henry!" exclaimed the woman.

"Dad!" blustered the young man, outraged. "No, she's mine!" His mother muttered to herself.

Susan stood up and exclaimed, "Oh, look, there's a mistake!..." Henry said something else, but they couldn't hear above the music and chatter throughout the lounge. Susan shook her head and began to run for the steps; Henry took off after her, and while Ransom and his friend watched in perplexity, Brian and his mother joined the chase. All four of them were nattering all the way up the steps and out; at the table, Tattoo dropped his elbow beside his plate and rested his head in his hand.

"So now what happens?" Leslie asked, turning to Roarke.

"The inevitable, most likely," Roarke replied, sounding a little tired, and tossed one more glance in Tattoo's direction before signaling at her to come with him.

She was a little bewildered, trailing him out of the lounge and to the rover they had driven here from the main house. "What happens now?" she asked. "I mean...I'm sure they're all going to show up at the main house sooner or later. Or at least Susan will, and you know she'll want you to recharge that ring again, like you did this afternoon."

Roarke gave her a thoughtful look. "That's as may be, but I've watched you attempting the entire day to puzzle out the story of Glen Hollow." With her attention now riveted on him, he leaned out the driver's side opening and gazed into the sky, where a moon rode high. "It's past eleven," he mused, without checking his gold watch. "See if there's a flashlight in the glove compartment, Leslie."

She checked and found one inside, clicking it on to test it. "So what'll we need it for?"

"You'll see," said Roarke, starting the car, putting it in gear and driving west along the Ring Road. Since Glen Hollow was so isolated from the other settled places on the island, the ride seemed to take longer than it really did; but soon they had pulled into the little village square and parked the rover beside a high iron picket fence that surrounded a small green, containing a gazebo and a squat stone obelisk perhaps seven or eight feet tall. The moonlight gleamed off a plaque mounted on the north-facing side of the monument; Leslie squinted, but at this distance she couldn't read it.

Roarke got out of the rover and Leslie did the same, astonished at the peculiar eddying chill in the air that was so out of place on a tropical island. "Do you feel that cold air?" she demanded in a tense whisper, coming to a halt beside him. "Why is it so cold in a tropical place like this?"

Roarke glanced at her but said nothing, and she made a face but decided not to push the issue. She watched him scan the little square, then peered around it herself, noting that the car they had lent Carl Peters for the weekend was parked on the south side of the square in front of the church, which seemed to dominate that side of the street as if cowing the other buildings.

Then Roarke laid a hand lightly on her back and gestured toward the church. "Come with me," he said. "If Mr. Peters is around here, it may be wise to try to speak with him."

They crossed the square and rounded the corner on which the church stood, passing the building before veering into the thick woods just behind it. Roarke, taking the flashlight, clicked it on and probed the darkness with it, stepping carefully but briskly along, as if he knew where he was going. It took a few minutes of penetrating some of the blackest forest Leslie thought she'd ever set foot in, but then they came out into a clearing where the moon picked out patchwork patterns on the ground and the air swirled with heavy mist that seemed to reflect the lunar glow. The unnatural chill persisted, and Leslie shuddered, hugging herself as the dampness penetrated her clothes.

"Here," said Roarke suddenly, training the flashlight on a row of gravestones. Leslie counted six, most of them looking weatherbeaten, but one gleaming brand-new and golden in the flashlight's beam. The new one, nearest which they stood, headed an empty rectangular pit in the ground and bore the legend CARL PETERS, and under it the dates 1956 – 1983. Leslie stared at it in shock.

"Did they kill him?" she gasped.

"No, but they will," Roarke replied solemnly. "Unless Mr. Peters takes extreme care, the villagers will kill him."

"What for?" Leslie demanded. "What'd he do to them?"

"Nothing," said Roarke, "which is all the more tragic." He studied the various graves; the earliest of them, Leslie noticed, dated back to the early eighteenth century, making her wonder just how long these people had lived here—longer even than Roarke, she thought uneasily.

"Then why?" she persisted.

"There is, supposedly, a curse on Hallie Miller's family," Roarke told her. "Hallie has an older brother, Ethan, and a younger sister, Jamie. They are affected as well. Did you see the monument in the village square?"

"The one with the plaque?" Leslie asked.

"Yes. It marks the spot where a woman named Suzanna Martin was burned at the stake in June of 1692 for practicing witchcraft. Suzanna put a curse on the Miller family, which decreed that when the oldest daughter in each generation reaches her twenty-first birthday, an epidemic of plague breaks out. According to the curse, a young man enters her life; they fall in love, upon which the villagers shoot an arrow through the man's heart, thus curing the plague outbreak."

Leslie's mouth hung open. "That's...that's just..." She groped for a word and finally came out with, "Medieval."

"It has already begun," said Roarke, making her wonder idly how he knew, though she knew better than to ask him. "Hallie's younger sister Jamie—only fifteen—has contracted plague symptoms, and Mr. Peters' life is in grave danger." He shook his head. "I had hoped to find him outside, perhaps persuade him to return to the resort where the villagers won't venture. Unfortunately, it was clear enough the moment we drove into the square that no one is out at this hour."

"There's no reason for them to be," Leslie muttered. "For that matter, the same thing goes for us. Come on, Mr. Roarke, please, let's get out of this creepy place."

Roarke nodded after a moment, playing the flashlight over the ground, where the grass appeared trampled but gave no other clue. "We may already be too late," he said softly. "We'll have to come back here tomorrow morning and attempt to stop this madness once and for all." He guided her back the way they had come, patting her shoulder when she shivered in the peculiar chill.

"It's so cold," she complained. "It's not supposed to be cold on a tropical island."

"There may be another force behind that," Roarke mused quietly. "But if we succeed in defeating this insanity, that too will retreat from here." He shook his head when she peered up at him with questions in her eyes. "Don't probe too deeply, Leslie. Let's just go home for the night, so we can be fresh and rested for tomorrow."