§ § § -- January 17, 1981

Roarke and Leslie joined Elizabeth Blake for lunch, and afterward Roarke and Elizabeth lingered over cups of tea while Leslie enjoyed a glass of mango juice. They made a little light conversation through the meal, and Elizabeth told them a little about how she had arrived at her decision to come to the island. "I have a rare blood disorder," she explained. "Steven and I knew it would be a risk to have a child, but I didn't want to leave this earth without leaving a part of myself behind. My doctor said sometimes women with my disorder can have a child or two without risk, but it turns out I wasn't one of the lucky ones."

"I see," said Roarke. "I am terribly sorry, Mrs. Blake."

"We both thought it wasn't fair that I wouldn't get to see our baby," Elizabeth went on, absently stirring her tea. "We meant for me to come earlier, but we spent so long arguing with my doctor about it before he finally approved my trip, I was more than seven months pregnant before you agreed to grant my fantasy. And Steven and I were afraid I'd run out of time and give birth without ever having this chance." She patted her swollen middle gently. "Maybe Lisa sensed I wanted this so badly, and she's stayed there so I can have the chance to know her a little before…"

Silence fell in the wake of her statement, and Leslie finally ventured, "Well, at least we know Lisa's going to have a loving father, and he sounds like the kind of guy who'll tell her all about you when she's old enough to understand. I'm sure he won't let your memory die."

Elizabeth smiled at her. "Thank you, Leslie," she said softly.

Eventually Roarke set his teacup down, with a neutral expression that Leslie wasn't sure she liked, and inquired, "Are you ready for your second look into the future, Mrs. Blake?"

Eagerly she put down her own cup, her eyes alight. "Oh yes, Mr. Roarke!"

Once again they returned to the raised section of the bungalow's main room and stood in a row just at the top of the steps. The fog once again filled the open space between the shutter doors, and Roarke explained, "Mr. Blake has moved into a new house." The image that appeared the next moment showed a house whose architecture seemed to be a cross between Spanish stucco and medieval castle before shifting to the interior of a tastefully decorated living room. The trio walked forward into it, joining perhaps ten other persons at what could only be a small party.

"Seven years have passed since we saw Lisa ride her new bicycle," Roarke explained. "She is now twelve years old, and there have been some changes."

"Of course," Elizabeth said. A great deal could happen in seven years, but Elizabeth could hardly be prepared for what they saw.

The glad shouts of small children made them turn and watch a pair of identical little boys run past them. Leslie's mouth dropped open and her hand slowly rose to cover it; her eyes were enormous with shock. Twins, just as in her own family! She never saw the sympathetic glance Roarke spared her; she was too astounded.

Steven picked up one of the boys and propped him on his lap. "Ah, there're my boys!" he said cheerfully as the other child ran into the arms of a dark-haired woman who knelt beside him.

"There's Steve," said Elizabeth and started forward. "Steve…" Roarke had to restrain her again, and she stepped back with a soft gasp, belatedly remembering that no one could see them. "Who is she, Mr. Roarke?"

"Steven remarried six years ago," Roarke explained gently. "Her name is Helen; the twins are their children."

Elizabeth gave a soft, sheepish chuckle. "I guess I'm a bit jealous," she admitted, "but I'm glad, too. They're beautiful children." Roarke glanced at her with some surprise; Elizabeth watched with a bright smile. Leslie, still stunned by the presence of the twins, hadn't moved at all.

"Okay, boys, say goodbye to everybody," Helen said then. "It's naptime for you."

"Say goodbye," Steven added, and the little boys obligingly did so and then ran off down the hall. Their parents laughed.

"They're so well behaved," Helen said and linked her arm with Steven's. "Lisa should be so easy to deal with, hm?"

Elizabeth's smile faded. "What did she mean by that?" she asked Roarke. "Where is Lisa?" The question finally brought Leslie out of her daze, and she registered for the first time the fact that Lisa was nowhere in sight.

"We will find her," Roarke said and gestured her ahead so he could drop back slightly and see to Leslie. "Are you all right?" he murmured for her ears only.

There was still a stunned look in her eyes. "It's just…the twins," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "The only difference is they're boys here, instead of girls."

"Do you want to return?" Roarke asked her.

Leslie shook her head vehemently. "No…no, I want to see what happens to Lisa."

He smiled. "Very well. Come along, then."

They followed Elizabeth down the same hall into which the twins had run and paused at the first door on the left. It was clearly the bedroom of a young girl, and its occupant lay stretched across the bed, crying softly. They stepped inside, Elizabeth looking anguished. "Why is she crying?"

Roarke smiled faintly with sympathy. "Have you forgotten how painful adolescence can be?" he asked gently. "How even a minor problem can become a major tragedy?"

Elizabeth stared at her daughter. "Mr. Roarke, she's grown so beautiful."

Helen came into the room then. "Lisa, what's wrong?" She sat down on the edge of the girl's bed. "Come on, come out and join the party. People are wondering about you."

"I don't care," Lisa said. "They're not my friends anyway."

"Of course they are!" Helen contradicted soothingly. "They miss you. The twins miss you too."

"No they don't!" Lisa retorted tearfully. "They have you and Daddy. They don't care about me, nobody cares!" Steven paused in the doorway, watching sadly; Elizabeth didn't see, her eyes only for her daughter.

"I'm your mother," Helen said. "I care about you."

"My mother's dead," Lisa choked out, stunning them all. Elizabeth turned a tortured look to Roarke; her eyes were already red with impending tears. Leslie began to feel her own eyes sting and had to squeeze them shut; she had begun to identify too closely with this fantasy, and even she knew it. But she couldn't seem to help herself.

"Lisa!" Steven rebuked, entering the room and kneeling by the end of the bed. Lisa lifted her head and stared at him. "Don't you think you're being unfair? Apologize to your mother."

Lisa looked faintly apologetic, but she didn't back down. "Sorry, Daddy, but…Helen isn't my mother." Steven cast Helen a helpless look; Helen's eyes widened a moment, then lowered in pain.

Then Lisa burst out, "I wish my real mother could have lived!" She leaped off the bed, breaking into sobs, and fled the room, ignoring Steven's and Helen's calls for her to come back.

"Lisa, wait!" Elizabeth cried, and started after the girl.

Roarke caught her arm and stopped her yet again. "Mrs. Blake, you must not try to interfere," he reminded her. "It will break the spell."

"But she needs me, and I can't help her!" Elizabeth wailed and started to rush out of the room—only to find herself back in the bungalow, about to plunge out onto the terrace. Leslie opened her eyes finally and blinked, half in surprise at the sudden change of scene, half to try to dispel the stinging that wouldn't go away. She was just in time to see Elizabeth turn from the door, glance around and then slowly come back inside, beginning to cry in agony over the child she wasn't allowed to reach. The sight of her shredded the last of Leslie's control, and the next second, Roarke found himself trying to comfort two weeping females. But he couldn't blame either one of them.

‡ ‡ ‡

Roarke sent Leslie up to her room so she could recuperate, but he had a hard time concentrating on the accounting he was trying to accomplish. He kept comparing Elizabeth Blake's fantasy with Shannon Hamilton's; and worse, he was growing more and more worried about the effect of Mrs. Blake's fantasy on Leslie. The similarities surprised even him; he had been faintly startled at sight of the twin boys, but on nothing like the level Leslie had.

She looked composed about an hour later when she came downstairs again and offered to help Roarke by going through the mail; he accepted, watching her closely for a few minutes. Shortly she noticed, and eyed him curiously. "What's the matter, Mr. Roarke?"

"I merely want to be sure you're all right," Roarke said.

"I'm okay," Leslie told him. "Honest."

Either she was hiding it very well, Roarke thought, or she was telling him the truth. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and said, "Very well." They worked together in silence for a while, interrupted only by the occasional ringing of the phone.

At suppertime Tattoo joined them, looking as if he'd had quite a trying day. "What's the word on Mr. Dobbs' fantasy, my friend?" Roarke asked.

Tattoo shot him a look that seemed crammed with numerous emotions all at once; among them was a definite dose of amusement. "I think he might not be so enthusiastic about it anymore," he said. "He created a really nice painting on the theater wall in Amberville this afternoon. Beautiful girl…with a couple of distinct birthmarks. One that looks like a star, and the other a heart. People were standing around watching him paint it, admiring it, complimenting him…the works." He forked in a bite of sweet potato. "But it looks as if at least a couple of guys think he painted their girlfriends. One of them even punched him out."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other. "Is he okay?" Leslie asked.

"I guess so," Tattoo said. "I told him to go put some ice on it, and he went off to his bungalow to hide awhile. But I've got a feeling he's having a lot of second thoughts about his fantasy."

"You seem quite cavalier about it," Roarke remarked. "Have you made any attempt to track him down?"

"He's got two guys chasing him as it is," Tattoo said. "Why should I join the footrace? Mr. Dobbs knows where to find us if he needs us."

Roarke smiled a bit resignedly. "You know full well he would not be the first to rethink a long-cherished fantasy. But unless he specifically asks for help, he will have to work things out on his own."

"He'll have to anyway," observed Leslie. Nearly two years of residence on the island had taught her that much.

Roarke and Tattoo laughed. "That's for sure," Tattoo agreed, "but I'm not sure he's gonna survive, at this rate. So, what about Mrs. Blake's fantasy?"

Roarke filled him in on what had happened so far, and Tattoo nodded, casting a glance at Leslie a few times but saying nothing. Then he commented, "Sure sounds spooky, boss, all the parallels."

That thought reverberated through Leslie's mind as she and Roarke went back to Elizabeth Blake's bungalow shortly after the meal. Elizabeth had also just finished eating and, while she was solemn-faced, looked calm. There was a lurking sadness in her blue eyes that made Leslie's empathetic sense rear up again, and she thought of her own mother, realizing for perhaps the first time that Shannon had looked strained and pale the last few months of her life. Was it because she knew the fire was happening soon? Leslie thought, and pushed the thought away with a shudder.

Roarke glanced at a photograph of Steven Blake that sat on a small table between corners of well-upholstered sofas. "I am sorry your impulsive gesture caused the second window to close prematurely," he said.

"I'm sorry too," Elizabeth said, her voice flat, "but Lisa seemed so lonely and unhappy. I have to know what happened to her, Mr. Roarke."

"There is still the third window, Mrs. Blake," Roarke said, "but I remind you—it's your last chance to see your child."

Elizabeth sighed and gave him a sheepish look. "Don't worry, I won't do anything foolish this time."

Roarke smiled. "The expression of a mother's love is never foolish, Mrs. Blake. I am only concerned that you do nothing to cut short the last phase of your fantasy."

"I won't, Mr. Roarke," Elizabeth said, watching him rise. "I'm ready."

Roarke nodded. "Very well." He extended a hand to her and helped her to her feet, and once more they stood gazing at thick white fog swirling in the opening between the shutter doors. "Several years have passed for Lisa since you last saw her," he said. "Those years have brought about many changes."

The fog cleared to reveal a dirty, seedy urban street, frequented by provocatively dressed young women wearing too much makeup. Frowning, Elizabeth stepped forward into the scene, with Roarke and Leslie directly behind her. They stood on a sidewalk and glanced warily around. "What are we doing in a place like this?" asked Elizabeth.

That was when they saw a tall, slender girl with pale golden hair stop in front of a door and turn so that she faced their direction. She was clad in a maroon satin strapless dress with a too-short skirt and teetering five-inch heels. Elizabeth, to Leslie's amazement, seemed to recognize her and turned to Roarke in dismay. "Oh no. Is that Lisa? Mr. Roarke, what's happened to her?" Lisa looked nothing like the distraught twelve-year-old they'd seen earlier that afternoon; she had clearly changed a great deal.

"On her eighteenth birthday," said Roarke, "Lisa could face her loneliness no longer. She ran away from home—disappeared—to search for the love she needs."

"Love! On this terrible street?" Elizabeth exclaimed and turned to him. "Oh, Mr. Roarke, let me go to her. Let me help her."

Roarke said, "You're asking me to alter a fantasy, Mrs. Blake, to make you an exception to my rule."

"But don't you see?" Elizabeth insisted. "I can give her love. I can help her—I know I can. Please—it's the only chance I'll ever have to be her mother!"

Leslie touched Roarke's arm, and he glanced down at her, pausing at sight of her face. "Just this once, Mr. Roarke, please, won't you?" she pleaded hopefully.

Roarke sighed softly, smiled, then turned to Elizabeth. "Fate has cheated you of precious years of life. Perhaps we can bend the rules this one time." For some reason he cast one deliberate glance skyward. "But all I can give you is twenty-four hours."

"I'll make it enough," Elizabeth said quickly.

"Very well. For twenty-four hours you will be part of your daughter's future. You will be the same age you are now, except you will not be pregnant. And one more thing: it is imperative that you not reveal to her that you are her mother."

"I understand. I promise," Elizabeth told him. She turned away and watched as Lisa sauntered up to a sleazy-looking guy with curly blond hair, wearing sunglasses and a shirt open nearly to his navel, standing in a doorway puffing on a cigar. It was the last glimpse Leslie had of the scene, for Roarke grasped her arm and took two large steps back with her. Instantly they were surrounded by the main room of Elizabeth Blake's empty bungalow.

"I'm glad you gave her the chance, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said softly. "Thank you for doing that."

He didn't say anything in response, just smiled and slid an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her. He led the way out of the bungalow, and Leslie followed, filled with hope for Elizabeth and Lisa Blake.

Back at the main house, they discovered a rather frenetic Kermit Dobbs just slipping into the study through the French shutter doors while Tattoo, making out a report, paused in his work to watch in a bemused silence. "Are you all right, Mr. Dobbs?" Roarke asked.

Dobbs started violently, jumping a good six inches, then sagged almost to his knees and caught himself on the open door to stop his descent when he realized it was Roarke. He pulled himself up and shot Roarke one incredulous look—through two black eyes—before tugging both shutters closed. "Mr. Roarke, this isn't quite what I had in mind!" he said as he did so.

"Really?" said Roarke, somehow knowing what Dobbs was talking about (which shouldn't have surprised Leslie anymore, but did anyway). "From all I have heard, your painting is a tremendous artistic success, Mr. Dobbs! Are you saying you are dissatisfied with your fantasy?"

Dobbs blurted, "Oh no, no, Mr. Roarke. I did it—I painted my masterpiece! But right now I want to give you back this brush, say thank you, and get the first plane back to Kansas." He advanced on Roarke with the paintbrush he'd been given that morning.

But Roarke shook his head. "Oh, I'm sorry, I can't possibly accept the brush."

"Whaddaya mean you can't accept it?" Dobbs burst out, panicking. "You have to! My health depends upon it!"

"Boss, he's not kidding," said Tattoo.

Roarke glanced at him, then back at Dobbs, before going around the desk and opening the shutters. Dobbs collapsed into a chair and slouched in it as low as he could, apparently trying to avoid being seen. "Unfortunately," Roarke said, "it's a condition of this particular fantasy that the brush remain in the possession of the artist for a full 48 hours…along with all those other certain idiosyncrasies I mentioned."

"Yes, but I'm not really the artist!" Dobbs protested, leaping from the chair, returning behind the desk and pulling the shutters closed again. "And those 'idiosyncrasies' are gonna get me killed!" He slammed the doors and peered anxiously through the slats of the shutters, while Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie glanced at one another in amusement.

Suddenly Dobbs backed away from the shutters and lit so obviously that Leslie almost expected to see a cartoon lightbulb appear over his head. "Wait a minute. What if I give the brush back to the real artist?"

Roarke mulled it over, looked at Tattoo, who made a hey, that might work expression, and turned back to Dobbs. "Yes, that would be satisfactory, yes," he said thoughtfully, "if you can convince Mr. Patrick O'Herlihy to accept the brush. However, you must realize that if you do, to him will also go the attention—and the credit—for painting your masterpiece!"

Dobbs was plainly past caring. "Believe me, he can have the attention," he said fervently. "Now where do I find this Patrick O'Herlihy?"

"Ah," said Roarke, once more reopening the shutters. As he did, Dobbs edged away till he was hidden behind the wall. "Just take the pathway that leads from the luau area—you know where that is—up into the hills, Mr. Dobbs. You will find him there."

Dobbs eyed Roarke for one long moment, nodded faintly, then took a deep breath and fled from the study, dashing away into the trees. Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie watched him go, then looked at one another and began to laugh in spite of themselves.