§ § § -- November 11, 1979
It was Roarke who ultimately found her, and he was unwillingly impressed when he did: she had made it all the way to the area where the Enclave was, down past its private marina and to a stretch of coastline where the beach was all but nonexistent. Here there were several sheer cliffs, with a cave or two accessible from the shoreline. Fortunately, Leslie hadn't hidden in one of them; she stood in plain sight, a small forlorn figure, waist-deep in the ocean. Even as Roarke brought the rover to a halt near the clifftop, he saw her move a little farther into the water, and his eyes grew wide with alarm. The tide was coming in, and sometimes there were undertows in this area.
Killing the engine, he scrambled out and drew in a deep breath, mustering up all the volume he possibly could. "Leslie!" he roared, trying to make himself heard over the sound of the surf. But it was a lost cause, and he knew the only way he could reach her was to get down there. This necessitated taking a steep trail down a somewhat less vertical section of land and a rather long circular walk to where Leslie was now.
Well, he thought with black humor, I suppose I'll simply have to ruin this suit, since apparently she doesn't have the sense to come out of the water on my mere say-so. He pulled off the suit jacket and dropped it into the driver's seat, removed the vest and tie and let them fall atop the jacket, and shot one more glance at Leslie before tackling the trail.
To his great relief, she hadn't gone any farther into the sea when he at last emerged from the trail's end onto the narrow strip of wet sand. He paused long enough to remove his shoes and socks, leaving them at the mouth of the trail and then breaking into a run, once more shouting Leslie's name. This time she heard him and turned to stare.
"Come back!" he called out frantically. "The tide is coming in, and you may drown!"
He knew she heard; they were close enough that even the surf couldn't cover up his voice. So it had to be deliberate, he thought with a surge of real fear, when she turned back around and struck out for still deeper water.
"Boss!" he heard faintly from far above, in a lull between the splashes of waves on sand, and twisted around to see Tattoo at the top of the cliff, waving madly. Roarke cranked his entire arm in an urgent get down here! gesture and plunged into the rolling waves after Leslie.
She wasn't moving with any particular determination, just wandering wherever the urge seemed to take her. So he caught up with her easily, grasped her around the waist and grimly pulled her along behind him back to the shore. She didn't resist, but when they got out of the water, she stopped moving and stood with her head hanging.
"Leslie Susan Hamilton, look at me," Roarke ordered, reaching out and forcibly lifting her head back when she didn't respond. "What was the meaning of that? If you dare tell me you were trying to commit suicide, of all the insane things…"
"Who cares?" she mumbled dully.
An unexpected rage filled Roarke and he yanked her around to face him, gripping her upper arms with fists like vises. "How dare you ask such a question?" he snapped furiously, making her blink with shock and gawk at him. "We care, young lady, both Tattoo and I, and don't you ever again suggest that we don't!"
"That's a lie," Leslie suddenly shouted, struggling in his grip. "You might care, but Tattoo doesn't. He wouldn't even notice if I was gone."
"Do you really believe that?" demanded Tattoo's voice, flooding Roarke with gratitude at his best friend's arrival. "You want to look me in the eye and say that?"
Oddly, to Roarke, it was a relief when Leslie turned her fury on Tattoo: it meant that she had snapped out of her half-dazed state. "Prove it," she screamed. "You wanted to leave Fantasy Island, and you made those horrible accusations to Mr. Roarke…and it's like I was invisible. You don't care about me at all—I think you'd be a lot happier if I was dead!"
"Don't you ever say that again," Tattoo roared back at her. "You think you've got a corner on misery, Leslie Hamilton? You better stop feeling sorry for yourself and think about what you just did. The tides here are unpredictable, and you could've been swept right out to sea. What do you think the boss would've done if he hadn't been able to get you out of there? It would've made him crazy! And even if you don't believe me, you can take it right from the horse's mouth—I'd have gone crazy too! You understand me?" As he yelled at the stunned girl, he advanced on her till he was right at her side, fists clenched, as though he might brandish one any moment. Roarke watched, almost as amazed as Leslie; he'd never seen Tattoo lose his temper to this extent.
As for Leslie, there was torment on her face; she wanted to believe, but was afraid to. "What about Donna Mae?" she demanded belligerently. "I thought you were in love with her…you were all set to follow her off the island. Doesn't she still have you on a leash?"
Tattoo seemed to wilt where he stood and backed away a step or two. "It's all over," he said tiredly, shaking his head. "I finally found out what was really going on just a little while ago. She was just doing what her Aunt Ellie told her to do, and Aunt Ellie's one mean, bitter old woman. Donna Mae finally told her off, and I think she's going out on her own now." He looked at Leslie once more. "Does that answer your question?"
Leslie stood silent, absorbing his words, breathing a little hard from leftover anger and adrenaline. "Is it true, Mr. Roarke?" she asked at last, looking up at her guardian.
Roarke nodded. "Yes, Leslie, I was there. She told me herself, and Tattoo overheard."
The men waited tensely, watching the play of emotions across her face as she worked through what she had heard; then she exploded again. "How could you ever believe that horrible old woman? How? How?" The final word was punctuated by a hard stomp that left a deep footprint in the sand. "You hated me, didn't you?"
"I never hated you, Leslie," Tattoo protested, wounded. "I was just mad at you."
"No, you hated me," Leslie insisted, her anger beginning to shift to despair. "If you were just mad at me, you'd never have acted like I wasn't even here. You hated me, Tattoo, and all because that nasty old bag told you to! How could you do that? How could you think Mr. Roarke would do disgusting things like that? Why?"
Roarke's grip on her loosened and he drew her into his embrace. "Shh, child," he said, trying to soothe her. "Give him a chance."
Tattoo seemed to droop where he stood; he looked worn out. "Sometimes, Leslie," he said slowly, his eyes unfocused and glassy with tears, "when you think you're in love, you'll do anything to keep that love—even when something inside you insists it's wrong."
She went limp against Roarke, who was stroking her hair. "I hope I never fall in love," she said, her voice partly muffled against his shirt, "not if it's like that."
"It's not," Roarke said gently. "When it's real, it's not. Tattoo's feelings were true, but Miss Calloway's weren't; if they had been, she would never have let her aunt lead her on as she did. Do you think the love between Helena and me was like that?"
After a long pause, they both heard a barely audible "No…" in a voice that dissolved at last into tears. They seemed to cut Tattoo to the quick, and he turned away, though Roarke saw him wiping away his own tears. A lump slowly arose in Roarke's throat as he let his gaze drift seaward, out to the horizon where graying cumulus piled up, outlined in gold by the setting sun.
Then Leslie pulled loose from him and turned to Tattoo. "I didn't mean to listen," she wailed desperately, wilting to her knees now that Roarke wasn't supporting her. "I swear it, Tattoo, I didn't mean to. I knew she was going to hurt you and I didn't want her to do it, and if I could've stopped her any other way…" A couple of sobs burst out of her. "Please, Tattoo, don't hate me anymore!"
Tattoo whirled sharply around and caught her in a hard hug, his eyes squeezed tightly closed. "Stop it, Leslie, stop it now. I don't hate you, chérie, and I never did, I promise you. We're not gonna talk about it anymore, you understand? It's over, it's done. We're going to put it behind us and go on from here. It's all right, okay? It's all right." His voice thickened and went silent, and he clung to the sobbing girl, fighting madly to control his own burgeoning emotions. Roarke watched as he clutched a fistful of her hair and squeezed Leslie harder still; then he dropped to his own knees and placed an arm across each one's shoulders, bowing his head. For a very long time they sat there while the tide worked its way far enough in that eventually the waves began to wash across their legs.
Somehow, when they became aware of the water seeping in around them, Leslie had ended up cradled in one of Roarke's arms, while Tattoo stood at her other side holding her hand and waiting out her misery. The two men looked at each other, Tattoo sorrowful, Roarke sad but understanding. Leslie had finally fallen silent and was trying to catch her breath once more. Sunset was long gone, and the sky overhead filled with stars; a faint flash at Roarke's left drew his attention back out to sea and he realized the clouds had developed into a thunderstorm. Fortunately it was too far out for the thunder to be heard.
"I think it's time we got home," he said gently, patting Tattoo's shoulder and giving Leslie a quick squeeze. "It's been a very long day, and if we don't leave and get some rest, we may find ourselves caught in that offshore storm." He smiled when Leslie looked up.
"I'm so tired," she said in a tattered voice. "Tired all over."
"You've exhausted yourself emotionally and physically," Roarke told her. "I think we all have. My friend, do you feel up to driving? Our young lady here led us quite the merry chase, and it's a fair distance back."
"I'll be fine, boss," Tattoo assured him, nodding. "The only thing that matters is that we found Leslie safe. I'll just follow you home."
"I'm sorry, Tattoo," Leslie said again, as if repeating a mantra.
"I told you, we're not talking about it anymore," Tattoo said, gently but firmly, giving her a game smile. "We're starting with a clean slate, so I want you to stop apologizing." He waited till she nodded, then turned the smile on Roarke. "Let's go home, boss."
§ § § -- June 5, 1999
Leslie sat with her hands folded in her lap, fingers tightly interlaced and her eyes glistening with new tears. Roarke reached out and pulled her hands loose, wrapping one of them in both of his. "Don't tell me you still feel guilty," he said.
She looked up. "The feeling never really went away, I suppose," she admitted. "Tattoo kept talking about a clean slate, but it didn't seem clean to me, as long as that issue was hanging over our heads."
"I believe that in time he forgot about it entirely," Roarke said and smiled at her. "My advice to you, sweetheart, is that you do the same. He never brought it up again, as you said, and you were always close after that. I think you're making far too much out of one incident. It stands out in your memory only because it was such an intensely emotional weekend, and has thus taken on far more importance to you than it deserves."
"I guess that's true," Leslie murmured with surprised realization. "We were really overwrought…and being a teenager, well…I carried on like it was the end of the world. In some ways it almost was." She met his gaze. "And you're right, once we got past all that, it was as if nothing had ever happened."
Roarke was silent for a few minutes, thinking back on the scene they had just relived, then remarked, "I had begun to think someone, somewhere, might have been trying to tell me something. First Helena's passing; then Tattoo's near-desertion; and then you, with what appeared to be an attempt to do yourself in. Through the week after that, I seriously considered sending you to a professional, to try to get to the bottom of it." Leslie's eyes grew wide, then skipped away from his, her face reddening.
"I think it was about the lowest point in my life then," she said, very slowly. "With my sisters and Mom gone, nobody alive on earth who was related to me, and then the loss of half a new family before it had much of a chance to get started…it was hard enough. Then Tattoo nearly walked out on us, and I just couldn't take any more." She cleared her throat. "I didn't exactly mean to commit suicide. If that had been my intention, you and Tattoo would never have found me. I was standing in the water trying to decide what I wanted to do next, and then I heard you calling me. I had the sense then that if I came out, I'd have to face it all again, and I didn't think I was up to it…so I started moving farther out, although it didn't really cross my mind to think I was eventually going to get in too deep. Something in me was relieved when you came out and dragged me back. I just couldn't pull together enough willpower to do it on my own."
"You always had that inner strength," Roarke reminded her.
"I guess I did," Leslie agreed sheepishly. "I didn't recognize it for what it was for the longest time. I've come to think of it as this little spark of defiance, as if I'm telling the world, do what you will to me—I have my friends and my family, and I can beat it."
Roarke nodded, smiling broadly. "You've learned at last what I've hoped all these years I would manage to teach you," he said. "As long as you have that little spark, you'll be able to face anything. Don't feel as if you're slow to comprehend it; I too spent many years realizing the same thing." He settled back. "There are times when I've thought fate meant to put us together: I with my unusual life and livelihood, with all the losses I have endured across the years; and you, with your tragic circumstances and more than your share of losses as well. We are both survivors, Leslie, and perhaps that's one of the strongest links that comprises the family ties between us."
She smiled back. "You know, I've been your daughter longer than I was my mother's?" she remarked. "I'll always miss Mom, but you're my family, and I wouldn't trade that for anything else on earth."
"Neither would I, my child," Roarke agreed, returning her hug. "Neither would I."
THE END-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Credits: As mentioned in the previous story, Samantha Eggar portrayed Helena, and Jamie was played by Paul John Balson. Helena's parents (to whom I gave first names for clarity's sake) were played by Joseph Cotten and Laraine Day. "Tattoo's Romance" starred Audrey Landers as Donna Mae Calloway, Carolyn Jones as Aunt Ellie Simpson, and Richard Paul as Colonel Hank Sutton.