§ § § -- November 2, 1980
Just after lunch, Roarke and Leslie made some rounds, checking in on the vacationers and making sure things were running smoothly. "Why wasn't Tattoo at lunch with us?" Leslie asked.
"I'm not sure," Roarke said. "I do know he had planned to spend part of the morning working on a painting. Now that you mention it, it's a little strange that he didn't come to the house for lunch. Perhaps he got caught up in his work—that isn't unusual." Leslie grinned and nodded in understanding, and together the two strolled off along a shaded path that was lined by trees and bushes crammed with enormous tropical flowers, carrying on an animated conversation.
"I thought you were supposed to meet your friends yesterday afternoon," Roarke said.
"I was," Leslie admitted, "but they weren't there when Nyah decided to take her first trip to the pool—which is a good thing actually—and then I just never managed to get back there. Not that it bothers me that much. I was such a flop at Myeko's party, I didn't feel much like sitting in on the post-game commentary."
Roarke laughed. "I suppose that's understandable, but I think you're making a bigger deal out of it than is warranted. Why, did someone laugh at you?"
"Well, Toki, of course, but that's nothing new," Leslie grumbled. Chuckling, Roarke patted her shoulder; and that was when they heard Nyah's voice calling Roarke's name. They stopped where they were and turned, watching her run to catch up with them.
"Yes?" Roarke inquired.
"I must speak with you," Nyah said breathlessly, and at Roarke's prompting, she beamed at him. "I have found the love I have been searching for."
"I'm very happy for you, Nyah!" Roarke said, while Leslie stared on with interest. "Who is the fortunate man?"
"You, Roarke," Nyah replied softly, neatly shocking Roarke and stunning Leslie. "It's always been you." With that, she tipped forward and kissed him.
Roarke regained his composure with remarkable speed, started to speak and hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "I am very honored that your quest for love has brought you to me, but you must look further. You have been my pupil, and I your teacher; it's not unusual to mistake that relationship for something much deeper, Nyah."
"But my love is true," Nyah protested, sounding so wistful that Leslie almost felt sorry for her. "You have great strength, yet you are gentle; you have courage, but an understanding heart." Leslie had to smile at that; she knew exactly what Nyah meant. These qualities in him had helped her find happiness and peace after the enormous upheavals in her life. But as Roarke smiled in silent acknowledgement, Nyah's face suddenly shifted in some nameless way and her blue eyes took on a mesmerizing quality. "Look into my eyes and love me, Roarke…love me," she commanded.
Roarke stared at her quietly for so long that Leslie began to wonder if the mermaid had actually succeeded in entrancing him; then he shook his head, relieving her greatly. "Nyah, Nyah," he admonished, "did you think to seduce me with trickery and win my affection by unnatural power? What would love won that way be worth?"
Nyah stared pleadingly at him. "But I feel this ache of longing for you. I see your face when you are not there; I hear your voice speak my name as in a dream. And I don't know how to tell you these things…to touch you as you have touched me." She laid her hand on his face, and he smiled again and wrapped his own hand around it.
"You have done that just now, without sorcery," he said. "I do have love for you, Nyah, but not the love you wish for or deserve."
"But why not, Roarke?" she protested.
Roarke regarded her as he might have done with Leslie, fondly but paternally. "You are a child in so many ways," he said, gently holding her face between his hands, "and a gentleman does not take advantage of innocence. But thank you…most sincerely, thank you." Nyah studied him wistfully, then seemed to accept his verdict and stepped back, suddenly looking guilty. Leslie squinted at her, wondering what that was about.
Roarke noticed it too. "What is it now?"
"My fantasy was to know love," Nyah murmured, "and now that I have, I'm ashamed of myself."
"Why?" Roarke asked.
Reluctantly Nyah met his gaze. "I sent Tattoo out to sea, so that he would not come between us."
He frowned at her. "What do you mean, 'out to sea'?" Leslie bolted full upright, eyes wide with apprehension.
"I sent him to find me a small boat, to get him out of the way," Nyah explained painfully. "And then I ordered the currents to carry him beyond the reef."
Leslie gasped loudly, and Roarke gave Nyah a hard, alarmed look. "The waves out there will capsize a small boat, and Tattoo is unable to swim a stroke. He will drown!" With that Roarke started back down the path at a run, the way they had come. Leslie, in sheer panic, seemed to have wings on her feet, racing out ahead of him. Nyah rushed after them, crying out Roarke's name, but he and Leslie both ignored her, intent on getting to the beach.
By the time they got there, the surf Nyah had put under her control was exploding over the reef in breakers some twenty feet in height. Leslie searched the angry ocean but to no avail; Roarke and Nyah stopped beside her. "Where is he?" Leslie cried.
"He must have drifted far out—I can't see him," Roarke said. "There is no choice but to swim out and hope I find him." He began to remove his jacket as he spoke, while Leslie gaped at him, frozen with horror. "We may both drown because of your cruel act, Nyah!"
"No, wait, Roarke," Nyah cried with honest anguish. "I am truly sorry! I will find him—I will prove my love." She raced out across the sand, still a bit clumsy on her legs, and splashed into the surf while Roarke watched in surprise. Leslie clutched his arm as if to keep him from following, and they watched Nyah flail her way into deeper water, clearly struggling to stay afloat.
"She needs her tail," Leslie blurted out the thought as it came to her. Roarke glanced at her, then smiled and nodded, drawing her in close with one arm and raising the other while she watched. His actions now were the reverse of those he had executed the previous morning; he raised a fist momentarily, then extended his hand, fingers outstretched, focusing deliberately on Nyah.
The sea bubbled and boiled around the sinking woman, and Roarke turned his hand counterclockwise, completing the mermaid's retransformation. Seconds later Nyah's head bobbed above the waves. "I understand now!" she called back at Roarke. "I understand." He smiled a little, still holding Leslie close by his side, and Nyah turned and swam strongly into the towering waves.
"She's going to kill us someday," Leslie muttered in a shaky voice, and Roarke laughed, squeezing her but never taking his eyes off the sea.
"Perhaps one day," he said, lightly joking, "but not this time. Indeed, she is preserving a life, and that is the greatest proof there can be of her love."
§ § § -- November 3, 1980
Monday morning, Roarke went back to the cliff and scanned the water, then noticed a disturbance and watched it. Sure enough, Nyah popped above the surface and beamed up at him. "I am a creature of the sea once more, Roarke. My only regret is that I did not love you as a mortal woman would."
"Saving Tattoo was love in its highest form, Nyah," Roarke assured her.
"But not the love that might have been between us," she countered.
"No, but we have touched, you and I—and the memory is one I will never forget." He smiled.
"Nor I," Nyah said softly, then grinned. "But…I have not given up. You see, we shall meet again…again, my love." Roarke simply gazed down at her, his expression inscrutable, and Nyah upended herself and dove beneath the waves, gliding silently away into the blue-green depths. Roarke smiled to himself at last and watched her wake slowly spread and dissipate before leaving.
He was back in time to join Tattoo and Leslie for the trip to the plane dock, where they met a cheerful Tony Chilton. "Well, Mr. Chilton," said Roarke, "are you ready to go back to the routine of flying passenger planes instead of combat missions?"
"More than ready, Mr. Roarke," Chilton admitted.
"But you were one of the flying aces," Tattoo said. "One of the heroes."
Chilton studied him. "I've been thinking about that, Tattoo," he said, "and…well, maybe the ones who make it out of a war alive—they're merely survivors. The ones who don't make it are the only heroes."
Tattoo's face took on a reflective look. "Hm. I never thought of it that way."
Roarke leaned slightly forward with concern. "I sincerely hope your fantasy was not a disappointment to you, Mr. Chilton."
Chilton shook his head. "Oh, not at all, Mr. Roarke. I'll be forever grateful to you. You've given me something that no other man could possibly have—a real feeling and memory of his own father, strong, forever young." He removed a cigar from his jacket pocket.
Roarke glanced down at it, nodded slightly. "And a good shepherd."
Chilton smiled. "You were right," he said, sniffing the cigar. "It is a good Havana—difficult to come by nowadays." Roarke nodded once more, and Chilton turned and started for the plane, lighting the stogie as he went.
Tattoo peered up at Roarke curiously. "Boss, what's the cigar have to do with it?"
"Oh, it's more than a cigar, my friend. It's also a memory, a celebration, a reaching out across many years…a touching between a father and his son."
"Father?" echoed Leslie, thinking for a moment, then staring at Roarke. "You mean…he met his dad in his fantasy? And…"
Roarke nodded again. "The father who was killed when Mr. Chilton was only two months old, and whom he had never known—until this weekend."
Leslie's gaze drifted back to watch Tony Chilton ascend the dock and climb into the charter plane, and a faraway look came over her face. "A very lucky man," she said softly.
"Indeed," Roarke agreed and traded one swift, knowing glance with Tattoo. "Indeed."
§ § § -- April 6, 2006
They were all laughing when Rory tipped his head and addressed Roarke. "Uncle Roarke, I thought mermaids weren't s'posed to be real. My teacher says they aren't. Trista Makula in my class thinks they are and my teacher told her that isn't true."
"Young Trista is wiser than her years," Roarke said with a smile. "Tell me, Rory, if mermaids didn't exist, then how could I have known one for so long?"
"Yeah, I guess that's right," Rory mused.
"I suspect 'young Trista' is also wiser than her teacher," Christian remarked, setting off more laughter. "Does it surprise you to hear me say that, Mr. Roarke? After all, you and Leslie tend to get good comic mileage out of my disbelief over some of the phenomena you encounter on this island."
"I think you got used to the whole mermaid thing because Haruko tends to talk so much about Akima when she's here sitting for the triplets, my love," said Leslie, and Christian chuckled agreement.
Just then Rogan appeared at the shutter doors. "Och, there you are, Julie lass. I'd begun wondering what happened to you and the lad. Thought you had scads to do today."
Julie gave him a dirty look. "You just couldn't resist reminding me, could you? Well, it can wait. We're enjoying ourselves too much in here. Why don't you come in and join the party? Rory, if you let your father have your chair, he might let you sit in his lap."
Rogan surveyed the room. "Why not? Although somehow I think you're getting off far too easy, me lass, with the only unoccupied lap in the room." He grinned and came into the study, taking Rory's place in the chair and securing his son on his lap. "A good day to you, uncle. So what exactly goes on in here, then?"
Roarke explained what they were doing, and Rogan nodded. Rory spoke up then: "We were just talking about mermaids, Daddy. Uncle Roarke knows they're real, just like Trista Makula in my class. He said my teacher's wrong."
"Well, of course she is, lad," Rogan said tranquilly. "Catch a mermaid in the right frame of mind, and you'll be having a friend for life. I understand your babysitter found that out firsthand, Christian."
"So she did," Christian said and grinned. "You've spoken about a third encounter with Nyah. When did that happen?"
"Oh, that was after Lawrence took over Tattoo's job for a year," Leslie said, "after Tattoo got married and left the island. She paid about as little attention to me that time as she did a few years earlier. It was Lawrence who usually suffered the brunt of her temper, and I have to admit, I was secretly glad. Lawrence and I had our difficulties."
"I'll have to tell Christian about your encounter with the cat potion," Roarke said.
Leslie mock-glared at him, and Christian peered at him in puzzlement. "Cat potion? Dare I ask what that was meant to do?"
"Later," Leslie said firmly. "Right now, I suggest we finish discussing Nyah." She then proceeded to head off any further chatter about cat potions by launching into the story.
§ § § -- March 24, 1984
Leslie still sometimes had trouble getting used to the new ritual of meeting Lawrence at the other end of the veranda from where they used to meet Tattoo after the latter had come down from the bell tower every Saturday. Lawrence's arrival on the island had brought about quite a few changes that still unnerved her, but she had never really found the courage to ask Roarke about it. All year long the fantasies had leaned toward the sensual, and overall Leslie felt a little as if she were in the midst of a slightly distorted dream.
They greeted one another as always and got into the open-topped brown convertible that pulled up in front of the house—one of the biggest changes Lawrence's arrival had precipitated. Leslie still missed the open-sided red station wagons with their candy-striped canopies; it seemed as if there had been a concerted effort to erase as many traces of Tattoo's presence as possible. She climbed into the back seat beside Roarke while Lawrence sat up front with the driver and they headed down the Ring Road; no one spoke the whole way there, which was something else yet that was different from when Tattoo was there.
Suddenly Roarke's gaze drifted off into space and he stared at nothing for a long moment, as if listening; his movement jolted Leslie out of her reverie just before he ordered, "Stop." When the car came to a halt, he stood up and stepped out. Lawrence stared in sheer bewilderment; Leslie watched her adoptive father vanish into the vegetation along the side of the road, in the direction of a quiet lagoon which lay not very far from this section of the Ring Road.
Lawrence twisted in his seat and stared at Leslie. "Good heavens, miss, has Mr. Roarke gone completely mad?" he asked in all seriousness.
She smiled. "I doubt it," she said. "There's sure to be a method to what looks like his madness, so don't worry—we'll find out in due time." Of that much she was sure; what bothered her was a sudden prickling of déjà vu.
Roarke stood at a concrete boat landing off the Ring Road and watched a lovely red-gold head break the water's surface. "Hello, Roarke," said Nyah the mermaid.
"Hello, Nyah," Roarke replied. He watched her as she dove back in and swam toward him till she had nearly reached the boat landing.
"Are you surprised to see me?" she inquired coyly. In the years since Roarke had last seen her, she had changed a bit herself; now she'd taken to wearing a tiara, apparently as befitted her royal status in life.
"Oh, yes, Nyah, very surprised," Roarke said. "What brings you back to Fantasy Island after all these years?"
"I'm a thousand years old, Roarke. I'm tired of being immortal! I'm tired of falling in love with sailors; I'm tired of luring them to their deaths. I'm bored, Roarke!" Nyah bounced impatiently in the water. "And my fantasy is to end it all. I want out."
In the car, Lawrence had gotten out and followed Roarke through the bushes, clearly not trusting Leslie's suggestion not to worry. She could only shake her head and mutter to herself, "Old worrywart," before she caught the driver's eye in the mirror and blushed. But the driver grinned at her and nodded his agreement, and she couldn't help laughing.
With no idea that Lawrence had sneaked down to spy on his conversation with Nyah, Roarke stared at the mermaid in amazement. "Oh, Nyah, Nyah…I can't possibly give you such a fantasy!"
"You have to," Nyah retorted regally, as though handing down a command. "You're the only one who knows how to end immortality!" She stared pleadingly at him. "Please, Roarke, let me die."
Roarke shook his head slowly. "Nyah, the answer is no."
Her sea-blue eyes grew narrow with anger; the mermaid clearly still had her hair-trigger temper. "How dare you refuse the wish of the Most Royal Princess of the Seven Seas and daughter of Neptune! You'll regret this, Roarke, I promise you. Fantasy Island will never be the same when I'm through with it!" She whirled around and swam away; Roarke watched her go for a moment before turning and starting back toward the car.
Lawrence stumbled out of the bushes looking a bit as if he had been bludgeoned, and Leslie eyed him curiously while he slumped into the front seat. "See anything?" she asked casually.
"I thought there was a…" Lawrence began, hesitated, then shook his head. "Perhaps I'd better make an appointment with the optometrist." She gave him an odd look but let it go. A moment later Roarke returned and got in as well, and they resumed the ride to the plane dock.
There he introduced their only fantasy, while Lawrence once again unnerved Leslie with his unusual knowledge of the fantasies. She sometimes wanted to ask Roarke to let her stay at home while he and Lawrence went to greet the guests, but never actually followed through on it; she enjoyed helping her adoptive father far too much.
But Lawrence seemed elsewhere mentally on their way to see to the beginning of the fantasy, and by the time they had returned to the main house—where Roarke had rearranged the furniture in his study so that the settee and chairs were gone and his desk occupied the spot under the shuttered windows—Roarke had finally noticed.
"You seem unusually preoccupied today, Lawrence," he remarked questioningly.
Lawrence, clearing teacups from the low round table beside the staircase that led to the second floor, said, "No doubt just overwork, sir. I seem to be suffering from a mild…hallucinatory symptom." He stood up with a loaded tray in his hands.
"You, Lawrence?" Roarke asked, genuinely surprised. Leslie eyed her father's assistant, wondering just what he thought he had seen.
Lawrence turned and nodded with a curiously sheepish look on his face, then happened to glance at the open French shutter doors and nearly dropped the tray. His eyes popped wide open in a way Leslie had never seen on anyone else. She and Roarke followed his gaze; there stood a lovely, slender young woman whom they both recognized. Her questions answered, Leslie gave Lawrence a sidelong glance, feeling shamefully superior with the realization that she knew something he didn't!
Roarke, for his part, looked annoyed at sight of the newcomer, who strolled into the room and said, "I came to see if you'd changed your mind about my fantasy." She settled on the edge of Roarke's desk as he stood up. "As you can see, I've learned to trade my beautiful tail for these awkward legs you mortals insist on wearing." She spread her skirt to indicate said legs and smiled at him. Lawrence just stared.
"Yes," Roarke said, looking impressed and amused simultaneously, "apparently you've learned a great deal about magic, Nyah." He moved around the desk and paused in front of the mermaid. "But still very little about unselfishness or good manners."
"Now Roarke," Nyah said sweetly, "I promised myself to be above common anger, no matter how justified." Leslie noticed that she sounded different, as if she had aged somewhat in the three and a half years since they had last encountered her. Her speech was still faintly flowery, but noticeably less musical.
"Excuse me, sir," Lawrence said suddenly, and they all looked at him.
"Yes, Lawrence?" Roarke inquired.
"If you don't mind, sir, I'll be off to replan the dinner menu. I'm changing the entrée. I'd planned on…" His gaze shot across Nyah's legs, as though he expected to see a tail there, and concluded, "…fish." So saying, he walked out. Nyah gaped after him, looking outraged; Leslie watched her warily, staying behind Roarke's desk as if glued there.
"Fish!" Nyah hissed, mouth dropping open. "Fish!!" She jumped off the desk and started toward the French doors through which Lawrence had just exited, and Roarke followed her hastily with some alarm.
"Now now, Nyah," he began, "no…"
Nyah glared after Lawrence, ignoring Roarke utterly. "Father Neptune," she incanted, "your royal daughter asks that you teach a lesson to he who has just insulted her…"
Roarke rolled his eyes. "I warn you, Nyah…"
"Now!" shouted the mermaid, and the sound of a loud, heavy splash echoed from outside. Leslie bounded out from behind the desk and joined Roarke in staring in astonishment at a thoroughly drenched Lawrence, who held a tiny wriggling fish in one hand and looked quite poleaxed. Leslie glanced at Nyah, who looked pleased with herself.
"Seems I've been struck by a wave, sir," Lawrence said a bit dazedly.
Roarke and Leslie noticed the fallen tray and broken china at his feet, and Roarke tried to regroup. "No doubt an isolated thundershower, Lawrence," he suggested, not quite convincingly. "Now why don't you put that minnow into the pond and change into some dry clothes." He smiled, looking only slightly rattled. Still with the stunned look, Lawrence slowly turned and wandered away, the seaweed draped over his shoulder swaying gently with his movements.
Roarke turned to Nyah, took a firm grip on her arm and yanked her around to face him. Shaking his head, he demanded, "What does one do with a thousand-year-old child?"
"Give her her fantasy, Roarke," Nyah murmured, with a particularly seductive look on her face that Leslie didn't like at all, "and she will first give you ecstasy beyond your wildest imagination." She leaned in and kissed him; Leslie turned her back, feeling her face flame red, beset with the recollection of Nyah's last visit and wondering if Roarke would go so far as to spank the mermaid the way he had done back then!
Nyah pulled back and asked with a smile, "Well?"
Roarke closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and smiled back at her in a patently fake manner, which fooled her nonetheless, before saying, "I'm sorry, Nyah."
She stared at him incredulously, ignoring Leslie, who had half turned back and was watching intently. "When I kissed you, you felt nothing?"
"Oh, I felt a great deal, Nyah," Roarke said. "I felt the cold green sea closing about me, and the cold tentacles of seaweed pulling me down into the dark, icy depths." Leslie grinned.
Nyah pursed her lips, glaring at him. "If you were the gentleman you pretend to be, Roarke, you'd forget about my past," she said and started for the door.
Roarke followed her. "Nyah, Nyah, why don't you go back to the sea? Go back to your own realm and be content."
"Content!" she shrieked, frustrated. "You mean bored, bored, bored!" Roarke smiled indulgently at her tantrum; Nyah wheeled to face him with new fury in her eyes. "You refuse my fantasy again?" At his unperturbed nod, she hissed, "Then that does it!" She climbed into the foyer, stopped for one final glare and vowed, "Now you're really in for it!" With that threat, she left at last.
Roarke looked after her for a long moment, then shook his head. Leslie stood quietly, hands on the edge of the desk, watching with bright eyes; there was a poorly stifled smile on her face. When Roarke started back to the desk and saw it, he gave her a strange look. "Just what are you laughing at, young lady?"
She shrugged and grinned fully. "So much for being 'above common anger'." That made Roarke laugh, and she immediately felt better.