§ § § - August 19, 1990
Something woke Leslie from a sound sleep and she sat up in bed, listening. After a few moments there was a rumble of distant thunder, and she frowned. She had never liked thunderstorms and had always been glad they were relatively rare on Fantasy Island. She slipped out of bed and lifted the window shade to see if there was any sign of impending sunrise; she could see that the eastern horizon was turning gray, but that was all. The clock said four-thirty.
She was debating what to do next when the hallway light went on, making her squint, and Roarke looked in on her. "The storm must have awakened you," he said.
"How did you know, in your sleep?" she asked, but he only smiled. Should have known better than to ask, she reflected with inward amusement, and turned her mind to another subject. "I don't know if it was necessarily the storm that woke me, but I have this odd feeling that I should do another checkup on Arthur Laursen's fantasy."
"At this hour?" Roarke asked, clearly surprised.
"I can't explain it," Leslie said. "I just have this feeling, that's all. Did I tell you what he said when I looked in on him yesterday afternoon?" She summarized Laursen's description of what he had found in the chateau, and Roarke raised an eyebrow.
"Indeed?" he said. "There was in fact supposed to be a Frankensteinian scientist at the chateau, but I had no idea it would be a woman."
"Oh, come on," Leslie protested skeptically.
Roarke shook his head. "No, my dear Leslie, you know better than anyone else that once a fantasy is under way, even I can no longer control its direction." He thought for a moment, then focused on her. "I think you're right, Leslie, it may very well be a wise idea to make sure Mr. Laursen's fantasy is progressing smoothly. But don't stay too long. I want you back here for breakfast."
"You're still nagging," Leslie said with a smile. "I don't think Mariki will be satisfied until I have the girth of an elephant, but I'm not sure why you're so concerned that I eat. You're with me at every meal, and you've seen me clear my plate every time."
Roarke smiled back at her. "Perhaps I am being a little overprotective, but it's only a father's concern for his child." He glanced at the digital clock beside her bed. "Why don't you get dressed, and I'll help you when you're ready."
Fifteen minutes later she was at the chateau knocking on the door of one of the bedrooms, but there was no response. A trickle of apprehension began to worm its way up her spine as she trotted down to the entry hall, where one of the doors stood partially open. A very faint light emanated through the opening. Cautiously she eased toward it, only to leap back with a startled gasp when Arthur Laursen stuck his head through.
"Oh, it's you!" he exclaimed. "You're up awfully early."
"I could say the same about you," she returned. "I suppose exciting things are going on downstairs."
"They sure are," he beamed cheerfully. "Want to come and see?" He didn't bother waiting for her reply, but grabbed her hand and tugged her along with him down the steep steps.
"Do I have a choice?" Leslie inquired wryly, but the guest didn't seem to hear her. He moved at a pace that unnerved her; she would much rather have taken each step as quietly as possible. Her apprehension was beginning to graduate into acute nervousness, and she wished Roarke were with her.
At the bottom of the steps Laursen flipped a switch and the huge room was flooded with fluorescent light. Leslie blinked and squinted again in the harsh illumination, trying to get her bearings and adjust her vision. After a minute or so, she realized she was standing in a surprisingly faithful, if updated, version of the classic laboratory room used by Frankenstein and Igor to create life. She noted a sheet-draped body on a massive oaken table and glanced away with a shudder. "I'd say you got your fantasy all right," she mumbled, ostensibly at Laursen; in any case, he was close enough to hear.
But when she got no reply, she turned to look at him and felt her stomach go light at the odd, trancelike expression he wore. Before she could do or say anything else, he called out in a very Igor-like voice, "Master, I've done as you ordered!"
"Good," purred a low-pitched female voice, drawing the word out with ominous pleasure. "Take her to the table."
Laursen stepped behind Leslie and pushed her forward so that she had little choice but to approach the table. She resisted when they got within a foot and planted her feet where she was, refusing to go any farther. "Afraid? Surely not," the feminine voice taunted. This time its tone was an octave higher than when Leslie had first heard it, and something about it triggered recognition in her brain. She didn't dare move. Please let me be wrong, she thought frantically.
"Surely you didn't believe you'd ever get away?" the voice continued silkily. "How many times did I beg you to save him? How many times did you ignore me? Then you never returned, and I knew I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands. Now you'll listen to me, and you'll do exactly as I tell you." The woman stepped up beside Leslie and smiled a very nasty little smile at her.
The initial shock had barely registered in Leslie's brain when the woman reached out and flipped the sheet back from the body on the table. Inexorably Leslie's attention was drawn to the face of the deceased. This second, much greater shock was more than she could handle, and she collapsed at Arthur Laursen's feet.
Roarke waited until five minutes to eight before going out to the veranda for breakfast. Mariki was already there, briskly setting the table. "Omelets and mixed fruit this morning, Mr. Roarke," she said. "What will you have to drink?"
"Orange juice will be fine, Mariki," Roarke replied. "Leslie should be here any minute, so you need not wait for her arrival."
Mariki sighed. "I know, I know. She's had enough of my concern for her, is that it? And here I only want to be sure she's eating enough to stay healthy. Your daughter can be frightfully stubborn, Mr. Roarke, but then again, I'm sure you're perfectly aware of that." She placed two large covered dishes on the table and then wheeled her serving cart away with a put-upon air.
Smiling in wry amusement, Roarke settled into his usual chair and relaxed for a moment, taking in the warm tropical morning and listening to the birdsong. Nearby a mourning dove sang its plaintive tune, and some obscure memory suddenly surfaced in his head, transporting him to another time and place. Eventually the mourning dove flew away and Roarke came back to the present, only to find that he was still alone at the table. Frowning, he checked his pocket watch and saw that Leslie was ten minutes late for the meal. She had been gone for quite some time, and he wondered if she were having trouble returning. Perhaps he'd better see if she needed help.
"Mariki," he called sharply, and a moment later the cook scuttled onto the porch. "It appears that there will be a slight delay in the morning meal. I would appreciate it very much if you would keep the food warm. Leslie may need some help. We'll try to return as soon as we can."
"All right, Mr. Roarke," Mariki said and began to clear the food from the table. Roarke turned and hastened back into the main house, just in time to catch the phone ringing. He paused at the desk and picked it up with a terse greeting.
"Is this Mr. Roarke?" an accented voice asked. "You haven't met me, sir, but my name is Mielikki Salmi. I'm Teppo Komainen's sister. I've been trying to reach you all weekend."
"I see. What can I do for you, Mrs. Salmi?" Roarke inquired courteously.
"I don't know if you can help, but we've tried everything else with no results. I'm sure Leslie told you that my mother has recently been committed to an insane asylum. At the time, she was quite mad, and we were sure there was no hope for her. But she must have regained some slight measure of sanity somehow, because she's escaped from the institution and disappeared. And what's worse…" Mielikki Salmi's voice faltered, and when it came back it was shaky and tinged with revulsion. "My brother's grave has been violated, and Teppo's body is gone."
Roarke was so stunned by this revelation that for a moment he could only gape at the wall across from him. Something instinctive told him that this was connected with Leslie and the Laursen fantasy. He remembered the morning little more than a week before when she had told him that Tellervo Komainen seemed to recognize only her, and had repeated the phrase "Save my son" at her. That was the key: suddenly he knew exactly why Leslie hadn't shown up for breakfast.
"Mrs. Salmi, I believe it is imperative that you and your husband, and any siblings who can do so, make the journey to Fantasy Island as quickly as you can." He gave her quick instructions on how to reach the island. "I will arrange to have passes waiting for you at the gate where you disembark in Honolulu. I have reason to believe that your mother is here on the island, along with your brother's body."
On the other end he heard exclamations in Finnish and then Mielikki's voice thanking him and assuring him they would be on the island the next day. "But…just tell me one thing, please," she pleaded. "How is Leslie coping?"
"I suspect she will suffer a serious setback," Roarke told her grimly. "I will explain it all when you arrive. But you must hurry."