A/N: Did anyone ever wonder what those disappearing characters from several Fantasy Island episodes left behind? How did Mr. Roarke ever get away with letting them vanish like that? That's the thinking behind this story premise. Due to the usual holiday madness, the chapters will be posted as I manage to find time to complete them, so don't worry…eventually you'll get to read the whole thing! Many, many thanks again to my reviewers—you guys are the greatest, and I hope your Christmas (or whatever you celebrate) season is fantastic!

§ § § -- May 6, 1995

The bell clanged in the tower and native girls streamed across the porch, as they had done every Saturday morning for many years now. Roarke emerged from inside the house and strolled to the top of the porch steps, pausing to check his gold watch and give the weather a cursory glance. A moment later Leslie came across the veranda and grinned at him. "Well, good morning, Father."

Roarke turned to her and grinned back, a whimsical twinkle in his dark eyes. "Good morning, birthday girl!" he greeted her, and she laughed. "How does it feel to be thirty years old, then? Or has it sunk in yet?"

Leslie shrugged, then leaned in slightly towards him. "Speaking of 'sunk in'…do my eyes look that way to you?"

Roarke's smile faded and he stared at her. "Leslie Susan, you are 30, not 300." She blinked at him, and he gestured toward the car that was just pulling up in the lane. "Perhaps we'd better go and greet our guests before you have too much time to ponder the concept." He descended the steps, replacing his watch and shaking his head all at once. "Sunken eyes, indeed! I dare not ask what's next!"

When they stepped out of the vehicle at the plane dock, the natives gathering in the clearing called a stream of birthday greetings to Leslie as they took their usual places; she smiled and waved acknowledgment of their good wishes. "Okay," she said to Roarke once he had called for smiles and signaled the band into action, "so I guess my eyes aren't sunken in. But it had nothing to do with turning 30. I just didn't get much sleep last night."

"Oh? Why not?" Roarke asked.

"Because of him," she said, gesturing at the plane dock, where a lanky, somewhat pockmarked young man with prematurely thinning dark hair was making his way along, refusing the leis and plucking a drink off a tray without looking. "Are you really sure he's a bounty hunter, Father?"

"Yes, I'm afraid he is," Roarke confirmed. "Barry Lorimer has based his business in his native Little Rock, Arkansas, but has taken on searches from every part of the United States. He specializes in the disappearances of well-known people. The reason he is here is, he says, to close several old cases that have been open for quite a few years now."

"Why would he come here to do that?" Leslie asked.

"Because these cases have one thing in common: their subjects all vanished while visiting Fantasy Island." Roarke felt Leslie's dismay but shifted his attention to their next guests; however, she was too uneasy to pay more than surface attention. There was a look about Barry Lorimer that suggested he intended to make trouble for them. If he ruins my birthday… she thought despite herself, then rolled her eyes at her own shallow thinking. Don't be an idiot, Leslie Susan Hamilton! Besides, he's no match for Father. They never are. Comforted by that, she found it easier to smile when Roarke raised his glass in toast.

‡‡‡

Barry Lorimer stretched a bony hand across the desk and shook with Roarke, then nodded in Leslie's direction before taking a chair at Roarke's invitation. "Can we get you anything, Mr. Lorimer?" Roarke inquired.

Lorimer shook his head. "No thanks, Mr. Roarke. Let's just get down to brass tacks. I have sources that say you know something about the disappearances of these people." He produced a folder from a worn, fraying backpack and handed it to Roarke, who opened it and held it so that Leslie could also see the contents. He was expressionless, but she found herself startled with recognition in all four cases. Lorimer noticed. "You remember them?"

"It's been quite a few years for most of them, but yes, I do," she said. "Duke McCall, the undersea adventurer; Pete Gilbert, the multimillionaire businessman and investor; David Farley, the actor; and Greta Gail O'Donahue, the tobacco heiress."

Lorimer nodded. "Every one of them disappeared here on this island, and since it's your island, Mr. Roarke, you obviously hold the key to the resolution of these cases."

Roarke glanced once more at the contents of the folder before closing it and returning it to its owner. "That may be, Mr. Lorimer. But I must ask you one question before I breach the privacy of any of these people: under whose authority are you acting in each case?"

Lorimer extracted another folder, this one of the pocket type that Leslie remembered having used in her school days. "Contracts and consent forms, search warrants and other documentation, Mr. Roarke. Unless you insist, I see no need to make you go through all this. I can tell you that Duke McCall's and Pete Gilbert's ex-wives want them found; David Farley's lawyer is looking for him. And Greta Gail O'Donahue's entire family is employing every authority in the country in their search for her."

"I see," said Roarke, holding out his hand for the folder anyway. Plainly reluctant, Lorimer gave it to him. "Do you work within the law, Mr. Lorimer?"

Lorimer stared at him, his lower jaw tensing; his silence stretched out long enough that his host looked up. After a moment Roarke nodded once or twice. "So your methods are not entirely aboveboard, then."

"I do what I have to in order to find my clients," Lorimer said tightly.

"In that case, you should be aware that I am the final and highest authority on this island," Roarke informed him pleasantly. "In each of the cases you cite, I promised not to reveal their whereabouts. In all four cases, these people were guests of mine; and they all had fantasies which they desired to make permanent. That is all I am prepared to tell you."

"Are you prepared to face the individuals who hired me to find these people?" Lorimer shot back. "Here's the thing in a nutshell, Mr. Roarke. You can deal with me, now, alone; or you can deal with at least ten very upset and determined clients. Your choice."

Roarke leaned forward. "Is that a threat, Mr. Lorimer?"

The bounty hunter shrugged. "Take it any way you like. But my fantasy is to find out what happened to these people, if not bring them back to the States; and since I paid you good money for it, you're obligated to grant it."

Roarke regarded him for long enough that he began to look frustrated; then he said, "From the beginning, I had reservations about granting your fantasy. However, in the face of your obstinacy, it would appear I have no other choice." He drew in a breath and arose from his chair, prompting Lorimer to follow suit. "Very well, Mr. Lorimer, I will assist you in the pursuit of your resolutions. But be warned…you will find it impossible to bring any of them back with you."

"I'll take that chance," Lorimer said. "Where do I find them?"

"We will begin with Mr. Farley," Roarke said. "As you recall, David Farley was best known for playing the role of Jungle Man on the 1970s television series of that name. If you will kindly follow me, we will take you to where we last left him in March of 1980." He gestured toward the door of the time-travel room; Lorimer headed for it, and Roarke waited for Leslie to fall in beside him.

"Father…" she began in a whisper.

Roarke smiled, glancing at Lorimer's retreating back. "Don't worry, Leslie. Our guest will be enlightened quickly enough by the very people he is seeking." There was a twinkle in his dark eyes that made her wonder what he knew that she didn't.

"Mr. Roarke, if you don't mind," Lorimer said impatiently. Roarke focused on him and nodded, approaching the door and swinging it open. Within stood tall potted ferns, and a soft mist was already swirling around Lorimer's feet, hiding the floor from view. Lorimer stared at it, then at Roarke, squinting. "What's this supposed to be?"

"Just step inside, Mr. Lorimer," Roarke directed patiently. "Wait for a moment and you will find your quarry."

Lorimer eyed him suspiciously, but edged into the room anyway. Roarke smiled in friendly fashion. "Do let us know what happens," he suggested before closing the door.

Leslie looked pensive, gazing at the door for a moment, then sighed. "He's a pretty determined guy," she said. "What if he manages to bring them back?"

"Wait and see," Roarke said serenely, going back to his desk and settling behind it.