§ § § -- November 29, 1995
One second Doug Wilde had been in a bungalow bellowing at Cody Banning; the next second he found himself standing in the doorway to space. There was a roaring all around him; the wind sluiced by at an inhuman speed; and there was, quite literally, nothing but empty air above and below. "You're off, buddy, good luck!" yelled a voice, and someone shoved him right out the door and into nothing.
Instantly Doug began to scream, arms and legs flailing uncontrollably. Far below him lay the placid blue South Pacific, adorned with a large patch of emerald green ringed by the gray of cliffs and the white of sandy beaches. Doug's panic increased in multiples as he finally came to the realization that he was skydiving, and that green patch down there was Fantasy Island, where just seconds before he'd been standing safely on terra firma. How had he wound up here, plummeting to certain death?
"Don't let me die, don't let me die!" he chanted frantically. "Oh man oh man oh man, how'd I get up here, I don't wanna be here, oh man, I wish like hell I was on the ground right now, oh man oh man…"
Blink: and he stood miraculously on solid earth once more. Disoriented, he stumbled aside a few steps and toppled over in a graceless heap, where he lay panting, staring glassily into space, slowly gathering his wits together. It took him the better part of half an hour to calm down enough to think back on what had happened and to realize that Cody Banning, the filthy, dirty bum, had wished him up there in the first place. He couldn't wait to get his hands on the guy; he was going to positively kill him! In control of himself once again, he climbed to his feet and snarled to no one in particular, "I wish I had my hands around Cody Banning's neck…"
Which is precisely where he found himself a millisecond later. His abrupt reappearance in the bungalow startled Sean and Peter half to death, and they both leaped back, blurting "Whoa!" in perfect tandem. Cody, his neck trapped in Doug's increasingly viselike grip, gagged and wheezed in desperation, his eyes bulging.
"Help," Cody croaked, turning red and struggling to breathe. Peter came back to life first and tried to pry Doug's hands off Cody's neck, to no avail.
"Sean, help me out here…he's gonna strangle him!" Peter exclaimed.
"That's the idea," Doug grunted.
Sean joined in the effort to remove Doug's hands. "Come on, Wilde, turn him loose. You don't want to spend the rest of your life in prison for murder, do ya? And don't forget, Florida's got the death penalty."
"I can just wish the creep back to life," Doug growled, "and then I can kill him again."
"No, come on! You don't even know if this wishing goes that far," Peter cried. Cody gagged again and fought in vain to draw breath; his face was almost purple by now. "You gotta let go, Doug…suppose Mr. Roarke—"
"What're you gonna do, tattle on me?" Doug sneered, at which point Cody's eyes rolled back in his head and he sagged toward the floor. Thoroughly surprised, Doug let go and watched him fall. Sean and Peter heaved relieved sighs.
"Jerk," Doug said, standing there looking down at an unconscious Cody. "He deserved it after what he did to me."
"What happened?" Sean asked.
"I was skydiving," Doug informed him with narrowed eyes. "I thought my life was over. I just wanted to return the favor."
"Skydiving? No way," Sean scoffed, laughing.
Doug turned and advanced on him. "You wanna be next, Howard?"
On the floor, Cody stirred and cautiously opened his eyes, breathing deeply; Peter heard him and looked down. "You okay?"
"Maybe. What'd he say happened?" Cody asked in a hoarse whisper.
"He said he was skydiving," Peter told him.
Cody snorted. "No way. How could he be doin' that?"
"You had a death wish on me, Banning, didn'tcha?" Doug broke in, having noticed that Cody was awake. "I oughta kill you for that."
"Oh, chill out," Cody rasped, gingerly clearing his throat. "There's no way you were falling through the sky. Tell me another one. How could I do that?"
"Guys," Peter said uneasily, catching their attention. "I think he's right. Think about it, Cody, you did make that wish—and this whole fantasy is all about wish fulfillment. As soon as you said it, it happened."
"Yeah, but skydiving?" Sean protested.
"He said a 'flying leap'," Peter pointed out. "What do you think skydiving is?"
This shut his friends up long enough to ponder the idea. At length Sean said, "Well, maybe it was just some weird fluke. I mean…it's not like anyone got hurt or anything."
"It coulda been, yeah," Cody croaked hopefully.
Doug glared down at him, but at long last conceded, "Okay, maybe. But you better watch your mouth, Banning, or I swear I'll clue Roarke in on the fact that you've got the hots for his daughter."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Truce, truce! Like Cody said, why don't we just chill out?"
"Yeah, yeah, all right." Doug sighed heavily and flopped across the sofa, looking drained. "Man, I'm beat. I sure wish I had a beer." Groans emanated from his friends as he popped the top on the bottle that obligingly appeared and drank deeply.
‡ ‡ ‡
By suppertime the four boys had decided that what they needed was a classic Friday-night party to break the cycle of boredom and bolster their spirits. "You figure out what we need, Gibbons, and Sean and Doug and I'll hit the pool and invite all the girls over," Cody decided. Peter shrugged agreement, figuring that if he was in charge of setting the party up, he could keep things on an even keel and prevent the party from getting too far out of hand. So far this weekend, their hosts had left them to their own devices, which rang a couple of vague warning chimes in the back of Peter's brain but otherwise suggested to him that they trusted him and his friends. Well, him anyway, since he was trying to keep the others in line, albeit without a whole lot of success.
It should have been easy, actually. They got the idea for the party not too much past five o'clock; by eleven, it was an entirely different scene from what Peter had originally envisioned. Peter had called up Kerry Denberg at the hotel and invited her and her three roommates to the party; then he had wished up snacks, dip, soda, beer (to keep Doug happy), plenty of music of all kinds, and a few dozen pizzas. That had seemed like more than enough to him. However, when Sean, Doug and Cody had returned, they pronounced it far too tame and added some modifications to the setup. Doug wished up a bunch of video games, most of them sports-related, and a 52-inch wide-screen television on which to play them. Sean, thinking to get some of the female attendees "in the mood" as he put it, wished for some decidedly steamy movies to watch; when Doug protested that it would interrupt the video games, Sean impatiently made a wish for a second 52-inch widescreen to play the films. And Cody, having surveyed the table full of refreshments, wished in several varieties of hard liquor to help spice things up, in his words.
Now, Peter stood on the terrace with Kerry by his side, ruefully surveying the raucous mêlée that roared on within the crowded bungalow. "That's really some party," Kerry said a little timidly, following his gaze. "It's getting kind of wild for me, actually."
"Me too, to tell the truth," Peter admitted. "I'd suggest we leave, except I gotta keep a lid on Sean and Cody and Doug. If they see I'm gone, it might actually get worse."
"Why doesn't anyone complain? I'd have thought Mr. Roarke would've been here ages ago," Kerry said frankly. "Either him or the police."
"Nothing illegal's happened yet, as far as I know," Peter said, wondering if the statement was a lie even as it slipped out of his mouth. It was bordering on illegal already, if he wasn't mistaken. He and his three friends were all twenty-one, but he wasn't sure if all the guests were of age. And with Cody around, who knew what else even worse than all the whiskey, vodka, rum and tequila would be added to the mix?
"I'd really rather not stay here," Kerry said nervously, and Peter turned to face her at the faintly shaky timbre of her voice. He smiled.
"This really scares you, huh?" he asked.
She nodded. "I guess you think I'm just a wet blanket, but I'm not used to parties like this. I hate beer, I don't like drinking all that much, and crowds bother me."
Peter considered the situation for a moment. True, his buddies would probably view his absence as a license to do anything they liked, and there was an excellent chance they would utterly trash the place. But their fantasy was to wish for anything they wanted, wasn't it? When he got back, all he had to do was wish the whole debacle away. Conscience appeased, he focused on her and smoothed her hair with a smile. "Okay," he said, "what say to a stroll on the beach?" Truth be told, he'd been hoping for a chance to be alone with her anyway, to see if they had something more than a weekend fling going for them.
"I'd love that," Kerry said with a bright smile, and Peter was hooked. Without further ado, he slipped an arm around her waist and escorted her away.
At the main house, Roarke and Leslie were both up late, having dealt with a couple of minor emergencies and preparing to retire for the night. They'd just arisen to go up the steps when the door burst open and six or seven very irritated vacationers filled the entry foyer, glaring, hands on hips.
"May we help you?" Roarke inquired.
"I should hope so!" blustered a portly older woman, decked out in yards of pale-blue silk studded with crystals; she and her companions evidently had been at the supper club for the formal dance that had been held there that evening. "Really, Mr. Roarke, I thought you ran a high-class operation here…and what did we see going back to our accommodations but a wild party being thrown by thugs! Are those…creatures guests of yours?"
"Which bungalow was that, Mrs. Deminger?" Roarke asked.
"It was a little one set back in the trees," the woman said. "There was no sign out front giving its name, but believe me, I'll never forget which one it was. If you expect us to give you any sort of recommendation, Mr. Roarke, then you'll put a stop to it immediately!"
"I assure you, we will do all we can to halt it as soon as humanly possible," Roarke said patiently, nodding and smiling slightly. "These events are quite rare here, in fact. I do hope your stay here has been otherwise satisfactory."
"Very much so, Mr. Roarke," spoke up one of the other patrons, a man dressed in a tux and top hat and wielding a cane. "I'm afraid Marjorie gets rather high-strung when she's confronted by disturbances. Don't worry, she'll calm down once it's been taken care of. You truly do have a wonderful resort here, and we'll definitely recommend it to all our friends. I'm sure this is just a little deviation."
"Of course, of course," Roarke said, his smile developing fully. "I sincerely thank you for your praise, Mr. Deminger, and rest assured we'll look into the situation immediately." He turned to his daughter. "Leslie, if you would, please?"
"All right," she said, a wry expression on her features. "Should I take my megaphone?"
The group in the foyer laughed and Roarke's smile became a grin. "Once again, my apologies. I'm very pleased that you have been enjoying yourselves, and I hope the remainder of your evening is a most pleasant one."
"I'm sure it will be," someone else said, smiling. "Okay, we've reported the problem, people. Let's get back to the supper club—I'm up for some more dancing." The guests made their way back out, and Leslie found a car key and slipped out after them. There was, of course, no need to ask which bungalow was hosting the party.
Even before she rounded the last corner on the lane where the bungalows were grouped, she could hear the music, the yelling, the laughter. "Good Lord," she muttered, stopping the car just past the bend and staring at the brightly lit bungalow. Even as she watched, some unidentifiable object crashed through one of the front windows and sailed over the little lawn out front to land in the middle of the lane.
"Ridiculous," she muttered, annoyed. She'd heard college reminiscences from her friends over the years, particularly from Camille and Myeko who had both attended parties like this, but she had always privately thought they'd been exaggerating at least a little. "I guess they weren't. Okay, Leslie Susan, put on your suit of armor and confront the enemy." She grinned to herself at her own little pep talk, parked the car and killed the engine, and marched up to the bungalow door. In the wake of the broken window, the cacophony within had risen quite a distance up the decibel scale, and she realized she might really need that megaphone she had joked about.
She didn't bother knocking; proprieties seemed ludicrous in light of the current events. She simply opened the door and stared in wonder at the scene before her. People were dancing to the music; two enormous television sets were muted but showing pictures, one of a video football game, the other of what appeared to be a soft-core porn film that made her roll her eyes; other kids were eating, drinking, arguing, cracking jokes, yelling, laughing, passed out drunk on the sofa or floor, occasionally making out in some not-so-dark corner. She picked out Sean Howard leaning against the wall, a buxom young woman in each arm; Doug Wilde, riveted to the video game which he was playing against three other guys; and Cody Banning, a bottle of tequila in one hand and what looked like a cigarette in the other, surrounded by a group of scantily-dressed girls and a couple of leather-clad guys. The room itself was the worst mess she had ever seen: puddles of liquids, broken glass, bits of food everywhere (including, in a few cases, stuck to the walls), crushed cigarette butts, the odd article of clothing. A pall of blue-gray smoke hung thick in the air.
Before she had quite finished taking it all in, an argument beside the refreshment table abruptly escalated when one of the participants grabbed a bowl of dip and slammed it down atop the head of another. At least half a dozen people saw this happen and apparently considered it a signal. The next moment, it was a full-blown food fight, and blizzards of chips and other edibles joined the smoke in the air.
"This is hopeless," Leslie muttered to herself. She stood and thought it over for a moment, then got an idea and hoped it would work. Still unseen by the partygoers, she slipped over to the wall beside the door and peered behind the painting hanging there.
"I WIN!" roared Doug Wilde's voice, distracting her long enough to make her turn and stare in his direction. She was just in time to see him stand up and brandish a victorious fist over his head before grinning stupidly and collapsing senseless across the coffee table that held the video-game console and controls. The picture on the TV screen contorted and bucked, then vanished in electronic snow.
Gritting her teeth, Leslie lifted the painting off the wall and opened a small door, surveying the interior for a moment before reaching out and flipping a switch. Both television sets and the CD player died, along with half the lights, and a loud collective groan went up, mixed with a lot of voices blurting, "Huh?"
"Aw, man," she heard Cody Banning moan and smirked secretly to herself before turning to confront the scene. Cody recognized her and stared sickly at her.
"So whose idea was this?" Leslie asked conversationally.
Sean wiggled away from his female companions and Cody set the tequila bottle on the table; both of them approached her, looking oddly like small boys caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "What happened?" Sean asked.
"I shut off a fuse," Leslie said with a genial smile. "Which one of you thought this up?"
"We all did," Cody said, peering at her with a sheepish look that was totally at odds with his bad-boy appearance and demeanor. "We needed a distraction."
Leslie eyed him. "I see," she murmured, almost inaudibly; behind them, the noise of the party was gradually welling back up to its former explosive level, despite the silent electronic gadgets. "Well, I assume you know what to do to get rid of this. We just had some complaints from some other guests. If you fix the problem right away, I'll keep this to myself and Father might not cancel your fantasy."
"But we need it to clean this up," Sean protested, alarmed.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Leslie inquired, overly sweetly. It was then that she got a whiff of the smoke wafting up from Cody's cigarette and made a face at the curiously sweet odor. "What in the heck are you puffing on, Banning?"
Cody actually turned red. "It's just a little joint," he said meekly, lifting it and displaying it at her. Before she quite knew it, Leslie had gotten a full snoutful of the smoke, which made her cough and stumble back a step or two. Her eyes went wide and she stared blankly at him.
Sean gasped. "Put that damn thing out, dude," he ordered frantically. "You're gonna get her higher than a satellite, and Roarke'll dismember us."
Cody cursed in a mild panic and dropped the thing on the floor, stomping on it with one black leather boot, grinding it into the tile for rather longer than he really needed to. Leslie watched him in fascination, wondering why his foot suddenly looked as big as that of King Kong. She saw Sean nudge Cody, who stared forlornly at Leslie and said plaintively, "I wish Leslie had no effects from that joint, and…"
Before he could finish, Leslie felt her head clear, and she stood up straight and glared at him. "Marijuana's as illegal on Fantasy Island as it is in the States," she informed him frostily. "You better keep that in mind if you want me to keep your secret. I'm sure you know what to do about all this." She whipped around and stalked out the door.
Behind her she heard Cody dejectedly finish his interrupted wish. "…and that she wouldn't be mad at me for it." He sighed heavily; she rolled her eyes to herself and all but ran for the car, in case he had something even worse waiting in the wings.
Once the car's taillights had disappeared down the lane, Sean turned to Cody and said urgently, "Look, dude, we need to clean this up pronto. We still have two days here, and if Roarke cancels our fantasy, we're gonna be bored beyond belief. And man, where's Gibbons? Haven't seen him for at least an hour."
"I dunno," Cody said impatiently. "You sayin' we have to wait for him before we clean this up? You heard what Leslie said. If we do it now, she won't tell Roarke, and we'll still have our fantasy."
Sean paused to look more closely at him and suddenly grinned. "Man, you have got it baaaaa-aaaad," he pronounced with great amusement. "Trust me, dude, you're wasting your time. Leslie's seen you in your natural state by now—you're way past impressing her. You might as well just give it up."
"No way," Cody said, narrow-eyed. "I can be different, and I'll prove it to her."
Sean threw his hands in the air. "Geez, you really are retarded. Will you quit obsessing over that chick for five minutes and help me clean this up?"
Before Cody could say anything, the door opened and Peter came in, without Kerry, whom he had dropped off at her hotel. "Wow!" he said, staring.
"That's not the word," Sean said. "Dude, you just missed Leslie coming in here and giving us hell for this disaster. If we clean it up now, she won't tell Roarke."
"Oh, man," Peter muttered, then sniffed the air and gave Cody a suspicious look. "You been smoking joints again, Banning?"
"Yep, and he almost got Leslie high on one," Sean reported.
"Way to go," Peter said ironically, rolling his eyes.
Cody glared at them. "Maybe," he suggested sarcastically, "you can quit judging me long enough to get this damn mess cleaned up. Every second we stand here gabbing is another second closer to Leslie telling Roarke what's been going on here. We need to do this in stages so we can be sure all the damage is fixed."
"Yeah, but where do we start?" Sean asked helplessly.
Peter cleared his throat and said with deliberation, "I wish all the guests at this party were gone." Everyone in the room promptly vanished, leaving only Doug sprawled in an extremely uncomfortable-looking heap across the coffee table, snoring like a motorboat.
"Ow, that's gotta hurt," Sean said, lightly sympathetic. "Okay, now what?"
"What've you been drinking, Howard?" Peter said impatiently. "You might as well let me handle this." He stepped fully into the room and took in the chaotic scene before him, then said, "How come it's so dark in here?"
"Oh yeah, Leslie shut down a fuse," Sean remembered. "Gimme a minute." He went to the open fuse box, found the switch in question and flipped it. The lights came on, the TV sets flared into bright life, and the CD player began blasting again. Peter shot Sean a killing look and charged over to silence it.
"Cripes," he muttered and blew out his breath. "Okay, uh…I wish all the food and drinks were gone." The table cleared, but the floor and walls were still a mess, so he wished them clean, then proceeded to wish away the TV sets, video games, dirty movies and broken window. His last act was to wish the hanging smoke out of the air.
"Whatta we do about him?" Cody asked, sighing with relief and regarding Doug still draped across the coffee table.
"Easy. I wish…" Sean began, but Peter bounded across the room and slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Don't even think it," he warned. "The way things've been going, if you wish Doug in bed, he'll wind up in his own bed back at school. We might as well exert ourselves a little bit and just carry him in so he won't feel like a contortionist when he wakes up."
"Suits me," Sean said with a shrug. "But he can wish away his own damn hangover in the morning." Peter and Cody grinned agreement.