A/N: This will be posted in at least two, maybe more, separate sessions: as I post what's here as of today (August 14), the story isn't done yet. I do know how it will end, though; it's just a matter of getting it written between dentist appointments, two jobs and various other odds and ends that have a way of eating up my time. So here we go, and I hope I won't make my faithful readers too crazy with suspense! Thanks again to Harry2, jtbwriter and Kyryn for your welcome support and interest.
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§ § § -- January 29, 1999

Things didn't stay normal for long after Paola's departure. Only a few days passed before Leslie noticed that Roarke pleaded fatigue more and more, and went to bed a little earlier every night. She wondered uneasily if his battle with Paola had taken a larger toll on him than even he had realized.

On the last Friday evening in January, about nine, Roarke called a halt to the day and slowly crossed the study, while Leslie watched, disturbed by his uncharacteristic shuffle. Just as he reached the steps, his entire body gave way under him, totally without warning. Instinctively he lunged for the newel post and caught it, at the same moment a badly startled Leslie reached him and lent him assistance in remaining on his feet. "This has gone far enough," she told him point-blank. "I've seen this coming on for close to two weeks now. What's wrong, Father?"

Roarke shook his head, firmly clamping onto the post, his face a mask of thorough confusion. "I don't quite know," he murmured, clearly concentrating on not collapsing. "I have a suspicion, but—" He started wilting then, and Leslie instantly ducked down to drape his arm over her shoulders.

"We'll figure it out later," she said firmly. "Just hold onto me and I'll get you upstairs." Thus fortified, the two started their climb; but even with Leslie's support, it took Roarke almost ten minutes to scale the steps. She helped him into his room, so busy watching him for signs of further weakening that it never really dawned on her that she had entered her father's bedroom for the first time ever. At his direction she settled him onto the large bed, then tried to offer further resistance, which he refused.

"I can handle the rest," Roarke said with a smile of thanks. "I do have other ways of taking care of myself, you know."

Leslie had to grin at that. "I guess that means your powers aren't diminished any," she said. "All right, but for heaven's sake, don't be too proud to call me if you need anything." He nodded smiling acquiescence, but as she backed out of the room with a heavily worried eye on him, she had a feeling she wouldn't hear a word from him all night.

§ § § -- January 30, 1999

She turned out to be right, but not for the reason she thought. On Saturday morning, no matter how much she knocked, she couldn't raise a response from Roarke. At last she took a deep breath and eased the door open, just enough to poke her head cautiously inside and discover that Roarke was sleeping the sleep of the chronically exhausted. She called out several times, but he never stirred at all. Alarm snaked through her; instinct propelled her into the room and led her to check his temperature. It seemed abnormally high, even to her untrained touch. It was enough to tell Leslie without question that he wouldn't be granting any fantasies that weekend.

But they had guests counting on them, and Leslie knew there was just no way they could pull off pleading for an eleventh-hour rain check. Something had to be done, and very quickly. She fled the room and rushed down the stairs into the study, where she grabbed the phone and called Dr. Fernando Ordoñez, pleading that he squeeze in a trip to the main house to examine Roarke that day. When she had his reassurance that he'd be there when he could, she called Julie. "It's Leslie and I need your help this weekend," she blurted as soon as Julie answered.

"Huh?" said Julie. "Leslie, I haven't had my coffee yet. What's the matter?"

"Never mind the coffee," Leslie shot back. "Father's sick, Julie, seriously sick. He's so sound asleep that I can't wake him up, and for the last two weeks he's been getting steadily weaker and more tired. I had to help him up the stairs last night, and now he won't wake up and probably has a temperature." Julie made a startled noise, but Leslie rushed right on. "I need you to help me with the fantasies. It's too late to cancel and the guests are due in the next hour. Please. I'm not asking you to be the assistant, because heck knows I'm certainly not the boss. I just need an extra brain—two heads are supposed to be better than one."

"Geez," Julie said, amazed. "What do you think's wrong with uncle?"

"I don't know," Leslie said in frustration. "Even he doesn't know! That's how bad it is. Please, Julie, come over—the sooner, the better."

"Okay, okay, calm down," Julie said hastily. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Meet you out front like always."

And in about forty minutes, Leslie Hamilton and Julie MacNabb found themselves standing on the edge of the little grassy clearing around the plane dock, with Leslie giving Julie information through Roarke's notes that she'd hastily memorized. "Okay, those three guys are Jared Mills, Mark Roquemore and Mason Hardy. They're bounty hunters, partners in a business, and their fantasy is to take down one of the most notorious poachers on the planet—a guy named Oscar Worth."

Julie looked surprised. "I've actually heard of him. For years he got away with shooting African elephants for their ivory tusks."

"Right," Leslie said. "Thing is, the ivory poaching made him so filthy rich that he was able to retreat to a heavily-guarded fortress…and unfortunately, said fortress is right here on Fantasy Island. He lives in the estate that used to belong to Edmond Dumont."

"Why would Maestro Dumont sell to somebody like that?" Julie wondered.

Leslie shrugged. "I heard it was his lawyer who handled the actual sale, and when he found out who the buyer was, it was too late. Anyway, these three guys want to take Worth out, once and for all. So that's what they're doing here."

"More power to 'em, I say," Julie remarked. "And who's this guy? He looks like he jumped off a sinking ship and swam all the way here."

Leslie laughed and nodded, admitting, "That's kind of what I thought too! His name's Austin Deal, he's from Cody, Wyoming, and his fantasy actually does have to do with ships. He wants to go back in time and meet Blackbeard. That's it, pure and simple."

Julie gave her a hopeful look. "Maybe we'll pull this off after all. All we have to do is send Mr. Deal back to whenever the heck it is that Blackbeard lived, and drive the bounty-hunting gang out to the Dumont place and turn 'em loose. Easy."

"I sure hope so," Leslie muttered doubtfully, then did a slight double-take when the native girl presented her with a tray. She lifted the glass of white wine off it and gave Julie a sidelong look. "Here goes," she murmured, then raised her voice. "Good morning, gentlemen! I'm Leslie Hamilton, and this is Julie MacNabb; we're your hosts for the weekend." Together she and Julie chorused, "Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

The bounty hunters and the would-be pirate raised their drinks and nodded, and Julie and Leslie looked at each other. "I guess we sounded okay," Julie suggested.

"Wait till they ask where Father is," Leslie mumbled pessimistically and took a big draft of the wine in her glass.

‡ ‡ ‡

"Is he awake yet?" Julie asked when Leslie came down the steps. It was about ninety minutes later, and they were expecting Austin Deal any moment.

Leslie shook her head and said, "No. Well, I mean, just for a moment, he did wake up, but he looked as if he wasn't in the here and now. He didn't focus, and for that matter he barely opened his eyes. I have to hope it's ready to go. At least we got it all decorated last night before he collapsed."

"I guess that's good," Julie said a little doubtfully. "Boy, there are times when I wish I knew how to do what uncle does."

"Me too," Leslie said. "But I still know only a few simple tricks, and since I'm not his blood offspring I probably won't be capable of learning much more than that." There was a knock on the door, and the two women threw each other panicked looks.

"This is it," said Julie, gulped loudly, then walked resolutely to the door and admitted Austin Deal. He was a long-bearded fellow in his mid-fifties or so, with skin permanently tanned by the wind and sun, a wiry build and a twinkle in his eye. "Hello, Mr. Deal."

"Hi there, little lady," Deal replied and grinned. "Now which of you lovely ladies is sending me into my fantasy?"

"Both of us, actually," Leslie said, glad to note that he seemed very good-natured. "If you're ready, we are."

"I been ready for at least forty years, young miss," Deal remarked cheerfully. "Blackbeard's fascinated me ever since I was a young'un. And growin' up in Wyoming where there ain't much for water, I sure's heck had me a time imaginin' m'self sailin' them high seas and havin' adventures, and followin' Blackbeard on all his plunderin' excursions. M'pa died nigh on a year back an' left me some cash, an' told me to use it however I wanted. An' this was how I wanted." He grinned.

Leslie and Julie grinned back. "Then I hope your fantasy's everything you ever dreamed of," Leslie said, opening the door to the time-travel room with a flourish. Deal preceded her and Julie inside; while Julie closed the door, Leslie glanced around the room and sent up a silent hope that it would respond when she needed it to. The fog was already swirling around their feet; they seemed to be standing on the gently bobbing deck of a ship. Deal stared all around the room in fascination. A ship's sail, suspended from the ceiling, hid most of two walls, and elsewhere one could make out fishermen's nets, complete with starfish and seaweed hanging from them.

"All I need's a parrot," Deal wisecracked and cackled happily at his own joke. Leslie and Julie smiled politely.

"Go to the ship's wheel and stand behind it," Leslie instructed him. "No matter how much fog there is, hold onto that wheel."

Deal headed eagerly for it and grasped the two topmost spokes, scanning the walls as though gazing at an ocean around him. To Leslie's immense relief, the fog billowed up right on cue and swallowed Deal from their sight; she felt Julie nudge her and swiftly followed the older girl out of the room and back into the study.

"Whew," Julie exclaimed. "One down and one to go."

Leslie nodded, tossing a nervous glance up the stairs. "I think we better hurry. I have no idea what time Dr. Ordoñez will be able to get out here."

They picked up Hardy, Mills and Roquemore at the bungalow where they'd stashed their luggage; the three men were already outfitted for their mission, with the necessary survival gear and tactical maps of the area. The former Dumont estate was still walled off, with only one access gate to the outside world, and Leslie could still see the crowded tops of the trees in its jungle within the walls. None of the men had said much on the trip over, and both Julie and Leslie had kept the conversation down to essentials.

"It's in the same condition it was when Maestro Edmond Dumont sold it," Leslie explained to the three men after they had all alighted from the car. "The jungle inside those walls is some of the thickest on the island, and there may still be wild animals in there."

"Unless Worth poached them all," Julie said sardonically.

"Doubtful," Roquemore replied, eyeing the visible vegetation. "If the jungle didn't get any intruders, the animals would."

Leslie nodded solemnly. "This is the only entrance from outside the wall," she said. "I wish you luck, all three of you. When my father found out who bought the estate, he was very upset, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. So when you requested this fantasy, he saw an opportunity to bring Oscar Worth to justice."

"We'll do everything in our power to make that happen," Hardy promised quietly. "Thank you for the chance."

Leslie smiled faintly; she and Julie nodded at the men, who tipped their hats at them before turning to the gate. Leslie climbed behind the wheel of the station wagon and Julie dropped into the passenger seat. Once they were back on the Ring Road from the estate's access lane, they shot each other cautiously relieved looks.

"What next?" Julie asked.

"We should have at least a few hours," Leslie reasoned. "Do you need to stop in at the B&B and check on anything?"

Julie nodded. "I do have some business to handle," she said. "Give me a call when you need me again, okay?" Leslie agreed and dropped Julie at her home before returning to the main house. There she found Fernando Ordoñez just climbing the porch steps; his green medical jeep sat in front of the fountain.

"Hello, Leslie," Fernando greeted her, and she smiled with relief. "So it's Mr. Roarke who's ill? Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"You're not the only one," Leslie told him. "Come on up with me." Fernando trailed her into the study and up the steps, where Leslie stuck her head through Roarke's door and gave a soft sigh of disappointment. "He's still asleep," she reported.

She stepped aside for Fernando, who gave Roarke a cursory examination and then took his temperature. "I can't rule out anything at the moment," Fernando said slowly, reading the thermometer. "It could be the flu, or pneumonia, or just a cold with a fever…his temperature's a hundred and three. If it goes any higher you should get him to the hospital." He focused on Leslie. "What symptoms did he have?"

"It started out with creeping fatigue," Leslie said. "Every day he got a little weaker, and he went to bed a little earlier. Then last night, he almost collapsed on the way up here, and I had to help him the rest of the way. If there were any other problems, he never let on to me. I remember him saying he had a suspicion as to what might be wrong, but he didn't get another chance to tell me. And today he's only barely woken up."

Fernando studied Roarke in concern. "When was that?"

"A couple of hours ago or so," Leslie said, "but I don't think he was really awake. I mean, he moved a little, and his eyes cracked open just the tiniest bit, but that's all."

Fernando considered this, frowning slightly, then shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "Let's face it, this is Mr. Roarke we're talking about. It may not be anything I can diagnose. Leslie, does this house have air conditioning?"

Surprised, Leslie said slowly, "Yes, but we usually don't need it. We had it installed right after a heat wave a couple of years ago."

"Well, turn it on," said Fernando firmly. "Get this room cooled down as much as you can. If you have time, see if you can keep some chilled damp towels handy and try to reduce the fever that way. I know you're busy with it being the weekend, so at least get the house cool. It'll be a start. If he wakes up, call me right away."

She escorted Fernando out, then found the thermostat in the upstairs hallway and switched on the central air conditioning, after which she scuttled around the house closing windows. In Roarke's room she paused long enough to stare down at his still features, relaxed in his deep sleep. What did he have, and how had he gotten it? With a heavy sigh she departed the room to prepare some towels.