§ § § -- January 31, 1999

By late afternoon Sunday, the weekend that had started out so promisingly had sunk into a mess that made Leslie and Julie feel as if they were being swallowed by quicksand. The two had gone together to make a check on the bounty hunters, only to discover that Jared Mills had gotten caught by Oscar Worth's minions and Hardy and Roquemore now had the additional task of rescuing him. Unfortunately they had no way of getting inside without risking their own capture, and Leslie was unable to help, since she was not even remotely familiar with the layout of the estate's castle. Then Leslie had tried three times to make a visit to Austin Deal to find out how things were going in his fantasy; but she had been unable to make the jump through time for some reason. She had the sense of an unbreachable barrier, as if Deal were so engrossed in his fantasy that he didn't want anyone coming to tell him it was all over. This, combined with Leslie's worries over Roarke, had sawed away at her nerves till she was ready to crack at the slightest provocation.

It was almost four o'clock when Julie came in to find Leslie pacing the floor, her fingers tented out over her forehead as if she were suffering from a headache. "You okay?" Julie asked, stepping into the study.

Leslie stopped short and threw her hands in the air. "I just don't know what to do!" she burst out. "I can't get through to Austin Deal, and I have no way to help out those bounty hunters. I feel like a failure…unless you can come up with any ideas."

"Leslie, I'm even more clueless than you," Julie protested. "You've been doing this for the last eight years or so. I did it only one year, and that was when you were still in high school! Do you really think I can help?"

"Why don't you just…well, throw something off the top of your head?" Leslie asked with some desperation. "Even an off-the-cuff idea is better than nothing."

"Well, geez…" Julie peered at the ceiling for a long minute, as though there were a list of ideas pasted to it, before she ventured, "Well, maybe you could get a plan of the estate castle to those bounty hunters, if you happen to have one lying around."

"Sure, we keep blueprints of every building on the island," Leslie said sarcastically, then reconsidered. "But then again, maybe that's not such a crazy idea after all. I could look into it at town hall in Amberville. But suppose they don't have any copies?"

Julie suggested gently, "Maybe you should check it out before you shoot it down. On the other hand, if they don't, we might have to refund the bounty hunters' money."

"Excuse me…are you ladies busy?" asked a male voice then, and Julie whipped around in startled surprise while Leslie peered over her shoulder. Standing in the foyer was a tall, very handsome man with jet-black hair, blue eyes and a quizzical smile on his face. To Leslie, not only did he look a little bit like Roarke, she also had the distinct feeling she had met him once before.

"Uh…who're you?" Leslie asked, a note of suspicion in her voice, moving slowly towards the foyer steps to get a better look at the newcomer.

"Name's Rogan Callaghan," he said to her. "I just got in, and…" He stopped and squinted at her, then suddenly grinned. "Leslie Hamilton, is it?" He spoke with just a trace of Irish brogue.

"Yes…how did you know?" Leslie asked.

"Saw you years ago when I was working on Arcolos," he told her. "King Errico was still prince back then…I think it was a couple years before Tattoo passed on."

The words triggered Leslie's memory and her eyes widened. "Yeah, you went with him on an art-shopping trip to Tattoo's gallery! What're you doing here?"

"Oh…heard about the island and thought I'd take a little vacation trip," Rogan said with a shrug. "But it sounds to me as if you can use a little help."

Leslie stared at him. "What gives you that idea? Do you know something?"

Julie, who had been gaping at Rogan with speechless fascination, said suddenly, "Leslie, for crying out loud, we do need help. Let the man tell us what he can do."

"But we don't even know him!" Leslie exploded.

"I know that Mr. Roarke is indisposed," Rogan told her, making her face go slack with shock and the beginnings of outrage. Even Julie blinked in surprise. "I also overheard something about refunding someone's money as I was opening the door to come in here, and I've a feeling it means you have some problems, not the least of which is Mr. Roarke's being ill. Don't ask me just yet where I found out all this. King Errico trusted me several years ago, enough to put me in a very prestigious position at the palace. I moved on after the artist died, as he no longer needed an art consultant; but while I was there, he had all confidence in the world that I would do the best and most discreet job I could for him. I can do that for you here, as well. It's true you don't know me, Miss Hamilton, but I do have some idea of what's happening. If you'll let me help, I will."

"Tell me just how you think you can help," Leslie said skeptically.

Rogan cleared his throat. "For starters, I can probably figure out what Mr. Roarke has," he told her. "Tell me what his symptoms are."

"How can you diagnose Father when the doctor couldn't?" Leslie demanded.

"Will you trust me, please?" Rogan asked. "Let's get these problems solved first and then I can answer whatever questions you have. What symptoms has he had?"

Her fear for Roarke, which had sat like a massive stone in her stomach all weekend, drove her to give in, and with a little reluctance she described what had been happening to Roarke for the last two weeks. Rogan nodded faintly a couple of times and mulled over her words; she watched his face change, waiting for the verdict and wondering whether she could really trust him at all. But the regretful expression that entered his eyes seemed sincere. "I'm afraid he has…" The next word he said was completely incomprehensible.

Leslie stared at him, bewildered, yet afraid of what it meant. "What's that?"

"Oh, pardon me," Rogan said. "It means 'bone-eating disease', and that's what your father has." He noticed her confused look, gave a soft sigh, and with great reluctance told her, "It…it's the same terminal disease that killed Paola."

For a second or two Leslie wondered how he knew Paola; then the rest of his words sank in and she felt a chill engulf her entire body. She must have turned white, for Rogan got an alarmed look about him and reached out to steady her. His hands on her arms were like an electric shock to her frozen system and she came to instantaneous life, yanking herself back from him and retreating several slow, blind steps backwards. She started to shake her head like a stuck automaton. Her lips formed the word "no", but her voice wouldn't work. Rogan nodded sorrowfully.

Julie stared at him. "Good Lord, man, how insensitive can you possibly be?"

"Maybe I shouldn't have been so blunt, but I didn't know any gentle way to break it to her," he said through a sigh. "Besides, I think it would have been a disservice to her to beat around the bush."

Leslie backed into one of the chairs and nearly toppled over; this time, when Rogan came to steady her, she submitted. "Should I call anyone?" he asked a little awkwardly.

Leslie gaped at him as if he'd just landed from Jupiter; for all she or Julie knew, he might very well have done so. "Who's there to call?" she asked in a tiny voice. The four syllables punched through the fragile wall of calm that shock had set up, and she began to break down in slow motion, sinking into the chair and rocking back and forth, keening in a high, faint wail and hugging herself as though she were cold. She did in fact feel very cold right now: she was about to be left utterly alone in the world, for the second time in her life.

"Good Lord," said Julie uneasily. "She's carrying on as if he's already died."

"He will die," Rogan told her quietly in a flat, resigned tone. "The disease has no known cure, and while it may take years, one day it will kill him. Maybe sooner than later. The way Leslie described the symptoms, he seems to have contracted an especially virulent form of it."

Julie gaped at him, horrified. "Isn't there anything at all that can be done? I mean, come on, we can't just stand around waiting for uncle to die! Isn't there even some kind of tonic that could make it easier for him? Don't you know of anybody who's done any research on this thing?"

Rogan had been watching her in surprise. "He means a lot to you too, then?"

"Listen, Rogan Callaghan, uncle was friends with my parents since ages before I was born, and he's godfather to both me and my sister. Both Leslie and I are orphans, and he's the rock in our lives, but especially in hers." Julie pulled Leslie out of the chair and into a protective hug. "But me and Leslie aside, there's the question of what happens to this island! What're we supposed to do?"

"I'll do anything I can to help," Rogan promised, perhaps a little rashly. He spoke so quickly that Julie gave him an odd look.

"Like what?" she asked skeptically.

"I can salvage the weekend," he said, clearing his throat. "If you'll let me."

Even Leslie looked up at this, and she and Julie both examined him so minutely that he began to fidget. Finally Leslie asked, "Who are you?"

Rogan hesitated too long and Julie, despite her lingering fascination with him, squinted suspiciously. "Come on, pal, spill it. Leslie asked you a question, and I'd find the answer very interesting myself."

Rogan seemed to suddenly withdraw inward, and his face got a shuttered look to it. "If you ladies don't want my help, all you need to do is say so," he said remotely. "I'm sorry to have bothered you." He turned and started to leave.

Julie promptly caved in. "Don't leave, Rogan, please! Leslie, don't let him walk out of here. If he knows what to do to save this weekend from catastrophe and us from total humiliation, then we can't afford to let him go. It might work—at least it's worth a shot."

Leslie looked back and forth between the anxious Julie and the silent Rogan, who had stopped at the foyer steps but not turned around, and finally sighed, looking beaten. "I guess things can't get any worse than they already are." Julie beamed, nodding vigorous agreement, and even Rogan chuckled, facing her once more. "Okay, here's the thing. The old estate that used to belong to Edmond Dumont is owned by a notorious poacher. We have three tough macho-man bounty hunters who're after him, but he's using the estate house as a fortress and they can't penetrate it. Worse than that, one of them got caught and the other guys have to spring him before they can take down the poacher. The island authorities are helpless. We need someone who can give these guys an in on that castle so they can make a success of their fantasy, and we can get rid of the scumbag living there."

"I'm on it," said Rogan promptly. "And the other one?"

"We've got a time-traveling fantasizer who's been blocking access somehow. He's on Blackbeard's pirate ship, and every time I try to check up on him, I can't get through—it's like he's set up a barrier so I can't come in and end his fantasy on him. Father could easily break through, but obviously he's not able to right now, and I don't have the capability."

Rogan grinned. "I'll take care of him right enough. It's late afternoon, so do you want me to start now?"

"Might as well," said Leslie with a fatalistic shrug. "You handle our time-traveler and I'll see if I can dig up some blueprints for the estate castle. You'll be looking for a guy named Austin Deal. He's about my height, maybe a little shorter, roughly late 50s with a long white beard, kind of skinny. He'll be dressed like a pirate, and he may very well have a parrot on his shoulder." Julie snickered at that, and Leslie half-smiled in reply.

"Not a problem," said Rogan. "Where do I go?"

"Through that door," said Leslie. "That's our time-travel room and the portal we tend to use most often. The link between the time periods should still be open."

Rogan saluted playfully. "As you say, madame." He went to the door and slipped through it; Julie stood eyeing it as if she would have liked to go with him.

Leslie poked her. "Snap out of it, Julie. We've got to find some blueprints."

Julie searched files while Leslie made phone calls to the few governmental offices on the island, and was relieved to discover that the town hall did in fact have a copy of the castle blueprint, filed when the building was under construction for Edmond Dumont. Leaving Julie to man the phone and wait for Rogan and Austin Deal, Leslie took a jeep into town and procured a copy of the blueprint. When she returned, Rogan had come back with a very reluctant Deal, who was shaking his finger at Rogan and Julie and scolding them roundly for interrupting his fun. As soon as Leslie came in, he turned on her. "D'you realize what ya done to me, little lady? I was havin' me a time, an' here comes this fancy-mouthed interloper to drag me back into my boring old life. I want my money back."

"What kind of time were you having?" Rogan inquired. "Good or bad?"

Deal shot him a glare. "None o'your lip, sonny."

"I ask only because you just demanded a refund," said Rogan reasonably. "If you were having a bad time, then you might be entitled to a refund. But it looked to me as if you were loving every second of it."

"I was, an' I don't like you comin' in and yankin' me outta it!" Deal snapped.

"Then your fantasy was all you hoped for?" Leslie asked.

"An' more even! That ol' Blackbeard was a real boot-stomper all right. Knew how to have himself a time. An' I was havin' me one too, when—"

"—this fancy-mouthed interloper came along," Rogan interjected, clearly highly amused. "Mr. Deal, you paid to be part of Blackbeard's crew for a weekend. Did you state that you wanted the fantasy to be permanent?"

That brought Deal up short, and he jammed his hands into the pockets of his worn denim jacket and scowled at the floor before growling grudgingly, "Naw."

"Then we gave you exactly what you asked for," Leslie said with a smile, "and I'm very glad you enjoyed yourself so thoroughly. You'll have lots of good memories and some great stories to tell your friends."

Boxed in, Deal gave up and agreed with her; to help placate him, she gave him a coupon for a free dinner at the hotel. He finally shuffled out, leaving the threesome alone, and Julie breathed a great sigh of relief. "I thought for sure we had a lawsuit on our hands."

"Ach, 'twas nothin'," Rogan teased, exaggerating his slight Irish accent, and grinned engagingly at her when she giggled. "The real test, now, is getting that blueprint to our heroes-in-waiting. I can get there in no time. Just give me the print and I'll be there and back, and you'll hardly have the time to miss me."

"I suppose you 'pop' in and out of places like Father does," said Leslie, her resigned tone carrying a hint of amusement. Rogan winked, took the blueprint and wandered out to the terrace. Julie followed a few paces behind, but when she got out there he was gone.

"He's good, Leslie," she said admiringly, strolling back into the study. "He's darn good. Also darn good-looking."

"He's a darn pain in the keister," Leslie muttered, but she couldn't quite hide a smile. "Those Irish and their silver tongues. No wonder he's got you hooked, Julie MacNabb—and you being Irish too. Shame on you."

Julie stuck out her tongue. "Hey, I'm allowed to get crushes, Leslie Hamilton. Maybe even more so, considering I'm almost thirty-nine and he's the first guy that's interested me that much. And I think he likes me too—I've seen him eyeing me. You think you've got a monopoly on love with that prince of yours? It's my turn, and I'm waaaaaaay overdue!"

Leslie had to laugh. "My apologies. First let's see if he's as good as his word."

In a few minutes Rogan returned empty-handed. "They're off and running. My guess is, they'll be done and have Worth in custody by midnight. That should do it." He turned to Julie and said, "I hear you have a bed-and-breakfast inn and that it has a sterling reputation. Think I could curl up in a corner tonight?"

"I think I can find a rollaway cot for you," said Julie, looking very pleased, "if you don't mind sleeping in the laundry room."

"Not a bit." Rogan beamed. "Anything so I can be there for one of those breakfasts that's been so highly praised on the island website." He offered Julie his arm, and she took it, throwing Leslie a smug grin and a huge wink over her shoulder as Rogan escorted her out. Leslie smiled and shook her head to herself before letting her mind turn to Roarke and wondering when—she refused to entertain the option of if—he would wake up.