A/N: This is a story in progress, so chapters will go up as I get the chance to post them. There are still some 20 story ideas waiting to be written, and for all I know there may yet be other ideas. Also, if you're a non-writer (or a non-FI writer) but have an idea or two you'd like to see developed, suggestions are welcome—just send a private message. Many thanks to Harry2, jtbwriter and Kyryn once again!
Disclaimer: Fantasy Island is the brainchild of Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg and Gene Levitt, and Roarke and Tattoo are their characters. Everyone else is mine; if you want to borrow anybody, just ask!
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§ § § -- September 25, 1999
Since Leslie's stepbrother, Jamie Marsh, had married and departed the island, it had been a very quiet summer—something that Roarke and Leslie had been more than glad about. After the first turbulent half of the year, they had been content to go about the usual business of granting fantasies and regaining some normalcy in their lives.
The news had been full of anticipatory stories, both serious and frivolous, of the upcoming momentous change of year, and by now both Roarke and Leslie were getting a little fed up with it all, if the truth were told. Roarke did, however, consult Christian about taking care of the so-called "Y2K threat" in regard to the island website; Christian had e-mailed him back after a couple of days that it would be a simple matter to change dates in the pertinent places. Because he had access to the master pages of the site from his own computer, he had been able to make all the changes from his own home in Lilla Jordsö's capital city of Sundborg—somewhat to Leslie's chagrin. Roarke had evinced amusement at her wish that the problem had necessitated a visit from Christian, and added whimsically that perhaps something Christian hadn't foreseen would crop up and he'd have to make the long trip after all. Overall, though, they didn't think too much about the whole thing; they agreed there had been enough excitement in the first six months of the year to last them till the inevitable New Year's Eve blowouts that were undoubtedly already well along in the planning stages.
Not only that, of course, but on any given weekend, the fantasies could easily cause enough excitement all on their own. On the final weekend in September, after Roarke had introduced a couple of overly enthusiastic paparazzi looking for sanctuary from the equally enthusiastic bodyguards of a fed-up celebrity, he watched a woman somewhat older than Leslie disembark from the charter, and suddenly smiled. "Ah, yes…Miss Caroline Shaw, aged thirty-eight, from Corpus Christi, Texas."
Leslie focused on the woman; she had shoulder-length dark curls and was casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and looked thoroughly ordinary. "What's her fantasy?"
"She has never been married, and now that she is nearing her fortieth birthday, she is beginning to worry that she may never do so. To that end, she has decided to step up her search for her so-called Mr. Right; and as a part of that search, she has requested to play Snow White for the weekend," Roarke said.
Leslie gave him a dubious look. "You mean, she's so desperate that now she's actually looking for a literal Prince Charming?"
Roarke chuckled and remarked, "Something like that. To be completely honest, I myself am slightly perplexed. She seems attractive enough in her own way."
"It's possible," Leslie offered, "that she just hasn't been lucky enough to meet the right guy so far, and she's getting to the point where she's no longer sure she will. Let's face it: I read somewhere that once a woman hits forty, her chances of marrying absolutely plummet. Which I think is pretty crummy, really. How many fiftyish guys have charged off the plane looking for some college-age airhead to make them think they're young again?"
"Too many," Roarke said. "It seems that Miss Shaw considers herself a victim of that mentality, although I feel she's slightly premature in her thinking."
Leslie grinned. "It's never too early to panic," she cracked.
Roarke chuckled again, then accepted his glass and raised it to the new arrivals. "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"
‡ ‡ ‡
When she came into the main house, Caroline Shaw had changed from her jeans and T-shirt into shorts and a tank top, and there was an expression of high hope on her face. She reached right across the desk and shook hands with Roarke, then smiled brightly in greeting at Leslie. "No wonder you have hardly any pictures of the scenery on your website," she said. "There's no way you could capture the atmosphere of this island in a photograph."
"You're very kind, Miss Shaw," said Roarke. "Is there anything we can get you?"
"No thank you, Mr. Roarke, that drink I got at the plane dock brought me right back to life after the flights. I'm rarin' to go. When can I start my fantasy?"
"Immediately, if that is your wish," Roarke said, smiling.
Caroline paused a moment. "You mean…right this exact second? But isn't there anything I gotta do first?"
"Like what?" asked Leslie.
"Well, uh, change my clothes," Caroline said.
Leslie took in her attire. "You just did, if I'm not mistaken."
"No, that's not what I mean. I'm talking about the blouse and bodice and yellow skirt and all that," Caroline explained.
Roarke looked vastly amused. "Ah, I see. You need not trouble yourself about such details, Miss Shaw. Everything will be taken care of once your fantasy begins. However, I should warn you that the entire thing will be real, and you should not underestimate the perils you'll find yourself in as Snow White. You'll have to think on your feet and rely on your instincts to get yourself through this. Remember, Snow White went through rather an ordeal before she got her prince."
"True," Caroline said, "but everybody knows how the story ended. I have to admit, I can't quite see how a kiss is gonna counteract the effects of poison, but on the other hand, it's probably the best cure going." She grinned, to their answering laughs. "So since I'm guaranteed a happy ending, I'm not gonna worry about it too much."
Roarke raised an eyebrow. "Don't be too cavalier, Miss Shaw," he said.
"All I gotta do is get the better of that mean old stepmother. I'm gonna have seven dwarves and a handsome prince to help me out. How can I lose?" said Caroline, beaming. "I'm ready anytime you are."
"Very well, then," Roarke said. "If you'll follow me, please." He and Leslie preceded Caroline out the French shutters, across the terrace and some twenty or so steps down one of the several paths that led therefrom. Then they stopped just in front of a pair of very large azalea bushes, both crammed from top to bottom with flowers in clear pink.
"How pretty," Caroline said appreciatively. "Wish mine'd bloom like that."
Roarke smiled. "These bushes mark the gateway to your fantasy," he told her. "Once you step through them, mind you, you won't be able to return until your fantasy has ended. Furthermore, there will be nothing I can do to halt or alter it, so I must ask you once more if you are very sure this is what you want."
Caroline eyed him. "Mr. Roarke, I'm not sure what you think is so ominous about this fantasy, but I can assure you, this is definitely what I want. When I think of the alternative, this option looks more and more attractive every second."
"What's the alternative?" Leslie asked.
Caroline rolled her eyes theatrically and declaimed in a voice of doom, "Singles bars."
Again Roarke and Leslie laughed. "You might have a point there," Leslie conceded cheerfully. "Well, then, good luck."
"I wish you the same, Miss Shaw," Roarke said, then stepped aside and gestured at the bushes. "Simply step between the bushes, and then follow the path."
"Thanks so much," Caroline said and grinned. "Well, bombs away." She pushed through the space between the bushes and promptly vanished from their sight.
Leslie lingered a moment when Roarke started back the way they'd come; he noticed her failure to follow and stopped. "Is there something wrong?"
"I was just trying to figure it out," she said, turning back. "What on earth possesses some people to go to such ridiculous extremes in the search for a life partner, anyway?"
Roarke's return glance was faintly reproachful. "Ours is not to question why, Leslie," he told her before starting back toward the house.
"Ha," she retorted, trailing in his wake. "Ours is but to do or die, huh? Well, I'm more than happy to do, but if I have to die, I better get a raise." Roarke's only response to that was something indecipherable in Spanish.
Caroline found herself trudging down a worn dirt path that led through what looked like deciduous forest, almost completely different from the tropical fauna that characterized Fantasy Island's wooded areas. Just when she'd begun to wonder if Roarke had been playing her for a fool, she rounded a sharp bend in the trail and abruptly beheld a large stone-block castle. So he'd been right after all. She trotted up to the gates, identified herself as Snow White to the guards there, and was allowed in, with odd looks but no comments.
Caroline began meandering through hallways, wondering what she was going to do next; but it wasn't long before she heard a voice crooning to someone or something. She stopped and listened, then grinned. It had to be the evil stepmother. "Mirror, mirror on the wall…" the voice intoned.
Smirking, Caroline peered around the doorway of the nearest room and spotted an extraordinarily lovely woman standing at a wall, preening in front of a very large mirror with a shining gold frame. "Who," the woman cooed, "is fairest of them all?"
Well, lady, you've got nothing to worry about, Caroline thought. She knew she was average-looking, and that supermodel type standing in there could fear no competition from her. So it was quite a surprise when the mirror announced, in an eerily familiar voice, "My Queen, you are fair, 'tis true…but Snow White is lovelier than you."
"I don't believe it," shouted the queen. "Where is that little brat?" Aha, thought Caroline, modern-day vernacular. How come Mr. Roarke was warning me about all the problems I was going to have? There should be electricity and running water at least… The queen turned to the doorway then and spotted her watching, and shot across the room to grab the startled Caroline by the arm and drag her into the room. "So there you are. How convenient."
"That mirror's lying," Caroline said, rolling her eyes. "You're prettier than I am by a long shot, Stepmom. I mean, look at me."
"You idiot," said the queen and yanked her over to the mirror. "I don't know what you've been smoking out in the woods, but have a look for yourself." Caroline shrugged and stepped in front of the mirror, then gasped. Somewhere along the way, her unspectacular face had been transformed into a heart-shaped countenance with high cheekbones, full crimson lips, large, thickly lashed blue eyes, and even dimples in her cheeks. Her hair was a sleek, shining blue-black mass, the ends curving into large soft curls.
"Whoa," said Caroline.
"Yeah, as in 'woe is me' because you're prettier," retorted the queen. "We're just gonna have to do something about that, don't you think?"
Caroline eyed her in the mirror. "Any ideas?" she asked snidely.
The queen gave her a sharp look. "Lippy, aren't you?" she said. "All the more reason to dispatch you. Well, let me think about it. If you move an inch from this room, I'll see to it that you regret it." She stalked out and slammed the door, and Caroline heard a bolt slide home. She sighed and turned back towards the mirror again.
She looked at herself for a couple more minutes, then noticed her clothes. She wasn't wearing the cute white peasant blouse, black bodice and yellow skirt that the Snow White she'd always known had worn. Her dress was just a mere gray gown with no trimmings at all. "Geez," she said aloud, "don't these people believe in color?"
"Did you think," said the mirror, its smooth reflective surface rippling in time with the words, "that you were participating in a Disney film, perhaps?" Caroline scowled.
"Mr. Roarke, is that you in there?" she demanded.
"Yes…and I see you've already met the queen," said the mirror, amused.
"Yeah…real friendly type," Caroline said, rolling her eyes. "For heaven's sake, Mr. Roarke, what other kind of Snow White is there?"
A chuckle distorted the mirror so that it looked like the surface of a lake on a windy day. "The Disney studios did not originate the tale of Snow White, as I'm sure you're aware," the mirror explained in Roarke's voice. "That honor belongs to the Brothers Grimm, and it is their version of the fairy tale you are experiencing. I warned you that you must be careful. All the more so, for the Grimms' tales are decidedly bloodthirsty. Keep that in mind through the course of your fantasy."
"Aw, Mr. Roarke, really, come on," Caroline protested. "Do I have to actually shed blood to find my prince?" There was no answer, and she threw her hands in the air. "You're a fat lot of help." With a sigh she meandered over to the window and peered out; to her surprise, she was at least three stories above the ground. "Where's Rapunzel when you need her?" she muttered.
The sound of the bolt sliding back provided barely enough warning for her to turn around before the door crashed open and the queen strode in. "I've got it," she said. "See this fellow here?" She indicated an older man, decked out in chain mail, standing in the doorway. "He's going to take you out in the woods, cut out your heart and bring it back to me for my dinner. And a tasty dinner it'll be, too." She licked her lips in anticipation. "Well, get her out of here already."
"Cannibal," Caroline yelled accusingly as the man seized her arm and towed her out of the room. All she heard was the queen's mocking laughter, fading behind her, while she stumbled along after the man in the chain mail. "Hey, buddy, easy! I'm more than willing to get out of here, just don't pull so hard."
"Queen's orders," was the terse response. Caroline found herself forced to run to keep up with him, and he hauled her down the trail for quite a distance, till she was so out of breath that she couldn't speak. Eventually, though, the man did stop and prop her sagging form against a tree. She closed her eyes and tried to stay on her feet, sucking in air.
All was quiet, and she figured the fellow had left; so when she opened her eyes just in time to see him turn to her and lift an enormous knife in the air, she let out a ringing scream that halted even the soldier. "Hey, you're about to commit murder!" she hollered in a panic and began to back away. "Come on, pal, have a heart." The knife began to descend. "No, not mine!" Caroline screamed, leaping back. "Mr. Roarke! Mr. Roarke! There's a killer on your island! Mr. Roarke…help me!"
The soldier stopped and peered at her in confusion. "Who the heck's Mr. Roarke?" he asked.
"He owns this island," Caroline babbled desperately. "If he knew you stabbed one of his guests and cut out her heart, he'd have you thrown in the pokey for at least a couple hundred years. Maybe longer if I'm lucky. Really, mister, think about it…what'd I ever do to you anyway? Just because that psycho queen back there has a craving for human flesh…"
The soldier thought it over. "I don't know who you're talking about, and last I looked this wasn't any island…but you know, I always did think there was something wacked out about that queen. And she does kinda have a bent toward cannibalism, doesn't she?"
"I'll say," Caroline agreed, watching the knife.
The soldier shrugged and replaced the weapon into its scabbard, filling Caroline with an enervating relief. "Tell you what, kid…if you head down the trail thataway, and keep on going as far as you can, you oughta be able to get well and truly out of the queen's sights. I'll slaughter something on the way back and tell her it's your heart. She never has to know the difference." He hesitated in the act of turning around. "But I'm telling you right now, kiddo, if anyone in that castle ever tells the queen, I'll swear you knocked me out and escaped, you got that?"
"Fine, anything, I don't care," Caroline blurted. "Thanks, and see ya around." Without further delay she took to her heels.
