Fantasy Island and all associated characters (except mine and MagicSwede1965's) are owned by Spelling-Goldberg Productions, Columbia Pictures Television, Sony Pictures Home Entertainment. All persons described herein are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. Copyright infringement is not intended.
Chapter 5: Suspicions
4 June 2014
Mr. Roarke's family members gathered in the study early in the morning for a much-needed discussion. Reports had come in from the staff that showed an interesting trend over the past two weeks. Rogan frowned, skimming the papers one by one as Delphine handed them to him. "Singing at the charity concert. Performing stage routines. Interfering with fantasies." He smacked the sheets onto the desk. "Andrea Trenton appears to be insinuating herself into the island's operations like a…" he waved his hand in the air while searching for an applicable phrase, "…computer virus."
"I don't think she means any harm," said Leslie. "When we first met her, she seemed completely aboveboard. And Father obviously trusts her."
"He trusted Paola too," Rogan retorted, starkly reminding them of the woman who, fifteen years prior, had invaded their lives, mind-controlled Mr. Roarke, and kidnapped Leslie. "We all know what happened after that."
Delphine chimed in, "Look, everything that Ms. Trenton has done was to fill a lack of some kind, or to help. Doesn't that tell you something?"
"I'm still not convinced," said Rogan. "None of us can read her because she keeps her mind well-guarded. All we really know of her is that she was Uncle's apprentice and that she's some rare kind of fae. We can't rule out the possibility that she might just be creating a false sense of security before doing something malicious."
"You have a point there," Leslie mused. "But I did some looking around online. She's divorced, maintains several social media and career profiles, a web site devoted to the arts, and a genealogy blog. And she's been working at the same company for years as a content writer. There's nothing that looks really out of the ordinary. It makes me think if she had fought aliens and monsters as she said when we met her, wouldn't it have been seen by someone? Or mentioned in the news?"
Rogan scoffed, "Come on, you know how well governments can cover things up. Even if such a thing were reported, few would believe it anyway."
"I still think we should give her the benefit of the doubt," Delphine said firmly. "At least until we can speak to Uncle."
"All right, fair enough," Rogan conceded. "But if we can't get this straightened out, we might have to consider getting one of the Mind-Bender clan members to take a peek in her head. After all we've been through, the last thing we need is another loose cannon around here."
"Another?" asked Leslie, surprised. "Oh, you don't mean Ms. Galway?" The beautiful, but somewhat arrogant reporter had arrived a few days prior, insisting that she was on vacation.
"Yes, and I'm afraid she's causing trouble by asking any staff member she can corner about Uncle," Delphine said ruefully. "Nobody knows why. I'm beginning to wish that I hadn't allowed her to come here."
Rogan crossed his arms and sat on the edge of the desk, with tension evident in his body. "I told her that he'd passed on, but she wouldn't accept my word for it and asked if there was a grave site that she could visit."
"There isn't one," Leslie pointed out before sighing and glancing up at the ceiling for a few seconds. "We should've thought of that. What did you tell her?"
"The truth, up to a point. That nobody knows where he lies. One night he went to bed, and the next morning he was gone. Then I got an inspiration and said our theory was that he went out early for a walk, disappeared in the jungle, and that the natives believe the gods took him as a reward for his years of service to the island and its people."
Delphine turned to him, impressed. "Wow, that was quick thinking."
"I hope that'll be enough to satisfy her curiosity," Leslie said. "Otherwise we might have a more serious problem."
That afternoon, Andrea was in the Lighthouse Café enjoying a snack at a table near the main door when a guest entered and noticed her.
"Excuse me, Ms. Trenton?" the red-haired woman asked. "My name is Fiona Galway. Can I talk to you for a few minutes?" Her accent sounded vaguely British.
"Certainly." Andrea indicated the seat opposite her. "How may I help you?"
Ms. Galway quickly glanced around, as if checking that nobody was listening, despite the fact they, the bartender, and a few others were the only people present at this hour. She then leaned forward and said, "I'm a reporter from the South Australian Advertiser. I heard that you know Mr. Roarke."
"Yes, I knew him." She responded in the past tense, since as far as the guests were concerned, Mr. Roarke was supposed to be gone. If this tabloid reporter were a guest, why would she be asking about him? "He was my mentor," she added, feeling no need to keep that detail secret.
The other woman's eyebrows went up in surprise. "So, you've known him for a long time. Okay, listen, I've spoken to other people about him, but nobody has given me a straight answer. The one time that I actually laid eyes on him, I couldn't get close enough to ask him anything before he went around a corner and disappeared. But I thought that he looked like an important man."
The woman's statement immediately put Andrea on alert. Few people outside the family, and presumably the clan members, knew that Roarke still visited the island from time to time. How did Ms. Galway know unless she had spied upon them? What did she want?
Oblivious to her listener's sudden change in attitude, Ms. Galway continued, "I've heard stories about women having flirted with him, wanting to get his attention and all that, but he always put them off. Why? Does he…" she lowered her voice, "…not like women?"
It took some effort to keep a straight face. "He did like women, Ms. Galway, but he simply wasn't interested. Being the host, it was unseemly for him to fraternize with the guests. Is this relevant to whatever article you're planning to write?"
The reporter ignored the question and scoffed. "I don't know of any red-blooded man who can resist a woman, unless he was married. Mr. Roarke isn't married, is he?"
At that moment, Roarke entered the establishment, looking for Andrea in order to speak to her about what he'd heard concerning recent events. Upon hearing his name mentioned he stepped back, concealing himself behind the bamboo wall that separated the entrance from the main dining room.
Andrea had sensed him coming, and continued to be very careful about what she said. She didn't like where the conversation with Ms. Galway was headed, and was going to make sure that the woman didn't get any more ideas. "He was married a long time ago, but after his wife died, he didn't have any other serious relationships as far as I know."
"What kind of man like that stays celibate for so long?" Ms. Galway groused. "That indicates being either dysfunctional or gay."
Anger shot through her, and she fought the desire to get into Fiona's face, not wanting to make a scene. How dare this woman insult her mentor! "He was neither," she said with a fierce glare. "To my understanding, it took a very special kind of woman to attract him. After his wife died, he found only one who met his impossibly high standards, but he let her go." She actually knew the reason why, but wouldn't divulge it out of respect for Roarke. "Why are you asking such questions? Are you trying to pursue a ghost?"
"A ghost?" Ms. Galway stared back at her. "I know everyone is saying that he's not here any more, but I also know what I saw with my own two eyes. There's something going on here that doesn't add up."
"Regardless, I advise you to give it up right now," Andrea insisted. "It's likely that nobody would believe whatever you print anyway."
"Really?" Ms. Galway asked with a smirk. "Who are you to judge that? I think you know lots more than you're saying, otherwise you wouldn't be this upset."
Andrea took a breath to calm herself. "This conversation is over," she said flatly.
"Fine," said the woman, and then she leaned conspiratorially over the table. "But I'll tell you something. I don't just want to know about him, I want him. After I find him and seduce him to my bed, you'll be the first to know." Her eyebrows waggled suggestively.
It was clear to Andrea that the reporter was saying such things to get a rise out of her, but it wouldn't work. "I am not the sort of person who pursues others for the conquest," she said. "I respect myself enough to not be so foolish to try. Now, I'd appreciate it if you left."
Giving a furious look, Ms. Galway rose and strode away, not even noticing that the object of her pursuit was standing nearby.
Snorting in contempt, Andrea crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. As if any woman would be able to seduce Roarke! The one time she herself had tried she'd been thoroughly humiliated, but then again, she'd been a naïve teenager. She now knew full well why he was abstaining, and it saddened her. He simply couldn't pursue a relationship, even if he wanted to.
Behind the wall, Roarke closed his eyes for a moment. Hearing Andrea's staunch defense had touched him deeply. Not for the first time since her arrival, he wished that he were whole, that he was free to live and love…
'Roarke.' Her telepathic whisper in his mind was full of compassion.
He walked slowly around the wall, approached Andrea's table and took a chair opposite her. She offered her hand to him with a friendly smile. He clasped it and then sat silently with her for a short time. Something was different between them. Instead of referring to him as matua, she had called him by the name that he'd chosen to use on Earth. And each time he saw her he felt drawn ever closer to her. This shouldn't be happening, he couldn't allow himself to become entangled, but his heart told him otherwise and he yearned to follow through, for good or ill.
"I can guess what's troubling you," she said quietly. "The suspicions, the uncertainty. Wasn't there another attempt by a reporter to find something fishy about this place?"
"Yes, in 1982. Ms. Christine Connolly had interviewed some of the previous guests, and she believed that there was no such thing as eleven satisfied customers."
Andrea chuckled. "Only eleven, out of hundreds? That's hardly an accurate sample."
"Nevertheless," said Roarke with a thin smile, "that didn't stop her from trying."
"I suppose she also said that you keep your emotions under control at all times," she joked.
"Indeed, she did," was the reply. "But as you very well know, in each of us there exists a second self, that is usually quite different than the façade which life often forces upon us." The look in his eyes softened. "Neither Ms. Galway nor idle gossip concerns me. It's what my family suspects… and what I suspect."
Her mood sobered. "Their concerns can be addressed in due time," she said, although she had an idea of what those concerns might be. "I'm more interested in what you suspect of me. Surely you couldn't believe–"
Roarke held up a hand to interrupt her. "Nothing untoward, I promise you. However, your frequent visits aren't simply to make up for lost time. I have the distinct impression that I am the reason you keep returning to Fantasy Island."
Suddenly her heart began to race. He knew. The years that he'd been serving the Tribunal had in no way dulled his perception. "I stated as much on the day I arrived," she said blandly as she struggled to remain stoic. "It's hardly a secret."
"No, but something has changed… hasn't it?"
She'd never heard his voice sound so tender. Unable to respond right away, she met his dark eyes and saw within them the same burgeoning emotion that she was experiencing. "And if it has?"
"Then it would be impossible," he replied, his tone heavy with regret.
There was no need for her to remind him that they both were adept at making things possible. But defying the natural order always came at a cost. Could they take such a risk? What effect would it have on the island, on the clans? She really didn't want to think about it.
He rose and offered a hand. "Let's walk, shall we?"
With a nod, she too stood up, and took his hand. Some fresh air would be helpful.
They left the café and walked together along the road for a few minutes, neither speaking. Andrea's thoughts were awhirl with possibilities, when one suddenly stood out in stark relief among the others. Her head swam and she clung to Roarke's arm for support. His calls to her receded out of her hearing as a vision of an alternate reality made itself known in her head: one in which the island had ceased to exist. No…
When she regained her senses, she was sitting on the ground, Roarke kneeling next to her and holding her against himself firmly. She blinked a few times and cleared her throat. "I'm okay. I'm okay."
"What happened?" he asked as he slowly relaxed his hold, concern etched on his face. "I was about to take you to the hospital."
Patting his arm in reassurance, she said, "That would've wasted their time." With a shake of her head, she tried to stand, and he helped her up. "I haven't had an alter-vision like that in a long time." At his questioning glance she explained, "That's what I call it. Because of my nature I'm sensitive to changes or anomalies in the flow of time. Once in a while, if I let my thoughts wander too far, I might experience a vision of a reality that might occur, or that would have occurred, if circumstances were slightly different. The more major the change, the more strongly it affects me."
"What did you see?"
She didn't want to tell him. But at the same time, she had to hope that what she saw was merely a possibility, not a certainty. "Something happened to you, and your absence caused the island to disappear from the world. Except for myself, all those who had ever been associated with this place forgot about its existence." She gazed up at him. "Are you such a fundamental part of it that it could happen?"
If it had been anyone else, he would've deflected or given an oblique answer, but this was Andrea. She deserved complete honesty. He took her in his arms again, ostensibly as comfort, but for some reason it felt right for her to be there. "As far as I'm aware, in this world, this island is very real and doesn't need my continued presence," he reassured her. "When I first came here, one could say that a symbiotic relationship of sorts developed, because I wished to enhance the island's natural beauty. Over time, however, that became no longer necessary."
Andrea brightened. "That's why you once told me: 'I am what was, what is, I am Fantasy Island' back when I asked if you would tell me about your origins."
"Partly, yes," he said warmly, then continued, "I have faced my own destruction on several occasions in the past." He didn't elaborate, although he knew that she was aware of at least two such incidents. "Each time, I made preparations for the management of the resort and the fantasies to continue were I to become unable to do so. Even now it's clear that the island still thrives, regardless of my present circumstances. This place will continue to provide solace to those who wish for it, for a long time to come."
"Then I have nothing more to fear on that account," she said as she smiled at him. Then she relaxed against his strong body, experiencing a brief jolt of surprise that she could actually hear his heart beating within his chest. Did incorporeal beings have a heart? But whether it was real or an auditory illusion that he was creating for her benefit, she didn't care at this moment.
She sensed Rogan's presence approaching before she heard the footsteps, and stiffened in alarm. Roarke quickly let her go, stepped back, and smoothed the wrinkles out of his suit jacket as his nephew came striding toward them.
"Hello, Uncle. Pardon me, Ms. Trenton, I'd like to speak with you," said Rogan, his measured tone indicating anger simmering below the surface.
She smiled cordially. "Of course."
"Allow me to be blunt, lass," he began. "What are your intentions here? Not only have you made yourself widely known to the people of the island, you've interfered in several fantasies, and on at least one occasion took up a large part of Uncle's precious time that he can be with us. If I didn't know better, I would think you're an agent of some power–"
"Hold it right there, Mr. Callaghan," she said formally, holding up a hand. "Roarke gave me permission to be here. My so-called interference was only intended to help, and the events I participated in became quite successful. Is it an intrusion to assist people who are in difficulties? Is it wrong to put a smile on a child's face?" She shook her head at his consternation. "I'm quite sure that both you and Delphine are capable of divining when supernatural power is being used, so you should already know that I've only been using my powers sparingly."
He scowled. "That doesn't stop us from being suspicious."
"What would you have me do, then?" she asked, sarcasm creeping into her voice. "Should I drink a truth potion or allow my mind to be read?" She gestured toward Roarke. "He trusts me."
Rogan glared at her. "There's reason to believe you're influencing him. You're not the first who has tried."
"Rogan," Roarke interjected severely, but his nephew didn't pay him any heed.
"I would never do such a thing," Andrea vowed, broadcasting sincerity. "Would you rather someone like Fiona Galway influence him instead? Oh," she stopped, realizing what must have brought about this line of questioning. "She probably complained about me. All I did was insist that she cease her investigation."
"She accused you of trying to stop her from having her fantasy and asked for an intervention," Rogan said.
Andrea's voice lowered in annoyance. "That's mere sour grapes on her part. I don't know what she's really here for, but she told me that she wanted to seduce Roarke. If that's true, her fantasy, if in fact she has one, should've been cancelled right then. My involvement shouldn't matter."
"And just what is your involvement?" the Irishman asked, his gaze hard.
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "For someone who's supposed to know everything that happens on this island," she quipped, remembering all the times that Roarke had said the same, "you aren't very observant, Mr. Callaghan." She decided right then that there was no more point in concealing her incentive. "I love him." It was highly satisfying for her to see Rogan's shocked reaction. "But I've accepted why I can't act upon it." She paused to take a calming breath. "Honestly, I wish that I'd been able to come here before that Tribunal changed him, but…" she clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to say anything further.
Rogan stared at the ground, unable to formulate an answer for a moment. Then he said, his brogue becoming more pronounced in his ire, "Maybe ye should consider leavin' before ye do any more damage."
"I can do that," she said, at the end of her patience, "but I'll talk to Roarke first. Either way, I'm certain that you'll be on the receiving end of his wrath soon." She whirled and walked away.
"I'm not finished, Ms. Trenton," Rogan called after her, but when she didn't answer, he focused on her and said sharply, "Stop!"
In the back of her mind Andrea felt a pull, and knew it to be an attempt by Rogan to plant a compulsion. He wasn't good at it. She immediately reinforced her mental block and his power slid off her mind as if it were ice. "Please do yourself a favour, Mr. Callaghan," she said over her shoulder, "don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me."
Amazed, he could only watch her depart as his uncle came up beside him, with barely controlled fury set into his face.
"Did you just try to command her?" Roarke demanded.
Rogan said sheepishly, "It didn't work."
"I should think not; she is much more accomplished in mental ability than you are. You had better hope that you haven't driven her away with such rudeness. We shall have words later, Rogan," said Roarke, and strode in the direction that Andrea had gone.