§ § § -- October 18, 1981
Leslie followed Roarke along a little-used path into the deeper part of the jungle; mist drifted around the ground and she found herself brushing aside the occasional clinging vine. Both she and Roarke stopped short when the image of a skeleton appeared out of tin air before resolving into Mephistopheles, standing in a red-lit swirl of smoke.
"I'm glad to see that you are punctual," Mephistopheles remarked approvingly; his smoky effects vanished and he stood as they did, with mist curling around their ankles.
"Leslie and I fulfill our legal obligations," replied Roarke. "We'll require the same of you, of course."
Mephistopheles smiled, nodded and approached them. "You may rest assured," he said, "I may despise justice, but I adore the letter of the law."
Roarke's eyebrows shot up. "Oh…I shall remember that," he said with great interest. Leslie glanced at him with a faint smile; something in his tone of voice gave her a little more confidence. Their long, heartfelt discussion was still fresh in her mind, and she sternly reminded herself not to forget it, no matter what happened.
"Now, my contract with Leslie was oral," Mephistopheles said, getting down to business and reaching inside his jacket, "but I have here a certified agreement." Roarke took the document and flipped through the pages, examining it quickly but thoroughly. Mephistopheles watched him expectantly, then frowned as Roarke paused to look more closely at one paragraph. Rolling his eyes, he said, "I do hope you're not going to challenge it."
"No," Roarke said, plainly to his enemy's surprise. "No, I will admit that you have a legal claim against Leslie's soul." Leslie, who had been peering over Roarke's shoulder at the pages, glanced at her guardian but forced herself to hold her tongue.
"You do?" said Mephistopheles.
"Mm-hmm," murmured Roarke calmly.
Mephistopheles peered dubiously at him. "Now that's not like you, Roarke…what's the catch?" he wanted to know.
"Oh, no catch," Roarke said. "I can't stop you from taking what is yours."
"Well, that is marvelous!" exclaimed Mephistopheles, retrieving his document from Roarke. "You've become quite reasonable."
"Thank you," said Roarke.
"No, thank you." The devil focused on the girl and said, "Come along, Leslie."
She surprised herself with her own calm as she promptly turned and followed Mephistopheles away. They had taken no more than a few steps when Roarke said as if just remembering something, "Uh, there is one minor detail." At which Leslie immediately turned back around, a tiny, expectant smile on her features. "One of those little legal technicalities."
Mephistopheles turned halfway and eyed Roarke with new suspicion. "What is that?" he demanded warily.
"I have a document here," announced Roarke, removing from his jacket pocket one of the papers he and Leslie had earlier signed in the main house, "properly drawn, with the usual provisions…but why not see for yourself?" He offered the page to Mephistopheles, who stuffed his own paper back into his jacket and came to Roarke to take a look at the new page. Leslie watched with a strange new confidence that amazed her.
After a long moment Mephistopheles peered up at Roarke. "Leslie has sold you her soul?" he demanded incredulously.
"Yes," Roarke replied.
The devil peered at the page again and then noticed something next to the signatures. "This is dated today," he scoffed, once again certain of his ground. "My claim comes first."
"But mine is signed and notarized," Roarke countered. "We have equally valid claims." Suddenly he chuckled. "I suppose that makes us partners."
Mephistopheles shot him a look that fairly screamed You must be joking! He folded the paper and handed it back to Roarke. "Never."
"I don't like the idea much myself, no," Roarke agreed with amusement, then seemed to have an idea. "Perhaps we should each claim half." He gestured at Leslie, who stood waiting in a newly tense silence. Roarke had warned her that he might be playing at least some of this by ear, but she was still faintly alarmed despite herself.
Mephistopheles whirled around to stare at Leslie as if trying to mentally split her in two, then back to Roarke. "Half a soul?" he said in disbelief.
"Yes," Roarke said with a nod.
"How could I take half a soul? What would I do with half a soul?"
"Well," Roarke said thoughtfully, "you could have it on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays; I will take it Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Sundays, we will have to alternate." He smiled as if in concession.
"This is absurd, Roarke," Mephistopheles snapped, glaring at Roarke in disgust and circling him. "Souls cannot check in and out of hell like it is some damned motel."
"Well, if you want to press your claim, you will simply have to make an exception for Leslie, now won't you?" Roarke remarked.
"This is ridiculous!" said Mephistopheles. "You cannot compromise with the devil!"
Roarke stared at him in mock surprise. "I always thought compromise was your specialty," he said. "No?" He glanced at Leslie. "Well, then, it would seem that the only way around our little impasse is for us both to release our claims."
Mephistopheles stared at him. "Oh." Then a smile began to spread across his face and he shook his head. "Oh, no, no, no. I see what you're trying to do. No, it won't work."
"Why?" inquired Roarke, himself amused.
"It won't work," the devil insisted.
Again Roarke asked, "Why?" still smiling. Leslie followed their rapid byplay with a grin of her own; their amusement, however false it might really be, was contagious all the same. For that matter, both Roarke and Mephistopheles were chuckling.
"She may not be able to go with me," Satan said, "but she can't go with you either."
At that point Leslie's levity dissolved like so much salt in water, and she reached out in attempt to get her guardian's attention. "What's that mean, Mr. Roarke?"
Mephistopheles rounded abruptly on her and advanced with a sudden snarl. "It means that you will be eternally damned in limbo between his world and mine."
She stared at the fierce glare he drove at her, then rushed over to Roarke in a panic. "Oh, please…you can't let him do that to me," she pleaded.
"No," Roarke said, perhaps remembering his promise to Shannon Hamilton all those years ago. "No, I cannot allow that." He slipped around Leslie and went to stand before Mephistopheles, his features grim but composed.
"You win, Mephistopheles," he said quietly, watching Satan's eyes widen fractionally. "Relinquish your interest in Leslie…and you may claim my soul."
"Done," Mephistopheles barked instantly, his eyes bright with triumph. "You're mine, Roarke…you're finally mine!"
"Oh no!" cried Leslie, unable to stop herself.
"It's too late for you to talk him out of it," the devil snapped without hesitation; he never took his gaze off Roarke, though he pointed in her direction for emphasis. "I renounce all claims to you." Slowly his left hand dropped to his side; his right lifted in a gesture toward the path. "Roarke?"
Roarke glanced that way and requested emotionlessly, "Will you escort me personally to Hades."
"Oh, I have a much more imaginative future in mind for you," Mephistopheles mused gleefully, orbiting Roarke as he spoke. "You will continue to run Fantasy Island, but under my direction. You will pander to all forms of depraved fantasies—fantasies of evil, fantasies of lust, fantasies of corruption. Your lovely island will become the gateway to hell!" Leslie's face was a study in horror and the fright she couldn't quite control, and signs of extreme distaste were even beginning to crack through Roarke's expressionless veneer. Mephistopheles saw it and crooned, "Oh, Roarke, don't look so gloomy. You will grow to love it! Oh, I can see a great future for you in my service. Why, with you at my side, there is no limit to the depths that we can plumb!" Suddenly he drew himself up short and regarded Roarke almost wistfully. "But all this must wait awhile. I simply cannot resist making you suffer just a little, for all the years of trouble that you've caused me." He again gestured toward the path with one hand. "Come."
Roarke turned to look at a still-queasy Leslie, and Mephistopheles followed his gaze. Leslie swallowed hard and stared anxiously back. Suddenly a bell began to clang in the distance, and she realized that her part in the plan was about to commence.
Roarke and Mephistopheles presented their backs to her and began to walk away. "Wait," Leslie blurted hoarsely, cleared her throat and tried again, with somewhat more composure. "Excuse me?"
The retreating pair stopped and revolved to face her once more; Mephistopheles looked distinctly impatient. "What is it now?" he demanded.
Leslie approached the two men with an unexpected new calm. "Where are you going with my property?" she inquired coolly.
Mephistopheles clucked at her as if she were holding up the proceedings without cause. "Your property?"
Leslie nodded and removed a sheet of paper from one of the two large pockets hidden in the folds of her skirt. "I have a document here," she explained, unfolding it and displaying it at Mephistopheles while Roarke watched. "It is properly signed and notarized."
As if only just reminded, Roarke came to sudden life. "Oh yes! Did I forget to mention that I have already sold my soul to her? Oh, I am terribly sorry." His smile indicated that he wasn't sorry at all.
"Does that make us partners?" Leslie asked innocently, unable to resist.
Mephistopheles stared at them both for a moment while the bell tolled a couple more times, then pointed at Roarke and backed off a couple of steps as though expecting Roarke to follow. "I still own half of you, Roarke…"
"Not even half," Roarke contradicted and glanced overhead, pointing skyward as if at a clock only he could see. Leslie looked up as well, and Mephistopheles inexorably imitated them. The clock ceased chiming, its twelfth strike dying away into the night. "Poor devil," Roarke said, shaking his head, still smiling. "Midnight has come and gone." Mephistopheles stared at the sky, a look of sheer dismay blooming on his face. "I am afraid you failed to claim your half at the appointed time; it's already past midnight. You are too late! The letter of the law…remember?"
It finally hit Mephistopheles that once more, Roarke had outwitted him. "Damn you, Roarke," he snarled, baring his teeth.
"That," replied Roarke, "is precisely what I have been trying to avoid."
The devil's face actually shook with rage, and he howled, "DAMN YOU!!" whipping away from them. Startled, Leslie jumped back behind Roarke, peering wide-eyed over her guardian's shoulder as Mephistopheles metamorphosed into his true form, complete with widow's peak and red horns sprouting from his temples. He stood and glared at a wary Leslie and a calm Roarke before finally relaxing a bit and saying sourly, "I beg your pardon, Roarke. I concede the battle…but our eternal war goes on. You said it yourself, Roarke, one cannot always win. The law of averages is on my side." Leslie compressed her lips but said nothing; Mephistopheles began to retreat much as he had the last time he and Roarke had had a confrontation. "We shall do battle again. My final victory is inevitable!" And with that, he vanished and darkness cloaked Leslie, Roarke and their surroundings for a moment with such totality that they could see literally nothing at all.
Then normal moonlight silvered the clearing again and Leslie ventured out from behind her guardian, staring at him in wonder, trying to convince herself it was finally all over. "You did it!" she breathed, sheer relief in her voice.
Roarke turned to her and sighed, finally relaxing in his own right. "Only because you were willing to trust me unconditionally," he said softly, smiling at her and fingering her chin with fatherly affection. "No greater love has any man—or woman—than that."
She grinned a little sheepishly and stepped into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. "Let's go home," she suggested, and Roarke nodded, escorting her back along the path toward their own safe haven.
§ § § -- October 19, 1981
Never before in all her life had Leslie actually been happy to see Monday morning arrive. She and Roarke waited at the plane dock as the first car arrived and discharged Billie Michaels and Carl Wagner. Billie headed for the plane, but Wagner hesitated. "Mr. Roarke, there was a certain girl, in the show…her name was Ruby."
"Do you want to find her again?" Leslie asked.
Wagner shook his head. "No, no, I found what I wanted. I just thought I might say goodbye to her, that's all."
Roarke smiled. "Every man has a Ziegfeld girl he remembers in a dream now and then, Mr. Wagner. Fortunately, you have one with whom to share your life." He glanced in the direction of the plane dock where Billie stood waiting.
"Yes," Wagner agreed with a grin, "yes, I have. Thank you, Mr. Roarke."
"You're very welcome," Roarke replied, and they shook hands before Wagner hurried off to join Billie. A moment later another car pulled up bearing Joan Michaels and Ruby Rogers; Julie jumped out of the front seat and assisted the elderly women out of the car.
"Was your fantasy satisfactory?" Julie usurped Roarke's line.
"No," admitted Ms. Rogers, "not entirely, my child. There are a few things I can think of that might have gone…differently, shall we say."
Joan Michaels grinned. "What she means is, she lost a lover, but she kept a friend."
"Yes," Ms. Rogers said slyly, "maybe someday I'll figure out if it was all worth it." They all chuckled as the two friends traded teasing eyerolls.
"Thanks for everything, Mr. Roarke. We really had a nice time. The dancing was wonderful," Mrs. Michaels said cheerfully.
"I'm delighted," Roarke responded graciously.
"Come on, Ruby, let's go home." The two women linked arms and stumped along on their canes toward the boarding dock.
Julie sighed, watching them go. "Looks like things didn't turn out too well for them."
"On the contrary, Julie," Roarke countered. "Many persons laud the sacrifices for friendship—so long as they're not called upon to make them. When they find the strength to do so, they enrich themselves with grace and dignity."
Julie smiled thoughtfully, and Leslie glanced overhead. "Isn't it a great day?" she asked suddenly.
"Oh, yes, Leslie, the sort of day that makes one glad to be alive," Roarke agreed. "Have you listened to the birds today?"
"They sound happy too," said Leslie with a nod.
Roarke took a deep breath. "Even the air smells sweeter."
"I know why," Leslie said, while Julie stared at them curiously.
"So do I," Roarke said and gently brushed back Leslie's hair. "Our uninvited guest is gone, and the stench of evil has departed Fantasy Island."
"Will he come back?" Leslie wondered a little nervously.
Roarke looked amused. "Not for a while. We gave him quite a beating, you and I; he won't be in a hurry to take us on again."
"But doesn't it worry you about what he said?" Leslie persisted.
"About the law of averages being on his side?" prompted Roarke.
"It worries me," she said, nodding.
"Oh, Leslie, Leslie, the world is not ruled by chance! The devil can win only if we are willing to play his game." Leslie thought that over and smiled a little at last, and Roarke gave her a quick squeeze around the shoulders.
Another car pulled up with Ned Plummer and Tattoo, who when he hopped out said, "Sorry we're late, boss." He turned and looked teasingly at Plummer. "Watch out—here comes Kid Corey!"
Plummer held up a hand. "I've had it with that, Tattoo," he said.
"Have you indeed, Mr. Plummer?" Roarke inquired.
Plummer eyed him. "Whaddaya mean? Of course! You know I have."
"Oh," Roarke countered, "but surely you understand that it was you who miraculously escaped the gallows and disappeared forever into the mysterious and legendary land of the all-American West. In fact, as well as fantasy, you are Kid Corey!"
Plummer stuck a hand on one hip and peered dubiously at him. "What about the poster?" he asked.
"Mr. Roarke said that was a picture of you," Julie said.
"Oh, without the slightest doubt," Roarke confirmed. "You, I believe, actually met the lady who took the photograph?"
"That's right," Plummer realized, amazed. "Then I am Kid Corey! But what happened to that old son-of-a-gun who was the real Kid Corey?"
"I have it on very reliable authority that he retrieved the million dollars from its hiding place at the camp where you first overtook him, and retired to a South American country. However, it was only a short time before the justice he deserved finally caught up with him," Roarke explained.
Plummer brightened. "Then that means that I am the real Kid Corey!"
Roarke smiled and tipped forward a bit in acknowledgement, and Tattoo spoke up once more. "Watch out, Brooklyn…Kid Corey rides again!" Plummer smirked and swaggered a few steps towards the dock, hitching up an imaginary gun belt, then grinned at Tattoo and started off to the plane for real, leaving his hosts laughing behind him.
The car that would take Leslie to school arrived while the plane was still taxiing out of the lagoon toward the ocean and takeoff, and with goodbyes to her guardian, Julie and Tattoo, she settled back in her seat and contemplated her weekend. It wasn't till lunchtime, however, that she finally heard the usual question. This time it was Frida who asked. "Tell us about the fantasies," she said hopefully. "I saw so little of Julie this weekend."
"You did?" Myeko asked and looked at Leslie. "So does that mean you got involved with a fantasy, then?"
Leslie eyed her ironically. "Oh, I got 'involved' all right," she said dryly. "And about all I can say is, be careful what you wish for, because you could get it." So saying, she took a bite of her lunch, ignoring her friends' perplexed glances and hoping against hope that Maureen especially took awhile to put two and two together!