§ § § -- January 1, 2001

Roarke set the glass aside and focused on the indistinct shadow. "Very well."

"Tell us, Roarke, why do you so stubbornly resist admitting that your time has reached its end? Your father willingly surrendered. But there is little doubt that you have certain very compelling reasons for wishing to remain. What are they?"

"First," Roarke said, "I must beg to differ with you: my father surrendered, but not willingly. It greatly saddened him to step aside, and it was my very strong impression that if it had not been for the fact that he had a fairly well-advanced case of the bone-eating disease, he never would have done so, and quite possibly would have argued for remaining, exactly as I am now doing." The council's surprise was so strong as to be palpable, and he took advantage of it to explain further. "As I have already mentioned, who would replace me? Leslie is not ready by far; and even if Rogan were so inclined, he too would not be prepared. About twenty years ago, at a time when I wasn't sure I would survive a confrontation with Mephistopheles, I wrote out detailed instructions for Tattoo, my assistant at the time, to be put into use only should I not return. I still have those instructions, which I hold for Leslie against the direst possible occurrence.

"However, they are emergency preparations only, and cover only the most important functions. I have much yet to teach her. The point was raised earlier in regard to her lack of the powers, and while I appreciate its validity, I also have a contingency in mind for that. In any case, I would find myself at loose ends should I step down. Fantasy Island gives me a purpose: but there is far more to it than having a reason to exist. The place and its memories mean far more to me than I have time or vocabulary to describe here. It is home, in a way no other place I have ever lived has been home.

"And even if all of this were not a factor, what about my daughter? I am advised that of the entire Roarke clan, which once numbered in the dozens, there now remain only Rogan and me…and, I might add, Rogan's young son Rory. Yes, they are blood relatives…but Leslie is my family, and the only family I have. She is as alone as I. Should I step down and seem to disappear from the face of the earth, where would that leave her? She has fewer blood relations than I. Each of us is all the other has, at least until such time as her prince is released from his imposed marital obligation and can join her at last. In the meantime, we depend on each other. I can't simply desert her now—it would be needlessly cruel.

"In short, the world needs Fantasy Island; I need Fantasy Island and my daughter; my daughter needs me. I believe that summarizes everything."

Silence fell once again, a contemplative and somewhat overwhelmed one, and Roarke very gradually relaxed in the chair, quietly reminding himself that he had said everything he could say. Now his fate rested in their hands.

The second voice was the first to speak. "I cannot find fault with his arguments; they are compelling and sound, and stand up to whatever we throw at them."

"You speak for me as well," said the sixth voice, and the fourth and fifth ones echoed this, not necessarily gladly, but with definite respect.

The third voice heaved an audible breath and grumbled, "As much as I wish I could dissent, I too must admit to being impressed. I concur."

The first voice seemed to have a smile in it. "Perhaps you are correct, Roarke, and your time hasn't yet come to an end after all. In the assorted tribunals we and others have conducted, I don't believe there has ever yet been a more compelling debate or a more impassioned defense. You may return, Roarke, with our blessings."

Roarke smiled broadly, but before he could extend his thanks, the fourth voice said, "I must say, I am very much impressed with that island and the way you run it. Setting yourself up as a sovereign territory was an inspired idea—a haven for the world's most brutally persecuted souls, a refuge for vulnerable flora and fauna, and most of all, a place for Earth humans to actually live out their most cherished fantasies. I commend you."

Roarke's smile became an impish grin. "Well, I really can't take all the credit for it; the idea was presented to me. But my benefactors remain anonymous." The council began to laugh…

…and quite out of nowhere, he stood in his study again, in the same spot he'd been when he originally noticed that time had stopped. Everything remained exactly as he had left it, including Leslie in her strange snapshot pose, in the act of setting her cup on the table. Realizing he had been sitting when she had last moved, he took his seat.

The stillness of the air eased; the grandfather clock resumed striking the midnight hour; and Leslie finished her movement, putting the mug on the table and getting to her feet. Roarke watched her, stricken abruptly with the icy realization of how very close he had come to losing all this, and stood up once more, stepping in front of her before she could get to the steps and enfolding her into a hard hug that shook just slightly.

She noticed. "Father, is something wrong? Are you okay?"

He knew he was suffering from a sort of withdrawal, from the drained-adrenaline feeling of having survived a close call, and found himself too weary and shaken to explain to her. "Please, my child, just indulge me," he requested softly.

"Of course, Father, anything," she agreed readily. She sounded bewildered, but he knew she would accept it, as she had accepted so much else that she couldn't understand, as just another caprice of his livelihood and his abilities. He closed his eyes and smiled with the relief that finally sheeted over him when she wrapped her arms around him and held on, just as securely as he clung to her.

Roarke and Leslie stood that way till long after the clock had rung out the twelfth chime, till his barely-perceptible shaking had eased and he dared let himself believe he had truly won an indefinite reprieve. Then, and only then, did he ease back from her. "Perhaps," he said, "it would be best to retire now, if that's all right with you. Why don't you go on ahead, Leslie, and I'll set things to rights here before I go up."

Leslie studied him, vestiges of confusion and curiosity in her eyes, then nodded quiet assent. "I guess it's as well," she said and grinned. "I thought I'd save some of that cider for breakfast anyway, and if I get another cup now I may finish it off."

Roarke chuckled with her. "All right then…good night."

"Good night, Father," she said and went upstairs. He watched her go, then gathered up the cups and took them to the kitchen before returning to the study. About to close the shutters, he was quite startled when Rogan Callaghan burst onto the terrace and skidded to a breathless halt just inside the room.

"I've got it, uncle," he gasped and nodded vigorously at Roarke's wide-eyed stare. "I've finally got it, after all this time!"
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What's behind Rogan's "eureka" moment? Cliffhanger to be resolved next time…