§ § § - March 9, 1980

Roarke, Leslie and Tattoo had barely finished breakfast on Sunday morning when they were visited by Mary Ann Carlin. "Miss Carlin, are you all right?" Roarke inquired, rising from his chair. Leslie and Tattoo, both stricken by the paleness of their guest's face and her weary, haunted look, exchanged startled glances.

"Is this the way it was supposed to work out?" Mary Ann asked him—not in anger, but in anguish, in pain. "Mr. Roarke, I've had two confrontations with Valerie already, and I don't see how I can win when she has all the advantages."

"What do you mean by that?" Tattoo asked.

"Everything Valerie does, I can sense," said Mary Ann, shuddering and wrapping her arms around herself as though the temperature had dropped forty degrees. "When she inflicts pain on herself, I feel it. Every emotion she experiences, I feel it. And last night, she...she was with...with someone, all night...and I felt her passion too." Roarke and Tattoo traded glances; Leslie's eyes popped with sudden understanding, and she pressed a fist against her mouth, trying not to imagine what it must have felt like. "I feel everything she feels—and she feels nothing, Mr. Roarke. Nothing at all!"

"Oh my god," Leslie whispered, barely audibly, against her fist.

"She's using it against me," Mary Ann cried, bracing her hands on the desktop and begging Roarke for help with her eyes. "I don't know how on earth I can fight a weapon like that. She has all the power and I have nothing!"

"Miss Carlin," Roarke said with deliberation, slowly rising from his chair, "please remind me, if you will: who here is the puppet, and who the puppeteer?"

Mary Ann stared at him in disbelief. "Mr. Roarke, you can't be serious!"

"Valerie is alive at this moment only through your desire to separate her from yourself," Roarke said, "but she is nevertheless still a part of you, because she embodies all those qualities you find repellent in yourself, all those baser emotions and instincts that you keep under strict control every day of your life. You feel Valerie's physical pain, while she does not feel yours, because you are the living, breathing human being; she is merely the puppet—the dummy, if you like—given temporary animation. She feels nothing of your experiences because in truth, she is still that wooden dummy—and, endowed with all your basest emotions and none of the desirable ones, she is as impervious to others' pain as a psychopath. In a manner of speaking, that's what Valerie is. Your only hope of defeating her is to use that knowledge against her. As I said, you are the puppet master."

"Then why do I feel like the puppet?" demanded Mary Ann.

Roarke smiled faintly for a moment. "Because you don't yet see your own strength, Miss Carlin. It is within your power to defeat Valerie, using all your resources. It has been said that evil tends to triumph over good unless good is very, very careful. Be careful that you do not allow Valerie the upper hand, Miss Carlin. Remember your true roles, and take your strength from that—for only the good in you can triumph over the evil in her."

Mary Ann stood gawking openmouthed at him; they watched her absorbing his words, pondering them, slowly regaining a sense of control as they sank in and she began to exhibit determination. "You're right," she murmured, closing her eyes briefly and drawing in a fortifying breath. "The only thing I can do is confront her."

Roarke nodded. "Exactly. But remember, Miss Carlin, be very careful—for though you are the puppet master, her power is still formidable."

"I will, Mr. Roarke. Thank you," Mary Ann said softly, and with a quick smile for Leslie and Tattoo, she departed quietly, head high, face grim.

"She...she felt Valerie's pain and...and passion?" Leslie finally breathed, gaping at Roarke. "That must've been..." Unable to find the words, she shook her head hard and made a face, then speared Tattoo with a look. "I told you—Valerie's creepy!"

Tattoo sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know, you're right. Too bad that creepy personality had to come in such a gorgeous package. What a waste."

Roarke eyed him with amusement; Leslie snorted. "You'll never change, will you."

"Enough," Roarke suggested then, chuckling. "You both have tasks to occupy yourselves with, so I suggest you get started."

The day drifted quietly along; Leslie fielded a couple of calls from her friends in regard to homework, but otherwise she was busy going through mail all afternoon. Tattoo left on another run to the ferry dock around four-thirty, and Roarke set aside his ledger and took a look at his gold pocket watch. "I believe it's time," he murmured.

Leslie looked up. "Time for what?"

He stood up. "The final confrontation between Valerie and Miss Carlin. I'll be at the supper club should you need me."

"No, I'm going too," Leslie said stubbornly. "I...I have to find out for myself if Miss Carlin can really beat Valerie. And if she does, I want to see it happen. I want to see that creepy iceberg puppet get exactly what she deserves."

Roarke regarded her with amused interest as she spoke; when she finished, he let out a soft, voiceless chuckle and nodded. "Very well—but remember, this is solely Miss Carlin's battle to win. You are not to interfere in any way, no matter how much you may wish to lend assistance. Neither you nor I would have any bearing on the outcome; we don't have the power. That is Miss Carlin's and no one else's."

Leslie nodded. "I understand, Mr. Roarke."

"Good, then we'd better hurry." He led the way out and she followed at a half-run, dreading what might be coming but hoping to see Valerie get hers.

They came in on an empty dining room, tables set as though for a meal; there was a brazier burning a few yards away from the stage. Valerie was strolling around telling cruel jokes at Mary Ann's expense, while Mary Ann herself sat in a staged pose in a chair under the spotlight, staring blankly to one side, like the puppet Valerie had been. Valerie, giggling, rounded the chair and remarked, "Talk about a figure!" She knelt to address an invisible audience. "This morning she came into my room and tried on my bikini. Have you ever seen a pair of pliers wrapped in a Band-Aid?"

Leslie winced, though Mary Ann showed no reaction; Roarke frowned and glanced around the dining room, as though he could hear the laughter that Valerie must be reacting to. Onstage, Valerie stood up again, lifted one leg and rested a stiletto-shod foot on the arm of Mary Ann's chair. "Take a good look, honey. When you're gone," she said, stroking her leg, "these will be my sole means of support."

"Mr. Roarke..." Leslie whispered urgently.

He turned to her with a fierce frown that startled her and shook his head, putting a finger to her lips. She subsided, but not before giving him a "do something!" look that only made him raise that same finger in a gesture for her to wait. Meantime, Valerie stepped off the stage, still giggling happily. "You know," she remarked, "sometimes I think Mary Ann wouldn't even move a splinter unless I told her to." As she spoke, she strode toward the brazier; Roarke caught sight of her movement and turned his attention back to the unfolding farce Valerie was staging. "Watch this," Valerie said and swept one hand out toward the flames, deliberately holding it just above the fire.

Mary Ann leaped from the chair with a shriek of pain, making Leslie start; Valerie beamed, as if she had just scored some kind of victory. At that point Roarke caught Mary Ann's still-shocked gaze from the stage; the ventriloquist stared at him, at her hand, then back at him once more. The next moment, Leslie heard Roarke's voice in her head, even though he didn't actually speak: "Fight her, Miss Carlin. Find your own dominant strengths and traits. Believe in yourself, Mary Ann—it's the only way. Fight her. Break her spell."

And as if compelled, Mary Ann opened her eyes, lowered the injured hand, and glared into the dining room at the laughing figure beside the brazier. "I've won, Valerie," she said loudly and determinedly. Valerie, still grinning triumphantly, turned to peer back at her in amused disdain, but Mary Ann advanced on her, eyes glittering with a burgeoning rage at all Valerie's cruelties and deliberate harm. "It's all over."

Valerie's face grew cold and cruel again; she reached out and lifted a two-pronged fork with a long wooden handle. "Put that down!" Mary Ann commanded.

"I'll kill you," Valerie said, so softly they almost didn't hear her, and lifted the fork with clear intent. Mary Ann dodged aside, and the fight was on as Valerie dove for Mary Ann, brandishing the fork. The two fell over a table and onto the floor, rolling over and over, both attempting to gain the upper hand; somehow they climbed to their feet as Roarke and Leslie watched, and Valerie raised the fork to stab Mary Ann. Mary Ann grabbed Valerie's wrist and pushed back with all her strength; Leslie's hand flew to her mouth at Valerie's maniacal look, huge-eyed and filled with murderous fury.

But Mary Ann was fighting for her life, and that lent her the strength she needed to overcome Valerie's deadly intent and somehow cause her to fling the fork away somewhere behind her. They tumbled to the floor again, rolling back and forth, now both with hands at each other's throats in a desperate battle. But somehow, Leslie realized that Valerie was losing her strength, as if the magic that had brought her to life for the weekend was losing its potency; Mary Ann gained dominance and wrapped her hands solidly around Valerie's neck, thumbs pressing into her windpipe without mercy. Even from where they stood, Roarke and Leslie could hear Valerie struggling for air, choking under Mary Ann's grip, her throat beginning to rattle. Valerie's body convulsed a last two or three times, then fell still; her head flopped to one side, and Leslie gasped again despite herself—for Valerie was once again nothing but an inert wooden dummy.

Mary Ann released her grip on the puppet, settled back on her heels and moved aside; ever so gently, she turned Valerie's head to face upwards, then lifted her with great care and moved with slow steps to the brazier. Deliberately she laid the wooden doll atop the flames, which instantly began to lick at the tuxedo Valerie wore.

Roarke, with Leslie a few steps behind, came out from behind the bar and the macramé hanging there, pausing beside Mary Ann, who had wrapped her arms around herself again. Without taking her eyes off the puppet, Mary Ann moved into Roarke's embrace and murmured, "I'm free, Mr. Roarke. Thank you."

"You're a most courageous young woman, Miss Carlin," Roarke replied, patting her back and smiling. His gaze shifted to Valerie, whose face had begun to blacken as the flames found their way toward her head. On the other side of the brazier stood Leslie, staring as if hypnotized at the puppet's enormous blue glass eyes. Roarke moved around the brazier to lift Leslie's chin with two fingers. "Are you all right?"

Leslie blinked up at him, then nodded, though with uncertain motions. She turned to Mary Ann and asked, "Didn't you...weren't you ever scared of Valerie, even way before all this happened?"

Mary Ann considered it. "Well, not so much in the beginning. I guess I'd begun to notice it only in the last year or so, that she was...taking on some bad qualities. Why?"

"Because she's so creepy," Leslie said, pulling in a breath, hoping Mary Ann would see what she meant. Again she gazed at Valerie. "I mean...I don't know. When she was alive, I never saw anyone so cold and cruel. But even as a wooden dummy, she's still creepy."

"Leslie," Roarke said gently, noticing the girl's eyes trained inexorably on Valerie, "tell me what you really see."

Both he and Mary Ann watched the fire in the brazier reflect itself in her eyes; Mary Ann gave Roarke a quizzical look, but Roarke was watching his ward. After a moment she spoke, as though entranced. "It looks like a skeleton," she murmured, eyes now unfocused. "The skeleton of the house..."

At that Roarke turned her head away from the sight altogether and gazed into her eyes till she focused on him. "Leslie," he reminded her, "Valerie is only a wooden puppet, no more than that. You ascribe to her the qualities that Miss Carlin gave her in her act; Valerie, in and of herself, is merely a doll, with no emotions of her own."

Leslie shivered and shook her head. "I'm just glad Miss Carlin won," she said in a trembling voice, and hugged Roarke hard, burying her face in his jacket. Mary Ann rounded the brazier and laid a hand on Leslie's shoulder, and Roarke smiled at her.

‡ ‡ ‡

"Come and take a walk with me, child," Roarke suggested about half an hour after the evening meal. "I think you can use a little fresh air. It's time to bring Mr. Farley back."

Leslie agreed; truth be told, she wanted a chance to clear her head. She kept seeing the burning puppet in the brazier, and had a feeling she'd be having nightmares that night, but for the moment she wanted only to distract herself. She found herself breathing in the brisk salt air as she and Roarke walked along a clifftop trail that eventually turned away from the ocean view and led into the jungle; another ten minutes or so of walking and they suddenly came into a small clearing with a grass hut on stilts at its back edge. In front of it stood a native man, a pretty Polynesian woman, and David Farley; Leslie assumed the former two were Prester John and Mara.

"It is time to go, Mr. Farley," Roarke said. "Your fantasy is over."

Farley and Mara looked at each other, and Farley seemed to come to a decision. "Mr. Roarke...I just can't leave." Roarke gave him a surprised, questioning look, and Farley explained with quiet appeal, "Mara's my wife, and I love her. These are my people." Prester John smiled slightly at that. "If I go with you, I go back to being a pathetic, obsolete human being. That would kill me."

Roarke regarded him assessingly. "I see. Well, it's a highly unusual request; but, if you wish to stay here, it can be done." Leslie's mouth fell open with shock, and she gaped up at him as if he had just fallen out of a UFO. As Farley and Mara exchanged delighted looks, Roarke added, "You realize, of course, that such a decision is irrevocable."

Farley looked at a beaming Mara one more time, then said, "We wouldn't have it any other way."

Roarke smiled acquiescence. "In that case, goodbye, Mr. Far—" He caught himself and amended, "Jungle Man." Farley smiled broadly at that; Roarke made farewells to Mara and to Prester John, who presented him with a shallow bow and even smiled at Leslie. "And good luck." He turned to Leslie, put a hand between her shoulder blades, and guided his astounded ward out of the clearing, leaving David Farley forever transformed into Jungle Man. "Homeward we go, my child."

Speechless for a large part of their walk, Leslie found her voice only when they were back on the clifftop trail. "Did you really let him stay in his fantasy? You were serious when you said you could do that? How can you, when it's only a fantasy? Why would you do that for him and not somebody else?"

"Leslie, Leslie, that's enough," Roarke said, half laughing. "Let me just say that, on an extreme few occasions, there are extenuating circumstances, and they are such that the alternative would do no more than cause great harm. This was the case with David Farley; his life holds no promise in the real world, and stepping fully and permanently into his role as Jungle Man will give him the chance to live out that life as a happy and productive human being. And I suspect he'll find the happiness with Mara that he never did with his ex-wife in the real world."

"But imagine what he's leaving behind!" protested Leslie. "Doesn't he have parents? Brothers and sisters? What about his house and his stuff? Doesn't he have any friends? Even his fans! And now that he's disappeared off the face of the earth forever..."

"Mr. Farley lost nearly everything in the divorce, and he has no immediate living relatives. If anyone asks questions, I will explain in a manner that will make it clear that no harm has come to him and that he is happy where he is now. As for you, kindly cease your questioning. There are some things you'll have to learn to take on faith, for as you surely must recall by now, you are on Fantasy Island—and almost anything is possible!"

"Yeah, well..." Leslie sighed and finally grinned at him. "Okay, okay. But don't be surprised if you deny somebody else the same request and I jump on your case for it." Roarke gave her a look that made her break into giggles, and he chuckled back, shaking his head.

§ § § - March 10, 1980

"Thank you, Mr. Roarke, for saving my life," Mary Ann Carlin said at the plane dock Monday morning, her arm in George Reardon's.

Roarke smiled acknowledgment while Tattoo asked, "What are you going to do now? Are you going to start all over again with a new kind of puppet?"

"Puppet?" Reardon repeated and slanted a teasing glance at Mary Ann. "Yes, well, I've heard husbands called that before." She smiled at him, and Leslie snickered behind a hand as Tattoo grinned. "We're going to be married, as soon as we get home."

"Oh, I am very happy for both of you," Roarke said, beaming. They all exchanged farewells and handshakes, and waved the happy couple aboard the plane.

Then Tattoo turned to Roarke and began, "Boss, you really did it this time. I love happy endings...and I want to—"

Leslie's mouth had fallen open after the first two words; it took Tattoo two and a half sentences to realize that he was speaking in Roarke's voice! Roarke watched him curiously, though with a clear trace of amusement gleaming out of his dark eyes; Tattoo gingerly patted his mouth and his throat, his own eyes wide with shock. Leslie squinted at her guardian, who winked at her; Tattoo looked at him with the same suspicious expression, and Roarke simply turned and waved once more. Tattoo followed suit, looking disgruntled, but Leslie had to swallow back a guffaw as Roarke peered down at Tattoo with a broad grin. Sometimes, Leslie reflected, even her guardian had to have a little fun!

§ § § - October 2, 2009

"Sometimes," Anna-Kristina said through her laughter, "I think you were a worse tease than Uncle Christian, Mr. Roarke." That set them all off; it was a moment or two before they could speak again.

"So seeing Valerie in the fire somehow brought back memories of the fire Michael set?" Christian asked, slipping an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I'm sorry about that, but I'm afraid I don't quite see the connection."

Leslie shrugged. "Something about that particular fire, destroying that evil puppet. I mean, its evil soul. Or something." She made a face. "It probably went back to when Father was performing the ritual that brought Valerie to life in the first place. The way those laser-beam effects shot out of her eyes gave her head the appearance of a skull somehow, and then seeing her face in the fire...that was kind of creepy too, with the face paint melting off the wood and those giant glass eyes staring me down. All I could see was Michael—who for years was the personification of evil to me—throwing gas on the house and then getting caught in his own trap. Skulls and skeletons—remember when I showed you the remains of the place that time we went to Susanville, and I told you how the timbers that were left standing made me think of skeletons?"

Christian's face cleared. "Ah, I see it now. Not such good imagery for someone who had so recently been through such a trauma. Did you explain to Mary Ann Carlin why you reacted as you did?"

Roarke smiled. "We did, yes. I distinctly recall her telling Leslie that already she had the makings of a very strong woman—and in the years since then, she's been proven correct, time and time again."

"And all those questions you asked Mr. Roarke about why he left that actor to live out the rest of his life in his fantasy," Christian went on. "Specifically, your conviction that sooner or later, someone would wonder what had happened to him. Did they?"

Leslie grinned. "Yep, but not who we thought. A bounty hunter came here on my birthday weekend, the year before I met you, looking for him and three other people who had vanished during their fantasies here. I'll tell you more about that one some other time, but I think it's getting kind of late and I've got dry mouth from talking so much."

"Then we can do this again another night soon," Anna-Kristina said. "It'll help me to get through all the side effects I expect to have from this cure. I only hope I won't prove to be too much of a disturbance around the island. I might scare children."

"Then maybe we'll just have to lock you in your room at our house," Christian joked. "Well, my Rose, let's go to bed; we'll all be busy tomorrow."