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From: br1035@ix.netcom.com
Date: Fri, 10 Apr 1998 11:34:10 -0500 (CDT)
To: FKarchiver@fkfanfic.com
Subject: Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island


Disclaimer: 'Forever Knight' was created by Parriott, et al., and is owned 
by Sony/Tristar. 'Fantasy Island' was created by Aaron Spelling and is owned 
by Fox. I don't own the characters, but I sure like them a lot.

Thanks to Cousin Jules: for the beta reading, for the cappuccino, and, most 
of all, for being a friend.

Pardon me while I indulge in my first Xover. A girl's first star crush is 
a special thing. My first one was on Kermit the Frog, but these inter-
species things rarely work out, I don't care what Miss Piggy says. My first 
human crush, however, was Ricardo Montalban. I was six, I think, when 
'Fantasy Island' first aired. Khan Noonian Singh, therefore, is my fave Star 
Trek villain (well, misunderstood person). 'Mystery Street' is my favorite 
Montalban film, a black and white feature where he played a homicide 
detective at a time where most Latin-American actors only showed up in 
musicals (which Ricardo did a lot of, too). Is it any wonder I was drawn 
to joining his most famous character with our beloved FK bunch? So, pardon 
me, while I indulge...

****************************************************************************
Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (01/11)
Copyright 1998 
By Bonnie Rutledge

1977

     Tattoo adjusted his cufflinks and smoothed back his dark hair, planning 
for a long night at the club. It was time for the weekly talent competition, 
and the prize was, yet again, a record deal with a major label and lots of 
cash American. Another Nashville hopeful had arrived on the island the 
morning before, and before the night was over, she would be a star. 

     Tattoo released a weary sigh. Sometimes these fantasies became 
repetitive, but The Boss had his reasons.  So what if the requests seemed 
to become run-of-the-mill? The pretty ladies had their dreams fulfilled, 
the dashing (or quirky) gentlemen conquered their demons, and everyone left 
as a blissful couple. It was the same routine over and over again, but it 
left Tattoo content. He liked seeing people happy.  It was simple - since when 
did simplicity become a bad thing?

     The clock struck ten, and Tattoo started at the time. He should hurry 
if he wanted to catch the competition. Then there were the last minute 
problems and pep talks...sometimes a friendly smile was important for guest 
satisfaction and helped to ward off the unexpected developments...

     Tattoo walked briskly across The Boss' office, up the steps to the 
foyer, then froze. Almost with the alertness of a hunting dog, the man's 
nose twitched and he flexed his ears with focused awareness. There was a 
familiar noise in the air.  Tattoo shook his head with disbelief. It 
couldn't be! They never came at night! He traced his path back to the desk and 
flicked through a stack of papers. The Boss had specifically handed Tattoo a 
schedule of flight arrivals this afternoon so he'd be on the lookout, and the 
next landing wasn't until 10 a.m....He ran a chubby finger down the list, then 
Tattoo's mouth dropped open in horror.

     "Oh, no!"

     He cast the papers, and any sense of calm, aside. Tattoo scrambled for 
the stairs, then headed for the roof as fast as his legs would carry him. He had 
to ring the bell. Ring the bell, or no one would be there but him and The 
Boss to meet the guests when they stepped onto the dock. That would *not* go 
over well.

     Tattoo's feet trampled noisily up the stairs, pushed open the gate, and 
there, in a small tower, was the bell. He rang it with rushed fervor.

     *KA-CLANG!*  *KA-CLANG!*

     "The Plane! The Plane!"

     Tattoo heard the cries of delight and sound of bustle rise from the 
area surrounding the house with relief. They would get to the dock on time 
to perform their duties; he wasn't too late and disaster was averted.

     Now that his task was done, Tattoo's excitement began to grow. Who 
would come to Fantasy Island at night? It couldn't be more country-western 
chanteuses; something more mysterious was involved with an arrival cloaked 
in darkness.

     Tattoo rubbed his hands together in anticipation, then proceeded back 
downstairs in a much more sedate fashion to meet The Boss.

****************************************************************************

     Mr. Roarke excused himself from observing the talent competition as he 
detected the faint buzz of a hydroplane overhead. He stepped outside into 
the torch-lit night, his nostrils flaring immediately at the scent of 
jasmine carried by the ocean wind. He indulged a long, deep breath, 
banishing his concerns over this newest 'guest' of the island. 

     Allowing this fantasy would no doubt bring along more trouble than it 
was worth. Mr. Roarke believed in rewarding nobility, however, and 
championed the pure of heart. He had existed long enough to realize that 
very little was impossible. Through faith and determination, he had 
witnessed humanity overcome grave obstacles time and again. 

     What was best for all concerned - now that was another matter. 
Sometimes people deserved to have their fantasies come true, yet they 
remained ill-prepared to accept the fruits of their labor. Sometimes they 
simply were not ready. Mr. Roarke wondered if this new guest was one of 
these people, then frowned.

     He entered the main house just as the sound of the bell rang from the 
rooftop. Tattoo's cry reached his ears, and Mr. Roarke's lips twisted with 
a faint smile at the sound of his friend's voice. For a moment, he had 
wondered if Tattoo had missed the plane's arrival entirely.

     He walked to the window and threw open the white shutters so he could 
judge the plane's proximity. His dark eyes narrowed in on the flickering 
lights in the distance with ease. Not too far away...

     Mr. Roarke exited the house by the front door, unbuttoning his white 
jacket so he could slip his pocket watch free of his vest pocket.  He 
checked the time as Tattoo approached, saw that they were relatively on 
schedule, then snapped the gold casing shut. Tattoo appeared discomfited 
whenever Mr. Roarke consulted his watch, and this was no exception. The 
Frenchman struggled to phrase an excuse, but his employer distracted him 
before Tattoo could summon the words.

     Mr. Roarke gestured toward a chain of candy cane canopied station 
wagons that had lined up in the drive. "You may dismiss all but the lead 
vehicle, Tattoo. We only have one guest, and he can ride from the landing 
with us."

     The smaller man's eyes widened with surprise. "One guest? Arriving at 
night? Boss - this guy must be a special customer!"

     "I would say that our guest is 'unusual.' He travels in darkness by 
necessity, Tattoo."

     When they reached the dock, a dozen native dancers and drummers had 
already swarmed to the area and were chatting excitedly at the sidelines. 
Mr. Roarke and Tattoo stepped onto a platform of mounded earth laced with 
strands of hibiscus, both men straightening their coats from the car ride. 

     Mr. Roarke extended a hand, gesturing for the reception party to hurry. 
"Places, everyone!" he called. "Smiles, everyone! Smiles!"

     The plane's cabin door began to open, so Mr. Roarke nodded for the 
ukulele and drum players to commence their performance. A half dozen 
beauties began to swish their hips in unison as their hand motions wove a 
story of long journeys and welcome. Tattoo eyed the ladies for a moment, 
then turned his attention toward the hydroplane's crew as they unloaded a 
small tribute of luggage, blocking the passenger from sight. It appeared 
that the guest requested to carry his possessions, then the man stepped 
forward to collect his duffel and garment bag, offering Tattoo his first 
view of the mysterious stranger. 

     The man was of average build, and his hair was dark blonde, cut 
unusually short to Tattoo's estimation. His shirt, however, had a wide 
collar, and the points spread at his neck like the wingspan of a falcon. 
The material was printed polyester, white in background with a sky-blue 
pattern derived from a Chinese porcelain motif. The man wore jeans on his 
lower half that fit snugly from waist to knee, then flared to twice that 
circumference at the ankle. His shoes and belt were white. Tattoo glanced 
with confusion at the man's short hair again, then his face cleared as an 
idea struck.  "He's in law enforcement or the military, right, Boss?"

     "Why, Tattoo! That is an excellent guess! The gentleman is named Nick 
Corrigan, and he is, in fact, a detective with the Chicago Police 
Department. What gave him away?"

     "The hair. It's cut close, and his sideburns are moderate. They don't 
match the style of his clothes. They're less the fashion,  so I figured his 
job must require a uniform," Tattoo explained, pleased with his success. "He 
looks sad, kind of depressed by his lifestyle. What type of detective is he? 
Traffic?"

     Mr. Roarke looked appalled at this conclusion. "Traffic? Certainly not, 
Tattoo. Mr. Corrigan is a *homicide* detective!"

     Tattoo's interest went up several notches. "He investigates murders? Is 
that why he is here? Does he want to play Sherlock Holmes or Hercule 
Poirot?"

     "No, Tattoo. Our guest's fantasy involves a mystery that is much more 
personal in nature." Mr. Roarke observed the detective through slitted eyes, 
watching as the blonde man accepted a lei around his neck from a comely 
native. Another woman offered him a selection from a platter of beverages. 
Nick Corrigan eyed the dark red beverage closest to him with suspicion, 
sniffed, then accepted a glass. Mr. Roarke titled his chin slightly in the 
air as he saw the detective take a tentative sip, then swallow with a 
measure of contentment. "Mr. Corrigan is here on a quest unlike any you 
could imagine: his fantasy is to find the means to become mortal again."

     Tattoo sputtered in surprise. "Boss! You mean he's...he's not 
human?!?!"

     Mr. Roarke nodded.  "Mr. Corrigan is a child of the night, Tattoo...a 
vampire. That is why he had to travel under the cover of darkness."

     "A vampire?" Tattoo exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You're 
kidding me, Boss! He doesn't look like Bela Lugosi!"

     "That is merely a fictional stereotype of what a vampire should be, 
Tattoo. I assure you that the reality is very different...and much more 
frightening."

     Tattoo began to study the detective's drink with growing concern. 
"Boss! That's not a daiquiri!!"

     "No, our guest is drinking a blood cocktail," Mr. Roarke said, then 
held up a reassuring hand as his assistant gasped in horror. "Steer blood. 
You see, Tattoo, after more than seven centuries of being immortal at the 
expense of humankind, Mr. Corrigan has repented his ways. He has ceased 
preying upon mortals, hence the cow blood, endeavoring to repay society for 
his sins. He wants to emerge from his world of darkness, Tattoo, from his 
endless forever night."

     "You can do that?"

     Mr. Roarke raised his eyebrows at the question. "There are legends 
surrounding the neighboring islands that could aid him, yes, but the true 
answer to Mr. Corrigan's fantasy lies within himself. He must remain 
confident and utilize every measure of his faith if he is to be successful 
in banishing his curse. There are those who would stop at nothing to prevent 
him from reaching his goal."

     "But, Boss!" Tattoo protested. "If he's a vampire, how can anybody...?" 
He trailed off the question as his employer gave him a sobering look. "There 
are more!?" Tattoo began to rub his neck nervously.

     "Indeed." Mr. Roarke nodded in agreement as he accepted a Mai Tai from 
one of the hostesses. Tattoo followed, taking a pina colada from a 
grass-skirted girl.

     Mr. Roarke lifted his glass in a toast, drawing Nick's attention from 
across the lawn. "My dear guest," he announced, "I am Mr. Roarke, your host. 
Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

****************************************************************************
End Of Part One
Continued In Part Two

Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (02/11) 
Copyright 1998
By Bonnie Rutledge

     "Mr. Corrigan...please have a seat," Mr. Roarke requested once they 
arrived at his office.

     "Call me Nick," the detective requested congenially, then settled in 
the proffered chair.

     "Very well...Nick." Mr. Roarke gestured to the sideboard. "Would you 
care for another drink?"

      Nick glanced longingly at a particular ruby red bottle, but shook his 
head. "No, thank you. I've had enough. I must tell you, however...I 
appreciate how you've provided for my 'needs.'"

      Mr. Roarke studied him with an enigmatic smile. "Perhaps your needs 
will change in the near future."

      Nick's jaw clenched, and his expression wavered between hope and a 
wariness at what the future might bring. "Perhaps."

     "The outcome will depend on you, of course," Mr. Roarke explained. "I 
can only provide you with the means to change yourself. Discovering how to 
implement that opportunity lies completely in your hands, I'm afraid."

     "Why can't you just make me mortal again?" Nick asked in a stony voice. 
"That's the fantasy I requested."

     "No, no, Mr. Corrigan - I beg your pardon - Nick. What you asked for 
was *the means* to regain your humanity, and that is what I am offering you. 
It is not within my power to simply change you."

     Nick looked at him askance. "That sounds like a convenient excuse. I'm 
beginning to suspect that you cannot help me at all. I had heard that you 
had powers...talents beyond the norm, maybe even supernatural. Maybe you're 
no more than a charlatan. I've had my fill of those, thank you very much." 
The vampire moved as though to rise from his chair.

     "Nicholas de Brabant."

     The vampire appeared startled at his host's words and subsided stiffly 
into his seat once more. "How do you know my name?"

     Mr. Roarke chuckled for a moment. "You have heard of me - is it not 
possible I have knowledge of you? Oh, come now," the man chided smoothly 
as the vampire looked away, disconcerted. "You listen to rumors about my 
abilities and give them enough credit to believe that I can help you, yet 
you expect me to be foolish enough to blindly ask no questions when a 
vampire approaches me for a fantasy?" Mr. Roarke's brown eyes hardened. 
"I assure you, Nick, I am not a fool."

     "What are you?" Nick whispered.

     "There is more to this existence than humanity and vampires," Mr. 
Roarke replied. "But we are here to discuss your quest, not my nature. For 
your fantasy to begin, you must travel to one of the neighboring 
islands. A boat will leave in three hours off the south pier. You will be 
traveling by foot in the jungle, so bring appropriate supplies. I will see 
you in the morning, Mr. *Corrigan.* You may go." 

     The man turned his attention away from the vampire and began to study 
some papers on his bureau. Nick opened his mouth to protest.  

     Studying the bent head of his mysterious host, Nick reconsidered his 
worry. If Mr. Roarke truly wasn't a fool, he would be well aware of just 
what obstacle the morning light would bring. Nick vowed to wait until then 
to pass judgment on the man's abilities. Nick stood, murmured a quiet, 
"Thank you," then strode out the front entrance.

     Mr. Roarke lifted his eyes from the contracts on his desk as the door 
clicked shut, his face grave and forbidding. "Oh, you thank me too soon, 
Nicholas de Brabant. You thank me too soon."

****************************************************************************

     After loitering for an hour in his bungalow alone, Nick acquired a 
heady case of cabin fever. He decided to try out the island lounge to pass 
the time until his boat left for parts unknown. Entering the club, the 
vampire was struck by the scent of cigarette smoke and the heavy beat of 
the music. The overall lighting was dark with overhead flashes of red. A 
glittery mirror ball rotated hypnotically at the center of a dance floor 
to the left, where couples interlocked arms as they did the hustle.

     Someone touched his arm, and Nick glanced around to find a man with a 
camera. The photographer aimed and blinded him with a flash. "Want a memory of 
your fantasy?"

     Nick gave a hopeful grin as his eyes readjusted, then tapped the casing of 
the man's camera with a long finger. "Check back with me later. If there're good 
memories, you have a customer."

     The photographer chuckled cynically and moved on to another island 
guest. Nick resumed his examination of the club. To the right, there was a 
bar, populated by a handful of customers. He studied the people as he 
approached the counter, his vision slightly distracted as strobe lights 
kicked into action from above. Mr. Roarke's associate, Tattoo, was there,  
busily charming a lady customer. She had her back to Nick, but the vampire 
noted her raven hair and slender arms with interest.

     Nick's expression clouded as he was struck by a wave of familiarity. 
The woman then turned on her stool, leaning lower to whisper something in 
Tattoo's ear. The man smiled and nodded enthusiastically, then wandered 
purposefully away as the woman rotated to face Nick. She grinned knowingly 
at him through glossy lips, then gestured to the flashing lights with a 
derisive sigh. "The only thing more dead than you and I, Nicola...discoteque. 
I am surprised that Mr. Roarke does not have a more progressive 
establishment."

     Nick clenched his jaw as he leaned against the counter. "What are you
doing here, Janette?"

     Her blue eyes shimmered seductively as she reached out with elegant 
fingers to caress his jaw. "I've been waiting for you." Janette waited until 
she caught the other vampire's gaze, then she broke the contact to glance 
casually around the lounge. "I've been thinking about opening a club of my 
own. I'll name it something dark and poetic, just like the atmosphere."

     "How about 'The Raven'?" Nick suggested. "It would suit you."

     Janette made a pleased sound as she considered his idea. "I'll have to 
remember that. I'm trying Canada for a change. Toronto. What about you, 
Nicola? Is it time for you to move on?" She shrugged carelessly, smoothing 
the skirt of her Diane Von Furstenburg wrap dress the same shade of burgundy 
as the orchid in her hair. "Mmm...Time doesn't really matter for us. Why 
don't you come with me? Leave whatever life you're playing at now, and we 
can explore together. Join me in Toronto."

     Nick looked away. "Chicago still has some good years left for me. 
Besides, you can guess why I'm here. I'm not interested in hula dancing and 
cocoa butter."

     "Ahhh. Your quest to regain your humanity," Janette said facetiously. 
"Why do you torture yourself like this? To be mortal is to be weak. We kill 
them no more than they kill each other."

     Nick hunched over the bar, his countenance haunted. "And their every 
death diminishes me."

     The set of Janette's chin grew stubborn. "Mortality is not a prize, 
Nicola. How can you have lived all of these years, seen all that you have seen, 
and still not recognize that truth? They are for dancing and passing glances. 
Mortals are the moment; we are eternity. Why envy them when we have so much 
more?"

     "They have souls," Nick affirmed. "They have families, and they have 
love."

     Janette caught his chin again, then tilted her head close to his own 
as she teased his lower lip with the tip of an index finger. "And we do 
not?" she asked seductively. "We have an undeniable bond, and there is a 
passion between us that cannot be bound by common valentines and vows." She 
brushed her lips over Nick's, tickling the corner of his mouth with her 
breath. He kissed her in return, but Janette sensed some resistance. She 
tilted her head back a few centimeters and studied him in concern. "Forget 
your fantasy, Nicola. Even if Mr. Roarke manages to deliver your humanity 
tied up in ribbons and bows, *he* will never let you go."

     Nick grabbed Janette's hand, then squeezed her fingers reflexively. 
"LaCroix is here?"

     Janette glanced away with a shrug. "If he isn't, then he is surely en 
route. I knew where to find you. How can you imagine that LaCroix would know
less? He will be very unhappy if you continue to pursue this 
transformation."

     Nick shook his head. "I won't give up, Janette. Not for you, and not 
for him." He angrily pushed himself away from the counter. "You can tell 
LaCroix as much when he shows up," Nick said in a harsh voice, then stalked 
out of the club.

     Janette's brow tilted in disapproval as she watched him leave. "Oh, 
Nicola. It is never that simple," she whispered. "Why can't you see that?" 
She sniffed indignantly and began to whirl her stool to face the bar again. 
"And I am *not* your messenger pigeon."

****************************************************************************

     She wasn't supposed to be out so late. Mum and Dad would have had a 
*fit* if they weren't tripping the light fantastic elsewhere, and if she 
was caught smoking, well, the death wouldn't be painless. That's why she 
was outside: to leave no evidence and keep the smoke from soaking into the 
bungalow furniture. 

     The afterburn of her cigarette broke off from the tip and shed over her 
flowered skirt. She brushed the grey dirt away with a muttered, "Damn!" then 
glanced around with concern to see if anyone had heard her swearing or seen 
her jump around like a kangaroo. To her adolescent mind, the latter would have 
been much worse.

     Strangely, though, she felt a wave of disappointment at the sight of 
the empty walkway. The night was quiet, left only to the natural sounds of 
the tropics. There were no tourists nearby, gazing dreamily at the stars as 
they walked hand in hand.

     She scuffed her sandal against one of the stones lining the walk. 
"Damn," she repeated, then took in another drag of smoke. For the thousandth 
time since her family had arrived on the island the morning before, she 
wished that Richie was around. She was bored, she was lonely, and she was 
furious with her younger brother for charging off on his own, bonding with 
strangers rather than hanging out with his 15-year old sister.  she huffed jealously. Richie could talk his way out of 
anything, and he never met a stranger. On the other side of the coin, she 
felt isolated in a crowd. She had just turned fifteen, and there were only 
four months remaining until she started applying to colleges. An advanced 
student, there always seemed to be a barrier between her and the other kids 
she encountered. Hence, she did her best to act older than her age.

      
She flicked her cigarette butt to the ground, dissected it under a heel, 
then brushed her long, curly hair away from her face. She resolved to make 
her way to the disco. 

     Walking briskly along the torch lit path, she vowed to do three new 
things over the next three days. What those things would be, she had no 
idea, just anything to prove that she could have a good time *without* 
Richie. She could make friends. She didn't have to be alone.

     She wasn't alone.

     Suddenly, she bumped into the large figure of a man. She was completely 
startled and stumbled backward like an idiot, landing hard on her rear and 
scraping her hands on the flagstones. She squeezed her eyes shut as her 
pride, backside, and palms all began to hurt. There was movement in front of 
her face, and she risked cracking open her eyes out of curiosity. 

     The man had extended a hand to help her up. His fingers were long and 
elegant, unusually pale, and there was a silvery ring on the last digit. She 
grasped the hand on impulse, then experienced two sensations. One was the 
raw flesh of her palm, smarting at the contact. The other impression that 
leapt out to her was that the stranger's skin was exceptionally cool to the 
touch. As he pulled her to her feet, she blurted with a nervous smile, "Cold 
hands, warm heart?"

     She looked into his eyes then, a pure blue expanse that flickered with 
something that she couldn't begin to comprehend, and she realized that it had 
been a silly, foolish thing to say. 

     She snatched her injured hand away, cradling it close to her stomach. 
"It's bleeding," she explained.

     He spoke in a soft, liquid voice that sent a frisson down her spine, 
instantly making her feel like a trapped animal. "I know." 

     There was something greedy to those words, some malevolent promise that 
made her want to run back to her room and cower under the bedcovers. At the 
same time, she had the overwhelming urge to move closer to the man, to offer 
up her injury to his inspection as though the wound was some pagan 
sacrifice. When another voice broke in, she was oddly thankful, yet 
disappointed.

     "Excuse me for interrupting," Mr. Roarke announced smoothly, his 
presence effectively providing a wedge between the other two, "but the 
Lamberts are returning to their bungalow." The island's host took the 
teenager's fingers in his own, then pulled her a step back in the direction 
from which she'd come. "I thought you might like to know, Natalie, in case 
they decided to pay you a visit. You wouldn't want them to miss you, would 
you?"

     Natalie reflexively covered her mouth with a horrified hand at the 
though of her parents going ballistic at her absence. No, she definitely 
didn't want that. "I'd better go, then. Thanks for telling me, Mr. 
Roarke."

     "My pleasure," he said pleasantly. "I will see you tomorrow...with the 
sun."

     Natalie Lambert offered him a small smile, a quick glance to the 
stranger, then ran back down the path toward her family's bungalow.

     LaCroix watched her depart, then engaged the other man's stare from 
the corner of his eye. "Charming young girl."

     "But not the reason for your presence on my island," Mr. Roarke said 
in challenge.

     LaCroix nodded. "No, your estimation is correct. I'm here on a 
completely different initiative than studying the first blush of womanhood. 
Shall we discuss matters?"

     "We can speak freely in my office," Mr. Roarke said as he gestured 
ahead along the path. "Be my guest."

     "I assure you," the vampire warned. "I will."

****************************************************************************
End Of Part Two
Continued In Part Three

Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (03/11)
Copyright 1998
By Bonnie Rutledge
   
     Once the two men were ensconced in Mr. Roarke's office, the vampire 
was quick to take the offensive. "You realize that, by indulging Nicholas' 
foolish aspirations toward mortality, you are bringing turmoil and death 
to your island?"

     Mr. Roarke narrowed his eyes into two dark coals of impatience. "Surely 
you do not think to threaten me or my guests?"

     "I have no need to interfere with *your* affairs," LaCroix replied in 
cool tones as he glanced into the night through the room's shuttered 
windows. "But, then, I was not referring to my own intentions. I am not so 
vain as to imagine that you would abandon Nicholas' project at my request 
alone. Word has spread through the normal channels that you have accepted 
the challenge of providing Nicholas with a cure for his 'disease.' Under 
normal circumstances, his quest makes for nothing more than a minor 
embarrassment. Your involvement, however, taints Nicholas with the threat of 
success. He will not be allowed that success. Regardless of my influence, 
there are those in the community who will do everything in their power to 
deny Nicholas his fabled mortality, and they will destroy everyone on this 
island, if necessary, to enforce the Code." LaCroix turned away from the 
window with a challenging demeanor. "Now, while you may not care if scores 
of the undead are enraged by your actions, Roarke, I think it does make a 
crucial difference that your precious 'guests' are in grave danger."

     "And you wish to make me an offer I can't refuse?" Mr. Roarke asked 
knowingly.

     "My...offer, as you put it...volunteers my skills toward suppressing 
any unfortunate mass slaughters on your property. In other words, I will 
help Nicholas reach his goal by eliminating his competition."

      Mr. Roarke's mouth spread in a condescending smile. "I see...and, in 
return, you want me to insure that...?"

     "Nicholas' goal is false," LaCroix concluded, each word laced with a 
snarl. "There is *no* cure."

     "Then we have a conflict," Mr. Roarke mused, his dark eyes flashing, 
"because I assure you, there is a cure." He paused for a moment, then pushed 
back his desk chair, joining the vampire in standing. "However...while I 
promise you that Nicholas will have his opportunity to become mortal again, 
he must see the answer for himself. The final outcome is in his hands, not 
mine. It will be what he makes of it. You will have to decide for yourself 
whether or not you wish to prevent Nicholas' assassination by the concerned 
citizens of your community, LaCroix, without any arrangements with me." 

     The vampire nodded abruptly. "Very well, Roarke, but remember: if, by 
some stretch of the imagination, Nicholas should succeed in this folly, I 
*will* blame you." 

     "I anticipated no less."

************************************************************************

     Mr. Roarke watched him quietly, a calm assurance draping his features. 
"If you are having second thoughts, Mr. Corrigan, you can return to the main 
island with the sunset."

     Nick laughed harshly at his host's offer. "With the sunset. You must 
realize the state of the sun is what causes my concern right now, not the 
consequences of my quest." The vampire gestured roughly at one of the 
thickly-draped windows. "Dawn came over an hour ago, yet you speak as though 
I am supposed to venture outside on an immediate search for my prize. How am 
I going to do that when the sun renders me fit for nothing but filling an 
ashtray?"

     "I have made arrangements that permit you freedom of movement. Allow 
me to demonstrate by stepping outside."

     Nick protested out of instinct. "But I -"

     Mr. Roarke's expression was mildly disappointed. "Can't? Mr. 
Corrigan...Nick...do you have faith that I can help you, or not?"

     The vampire's indecision appeared physically painful. Almost eight 
centuries of caution shaped his reaction to the bright beams that threatened 
beyond the building's threshold. Fear made him hesitate; hope made him bold. 
His testament came in the form of a heavy whisper. "I believe in you."

     Nick walked slowly toward the exit, his steps sounding across the tile 
floor like the muffled turning of a key. He paused before the heavy mahogany 
edifice and placed each of his palms flat against the surface as if he was 
trapped in a burning building and needed to judge the heat on the other 
side. The wood gave away nothing, feeling cool and smooth to the touch.

     Roarke's voice came as a commanding beacon. "Open the door, Mr. 
Corrigan."

     Nick took a deep breath, then released it in a shuddering rush.  his thoughts screamed.  He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the doubt. 

     The vampire slipped his long fingers around the door handle, then 
pulled.

     The light was blinding to eyes grown unaccustomed to the natural 
brilliance of the daytime. Nick fell back slightly, starting at the 
strangeness of the experience. There was no pain. No smoke rose from his 
body as his flesh scorched. He was unscathed, almost as though he had 
spontaneously reverted to mortality again.

     But he hadn't.

     As fascinating as the sensation of sunlight, pure and golden, felt 
against his skin, Nick couldn't ignore his other senses. He could hear 
the heartbeats of the villagers nearby, drumming a familiar invitation. 
As he squinted, the smell of life vesseled within his surroundings taunted 
his nostrils. He had the sun, but he still had the vampire.

     Nick turned inquisitive eyes to his host. "How? What did you do?"

     "Do you really care about the cause of a miracle, or merely that it 
happened?" Roarke said mysteriously as he joined Nick outside. "You cannot 
explain or understand the reasons for everything when it is convenient, Mr. 
Corrigan. That is the nature of faith."

     The vampire appeared chagrined. "If you won't explain, at least tell me 
the limitations of this resistance to daylight."

     "You have less than forty-eight hours free of the sun's power. The 
protection only extends a five meter radius of the island. You still cannot 
fly without suffering harm. With the sunrise two days hence, you will become 
susceptible again.."

     Nick frowned into the wide expanse of sky. "So you've allowed me the 
ability to search around the clock. Question: what am I looking for?"

     "The islands in this area hold a vast range of myths from dozens of 
cultures. My guests have come here in search of temples devoted to 
Aphrodite. Mermaids have been known to swim in these waters. Ghosts and 
demons roam the landscape. One party came to this very island not long ago 
to find the fabled Fountain Of Youth."

     "I thought that was in Florida," Nick said with a smirk.

     Roarke gave him a brief nod in acknowledgment.  "Just as inhabitants 
of this island once divined the secret to eternal life, they isolated a 
cure. That is what you will be looking for."

     "Another fountain?"

     "No. Legend speaks of a parchment that contains the answer you seek. An 
ancient recipe, if you will, said to be a page taken from a sacred text of 
magic...the Abarat."

     "Did you know that I have devoted centuries to questing for that book? 
At one point, I had it in my grasp, but it was destroyed." Nick glanced 
away, then digested this information thoughtfully for several moments before 
murmuring, "Could it be the entry I sought was removed from the text? 
LaCroix could have lied when he burnt the book. He's here now to finish the 
job..." Nick turned back toward Mr. Roarke, his eyes filled with eager 
determination. "Tell me where I can find the parchment. How will I recognize 
it?"

     "I cannot give you an exact location, but there is a verse associated 
with island legend:

                        'From the light into the dark
                        Core of the eye 
                        Take the dark into the light'

That is all I can tell you of the cure's location," Mr. Roarke said with a 
hint of apology.

     "Core of the eye...core of the eye..." Nick repeated, then paused in 
sudden realization. "It could be core of the 'I,' as in the island. The 
center of the island! Since I can't fly, I'll have to go on foot. Mr. 
Roarke - do you know where I can find a map of the paths through the 
jungle?"

     His host nodded toward the outcropping of rudimentary buildings that 
rose from the next hill. "One of the natives should be able to help you 
with that. Good Luck."

     Nick briefly thanked Mr. Roarke, then hefted his pack onto his back. 
"I'll see you again in forty-eight hours." As the vampire began to hike the 
rise, his host call for his attention.

     "A warning, Mr. Corrigan: the power that protects you from the sun will 
work for any vampire who sets foot on this island. I doubt any have dared 
to venture out this morning, so you will be free from any interference until 
sundown. After that point, I can offer you no guarantees. You will be on 
equal footing."

     Nick nodded briskly. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke. I'll be ready."

     His host's dark eyes narrowed intently. "For your sake, I hope you are 
right."

***************************************************************************

     Nat sipped from a banana daiquiri by the pool, leafing through 
advertising pamphlets from about fifty universities. There was a emphatic 
splashing sound, then a second later a spray of freezing water landed 
across her legs. The moisture was refreshing, but the initial contact felt 
like a bucket of ice cubes dumped on top of her baking skin. Nat started 
in her lounge chair, daggers in her large blue eyes.

     "Richie! You jerk! Cut it out!"

     Her tow-headed brother laughed uproariously at her irritation, then 
swam away, unrepentant. Nat had half a mind to dive into the water and show 
her little brother just what real splashing was, but then she had second 
thoughts. She was fifteen, and much too mature to go shrieking and 
gallivanting after her rowdy sibling. She would remain by the pool, 
alone, and give Richie disapproving glares instead.

     A shadow fell over her chair, breaking her concentration. Natalie 
glanced up to find Mr. Roarke standing beside her lounger. His stature, 
stance, and white suit in a sea of cabanawear gave him an authoritative 
air. Nat clutched her drink protectively against her stomach, hoping he 
wouldn't realize it was spiked, then gave a quick flinch at the sudden 
cold sensation.

     "Miss Lambert," he began, then gestured to a neighboring chair. "May 
I join you?"

     Natalie nodded hesitantly. "Sure. It's your furniture."

     Mr. Roarke raised his eyebrows as he settled elegantly into the wicker 
seat. "That still doesn't give me leave to intrude upon my guests...I trust 
you arrived home safely last night?"

     Natalie had the grace to blush and duck her head self-consciously. 
"Um...yes. Thank you for...intruding. My parents would have had a fit if 
they'd found my room empty. As it was, I had to cover for my brother," she 
confided, then snapped her mouth shut. 

      Nat thought in annoyance.  Natalie had never been bothered by monsters and things that went 
bump in the night as a child. It was strange how adolescence and a chance 
meeting with a mysterious man in the dark had shaken her into some kind of 
pre-school paranoia.  she shrugged 
mentally,  Natalie eyed Mr. Roarke nervously 
as a suspicion that he knew exactly what she was thinking crept into her 
subconscious.

     "Well, I am happy *you* had no trouble," her host said pleasantly. 
"There is something that has troubled me since your arrival, however, 
Natalie...I beg your pardon...May I call you Natalie?"

     She nodded reluctantly as she gulped down her anxiety about what Mr. 
Roarke might be getting at. 

     "I've noticed, Natalie, that you have kept to yourself so far. You 
haven't made the acquaintance of any of the guests your age. You haven't 
socialized with anyone."

     "I'm socializing with you, aren't I?" Nat asked feebly. 

     Mr. Roarke chuckled and gave her a charming smile. "Yes, that is true. 
My concern as your host, however, is that you may be bored. 'Fantasy Island' 
is supposed to be an adventure!"

     "Yes, well, I don't exactly fit in with people my own age.  People are 
often intimidated by my intelligence."

     "I see." Mr. Roarke studied the university brochures thoughtfully for 
a moment. "You are applying to colleges already?"

     Natalie nodded. "I skipped two years of school. I'm going to become a 
doctor," she confided.

     "Really?" The man leaned backward slightly, as if awed by the 
information. "This is an uncanny coincidence. Fantasy Island has one 
doctor, and, needless to say, he remains very busy performing all of 
our day-to-day medical needs. Normally, there is a nurse who assists 
him, but she came down with the chicken pox two days ago. I could use 
someone to fill in for her while she remains contagious."

     Natalie's face shone with excitement, even as she protested. "I'm not 
qualified to be a nurse! How could I help?"

     "You could provide an extra pair of hands - that is quite a bit. 
Consider it a learning experience, a challenge. Doctor Takada could even 
provide you with a reference for university applications."

     Natalie's lips burst into a wide, gleaming smile, and her face filled 
with light. "That would be fantastic! I appreciate the favor, Mr. Roarke."

     Her host stood, straightened his coat, then offered her a hand. "No, 
the favor is all yours. As I explained, the Doctor could use some help. 
Come, I'll take you to the infirmary and introduce you."

***************************************************************************
End Of Part Three
Continued In Part Four

Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (04/11)
Copyright 1998
By Bonnie Rutledge


     Natalie spared another glance to her new scrubs with excitement. She 
tried to stifle the Cinderella feelings, but they bounced under her skin 
like she was on her way to the ball. In her heart, though, Nat knew she was 
being childish. Fantasy Island's infirmary was small, and chances were 
Doctor Takada would have little more for her to do than pass out Band-Aids 
and rearrange tongue depressors. Still, it was a medical office, and, if 
she became bored, Natalie would have access to medical texts. She could 
study.

     Nat straightened, then briskly left the smaller examination room where 
she had changed. Doctor Takada was talking to his latest patient, a boy who 
he suspected had broken his collarbone after falling from a tree. The doctor 
had been taking x-rays when Natalie left to change. Now he was apparently 
waiting for the film to develop.

     The Doctor lifted his head as she approached. "Ah, Miss Lambert. Come 
with me and you can have a first look at the x-rays." He excused himself 
from the patients and showed Natalie to the darkroom.

     She watched in curiosity as Doctor Takada unclipped a pair of films 
from their drying hangers. "If we have time, I'll show you some of the 
interesting images we have on file later. For now, how about some ABC's 
of radiology?"

     Nat smiled eagerly. "Great."

     Against the lighted backdrop, the doctor identified the break in the 
left clavicle, healthy lung tissue and normal heart size on film. He went 
on to show her the thickening in the boy's humerus indicating an old 
breakage. "It looks like we'll need a production number of a cast. Do you 
have any experience with them?"

     Natalie gave a short laugh. "I broke my right leg twice as a kid."

     "So putting one on someone else will be a change?"

     She smiled widely, thankful that the doctor didn't act like he thought 
she was still a kid. "It'll be a first."  

***************************************************************************

     Nick pushed past a patch of hibiscus, then weaved around a clump of 
banyan trees. The map he had purchased from a middle aged guide back in 
town had served him well up to this point. He had been hiking for three 
hours, and,  now, there was a woody blockade growing as far as he could 
see. He could either wait and fly over them after dark, cut his way through, 
or attempt to walk his way around the barrier. 

     Cutting would be the most direct route, but Nick was uncomfortable 
with the thought of destroying so many trees. He was also too anxious to 
make progress to wait in one place until the sun went down. Nick began to 
walk along the natural fence, testing each grotto for a path onward. Hours 
passed. Still, he had no luck. As the day moved into afternoon, Nick paused 
briefly to down a bottle from his pack, then he continued his search with 
strict precision.

**************************************************************************

     Natalie was washing her hands with bactericidal soap for what seemed 
the dozenth time. After the cast, Doctor Takada had demonstrated how to 
administer an intramuscular vaccine, then left her to do several more on 
her own. The same went for throat cultures, then he set her in front of 
a microscope for an hour studying histological samples and a gross anatomy 
textbook. Natalie felt she was on the receiving end of a crash course in 
basic medicine, and she was loving every moment of it.

     She turned away from the sink to find Doctor Takada hanging up the 
clinic phone. He appeared distracted, and immediately began to walk toward 
his office. Natalie followed. "What was that about?" she asked.

     Doctor Takada grabbed his black medical bag and a notebook. "A body
was found in the brush around the south pier. There are suspicious 
circumstances, so I have to check it out."

     "Why are you going? Isn't that a police thing?"

     "Normally," Takada agreed, "but since I'm the only working doctor on 
this island, I'm also the medical examiner."

     Natalie's eyes lit with interest. "Can I come along?"

     The doctor hesitated briefly. "There's a possibility this could be 
gruesome. Are you sure that you're ready for it?"

     Natalie nodded. "I'm a big girl. I can handle the view. Promise."

     Doctor Takada sighed. "Alright. Come on, but don't say I didn't give 
you fair warning."

     Nat grinned, pleased at getting her own way, then prepared to witness 
her first potential crime scene.

     She wasn't certain what she thought of the corpse. Natalie had never 
seen a dead person before. It was odd, almost unreal, to see a man sprawled 
on the grass, his limbs stiff, his jaws slack, and his skin appearing 
strangely rubbery. Nat had the sensation of walking through a display at 
a wax museum, only there was more to indicate the scene was terribly real, 
not a simulation.

     Doctor Takada had warned that the view might be gruesome. On the 
contrary, the dead body appeared neat and somehow peaceful, despite the 
bloody wound that yawned open on the man's throat. It was the smell that 
bothered her the most. The tropical heat and humidity worked quickly, 
ensuring a rancid note in the area. Natalie's stomach gurgled 
argumentatively at the odor, and her throat clenched. With a stubborn set to 
her chin, Natalie fought down her revulsion. There was no way she was going 
to allow anyone to see any visible testimony to her digestive system's 
distress. That would be unbearably humiliating. Instead, she moved closer to 
the corpse, taking slow, even breaths while willing herself to remain in 
control.

     Noticing her movement, Doctor Takada cautioned, "Not too close. You 
don't want to disturb the area until Sergeant Kamae and I have a chance to 
collect any evidence." Sergeant Kamae was the chief of police on Fantasy 
Island. In fact, Natalie had learned that he was the *only* police on the 
island. Apparently, there wasn't much criminal activity outside of the 
guest's fantasies in Mr. Roarke's neck of the jungle.

     Nat protested the doctor's instructions. "How am I supposed to learn 
anything back here?"

     "A kid like you shouldn't even be here," Sergeant Kamae sniffed, a 
scowl hanging from his face.

     Natalie prepared to snap a huffy retort, but Doctor Takada soothed her 
by making an offer. "I'll tell you what we find and why we think it's 
significant, okay? When we're done, you can have a closer look."

     Natalie was unsure, but she nodded anyway, figuring beggars couldn't 
be choosers. 

     "Why do you want to see the body?" Tattoo asked her with a shudder. 
"Some things are better unseen." The small man had been the unfortunate 
discoverer of the corpse.

     "I want to learn," Natalie explained. "You know, if this is a murder, 
Tattoo, the best thing we could do now to take care of him is to find out 
who did it."

     Tattoo rubbed his stomach with one hand as he grimaced queasily. "Yes, 
but we don't have to look. Leave it to the professionals."

     Nat frowned, then took a step back in the brush and began to wait for 
illumination. Her patience lasted about ten minutes. The doctor was bent 
over the man's hands, while the sergeant had cordoned off the cluster of 
jungle with banner tape and commenced to search the grass for evidence. 
Natalie felt as though they had forgotten about her, so she asked a question 
to remind the men of her presence. "What are you doing to his fingers?"

     Takada didn't glance up. He continued to study the man's hand, but 
murmured, "I'm just checking for any loose hairs, fibers, whatever, under 
Joe's nails that could get lost when we transport him to the clinic for 
further investigation."

     "Joe?" Natalie wondered aloud. "Did you know him, or is that some kind 
of slang for 'John Doe'?"

     "We knew him," Kamae said briskly. "Joe Yakima was an island resident. 
He worked as a photographer, taking candid pictures of the guests and 
selling them for two bucks a print."

     "Maybe he took a candid photo of something, or someone, he wasn't 
supposed to," Nat said dramatically.

     The sergeant let out a rough snort. "This isn't some hokey television 
show, girl. This was probably just a robbery. We don't get many messy ones 
here, but they can happen."

     "A robbery, huh?" she countered. "I wonder why his camera and lens bag 
are still on him, then. They look expensive." Kamae sputtered slightly, so 
Natalie forged onward. "Hey, Doc! Is there any film in his camera?"

     Takada couldn't suppress his grin as he opened the case and found it 
empty. "That's unusual." The doctor checked the lens case, chuckling as he 
announced, "A photographer with no film on him: that's not something you see 
every day. It's possible that whoever slit Joe's throat took every roll." 
The doctor nodded toward the sergeant, handing the officer the camera. 
"Kamae, why don't you run a search of his bungalow? Tattoo? You'll let him 
in, won't you?"

     "Of course," Tattoo said, clearly relieved to escape the scene.

     With Tattoo and the sergeant out of the way, Takada continued his exam 
of the body and the immediate area. He still didn't allow Natalie to 
participate in hands-on assistance, but he began to explain in some detail 
the purpose of each step in his routine. Natalie was fascinated. Glowing 
from her success with the missing film, she finally experienced a sensation 
of belonging.

     Once he was finished with the body and had Natalie help him escort the 
corpse to the back of his wagon, Doctor Takada demonstrated how to prepare 
luminol. He then sprayed the chemical around the scene, searching for a 
tell-tale glow that would indicate blood on the grass. Nothing appeared.

     "That's strange," the doctor mused. "The only foot casts I got look 
like they'll match the victim's shoes, and those are on the fringes of the 
jungle, not this deep in. The killer had to have walked in and out of the 
brush - they couldn't have flown!"

     Takada prepared some more luminol and resprayed, this time covering a 
wider expanse. After a while, he sighed in disgust.

     "What's wrong?" Natalie asked.

     "There's nothing here," the doctor said with a perplexed frown. "The 
body appeared to be very low on blood. With the throat wound, there should 
spillage all around this area. It's not even far off to expect the killer 
to have tracked a path with it out of the jungle, but there's nothing." 
Takada shrugged and held his hands up at his sides in defeat. "Blood doesn't 
just disappear."

     Natalie joined him in frowning, curiously studying the unblemished 
ground. "Why would it?" she echoed. "How *could* it?"

***************************************************************************
End of Part Four
Continued In Part Five

Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (05/11)
Copyright 1998
By Bonnie Rutledge
 
     The sun had gone down, but Nick hadn't taken to the sky yet. He sensed 
that he was being followed already, so he moved cautiously around the 
banyans, the prey stalking its hunter.

     He used his machete, deciding the trees could spare one trunk for his 
purposes. Chopping a slender stretch of wood out of the copse, he whittled 
one end to a rough point with a handful of strokes. Raw stake in hand, he 
scanned the developing night with a predatory fire in his eyes. There was 
another vampire, maybe more than one, watching his movements. Memories of 
Janette's warning flickered through his head, making him ready to fight. 
LaCroix could be tracking him. It could also be a member of the community 
disenchanted with his quest, or...

     There was a crackle in the bushes, a sweep of motion, then a presence 
beside him. Nick raised his arms reflexively, stake in hand. He was ready 
to rear and attack before wasting the time to examine the situation. A voice 
froze his charge.

     "Nicola! Put...that...*thing*...down!" Janette was practically snarling 
as she looked at the makeshift stake with undisguised revulsion.

     A momentary wave of panic swept through Nick as he considered how close 
he had come to harming her. The stake fell from his grasp, hitting the 
ground with a low thud. "I'm sorry, Janette. I didn't mean to -"

     "I know what you meant and why," she interrupted. "It's good that you 
haven't shunned all the vampire. You still have the instincts of a killer. 
I'm glad to know that. I simply don't want those instincts aimed at me when 
wood is involved, non?"

     Nick appeared momentarily abashed at the thought, then said roughly, 
"You didn't have to follow me. We said everything back at the club."

     Janette's lips spread in a doubtful grin. "Ah, but I think that you 
need my help. Trouble is looking for you, mon amour, and I'm not just 
talking about LaCroix."

     "But LaCroix, he *is* here, isn't he?" Nick demanded. Janette gave a 
slight nod, causing him to begin to pace. "I'm not going to allow him to 
ruin my chances this time, Janette."

     "Our master is not the one you should worry about. The others mean you 
more harm!" The set of her chin was fierce as she hissed, "What are you 
going to do when they come to destroy you, Nicola? What are you going to
do about the other vampires? What about the Enforcers?!"

     He looked away. "I don't know. I'll deal with them as they come."

     Janette released a heavy sigh, then ran a hand along his shoulders. 
"You never look at the long term, do you? It is always the little things 
that burden you down and weigh your heart. Ecoute, Nicola: you could have 
forever. Instead, you are fighting for four or five decades of life that 
you won't even be allowed to enjoy if you are successful in your struggle. 
They won't allow it. They will kill you if you regain your humanity. Can't 
you see that? Already, they are watching your progress. Do you think they 
don't know where to look? You're wrong. I intercepted a mortal taking 
pictures of you at the dock last night. They know where you are, and what 
you are doing."

     Nick's features flooded with concern. "The mortal...did you...?"

     Janette raised a finely arched eyebrow. "Kill him? Of course, I did. 
It was done more quickly than I would have liked, but I was disturbed when 
Tattoo came to see you off at the dock. He almost caught me. I had to leap 
into the bush like a monkey to avoid him, then slit the man's throat in a 
rush to cover my tracks." She made an annoyed noise. "It would have been a 
disaster had Mr. Roarke's assistant seen me in the act. I can't eliminate 
Tattoo; the consequences would be too dear. I did manage to get the film, 
so perhaps you are lucky, and they don't know what direction you left 
Fantasy Island."

     "Don't you think the Enforcers will have a problem with you interfering 
with their work?" Nick asked coldly. "What about making a public kill, here, 
when you know they want to uphold the Code?"

     "Maybe it was a dangerous choice," she said as she curled closer to 
him, then brushed an elegant hand along his jaw, "but we have a past, 
Nicola. I cannot forget it entirely and abandon you to this path you are 
pursuing."

     He clasped her hand and ducked his lips against her palm before making 
his reproach. "You mean that you want to persuade me to do otherwise."

     Janette gave a sultry laugh. "Sometimes you like being persuaded, eh?"

     "Not this time."

     Her face was solemn as she answered. "Then perhaps I am here to say 
goodbye."

****************************************************************************

     Natalie had never been given someone's heart before. 

     It was lighter than she imagined, cliches about heavy hearts ringing 
through her head. "The heart weighs 312 grams," she announced for the benefit of 
the tape recorder.

     "Normal heart mass," Doctor Takada echoed. "Heart tissues appear 
normal. Natalie, grab those calipers and give me some dimensions."

     She did as she was asked, resisting the urge to scratch her nose under 
the face mask where it itched. At the moment, her gloved hands were 
rather unpleasant. A sense of wonderment had settled over her when Doctor 
Takada had asked if she thought she could handle assisting him in the 
autopsy. Something in her head implored,  even as her stomach 
continued to rebel. She'd been taken slightly aback when the doctor had cut 
open the thoracic cavity; the scent of decay pummeled her senses, and she 
had to submit to the ignominy of wintergreen gel and the mask or risk losing 
her supper on the clean floor. A half hour had passed, and, strangely, the 
odor didn't seem as noticeable anymore. Perhaps she was adjusting. When the 
doctor began to hand her organs with orders to weigh, she hadn't even 
blinked.

     When they were done measuring, and the appropriate tissue samples were 
taken, Doctor Takada asked her to fetch the magnifiers again. "I want to 
look at this throat wound again. Something's off here."

     "You mean, it looks messy for a straight knife cut?"

     The doctor nodded. Once they had their goggles on, he motioned for Nat 
to watch as he probed the wound. "See here? This is where the slash seems to 
circumvent two earlier cuts. Something gouged or pierced him in the neck 
before the knife ran between the two holes. Now that we're working inside, 
I'm going to do a cross-section and see how deep the punctures go."

     Doctor Takada made an incision through the skin and outer fascia, 
exposing the vessels underneath. Natalie handed him clamps, then observed 
as he investigated the wound deeper. "The left carotid is punched in two 
neat little holes, no further."

     "Could he have been drugged?" Natalie suggested.

     "That would have been some gauge of needle! Like something you use on 
an animal with a heavy hide! See? The cuts are maybe two millimeters wide...
kind of like a fork, but round?" The doctor appeared bewildered. "Maybe the 
wounds were caused by something like an icepick, though usually the 
perforation would extend deeper."

     Natalie frowned, her brain whirling over additional possibilities. She 
blurted the first one her mind latched on to. "Could they be teeth marks?"

     The doctor's reply was cut off by the arrival of Sergeant Kamae. He had 
a pair of envelopes in his hand, and he looked laden with news to share. 
"I've got something you'll want to hear."

****************************************************************************
End Of Part Five
Continued In Part Six

Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (06/11)
Copyright 1998
By Bonnie Rutledge

     While Natalie and Doctor Takada removed their gloves, Sergeant Kamae
opened one envelope and produced a sheath of photographs. "I found these
hanging in Joe Yakima's darkroom."

     The doctor allowed Nat to peruse the prints first. "They're all of
tourists."

     "Yeah," Kamae said gruffly. "Tourists *and* a suspect. I lifted several
fingerprints off Joe's camera. Most of them match those in his bungalow. His
prints aren't on record, so I'll have to get a set when you're done with the
body." Doctor Takada nodded, and the sergeant continued to speak. "When I
ran the samples for matches, a couple names did pop up. For the same print,
in fact. One name belonged to a dead anthropology professor named Doctor
Nicholas Girard. His prints were put on record when he was assistant curator
at the University Of Chicago in the Fifties. Go figure the odds."

     "Well, the computer's matching system is hardly perfect," the doctor
explained. "It has a success rate in the high nineties percentage-wise, so
the program isn't always correct."

     "I'll say," the sergeant agreed, "but no matter. The other guy the
computer came up with is alive. Nick Corrigan, a homicide cop like me, also
out of Chicago. I found out from Tattoo that Corrigan just happened to have
flown in to Fantasy Island last night. I showed him the photographs, and
Tattoo picked the guy out jiffy-quick." Natalie had paused to stare at one
of the candids. "That's him you're looking at."

     Natalie didn't glance up from the portrait. "Not bad. Not bad at all,"
she murmured. "What's his fantasy?" she followed curiously.

     "Odds are, I won't find out. Roarke's pretty tight with information
about the island's guests. Since a homicide is involved, however, I bet
he'll be a bit more forthcoming than usual. Tattoo, at least, seemed
worried."

     Natalie continued to examine the blond man in the picture. His eyes
seemed to hold tragedy, and his demeanor was a bit lost. He didn't look like
a man who had come to the island for fun in the sun or to commit a murder.
"So you really think he could be a suspect?"

    Kamae gave a derisive snort. "At this point, it's either him or a dead
guy."

****************************************************************************

     "Say goodbye?" Nick prompted.

     "You know very well that if you succeed in your quest, we will never be
together again," Janette said in a breathy voice.

     "You can come with me."

     Janette shook her head ruefully. "No, I can't, Nicola. I don't want to
die like you."

     "Why can't you understand that this isn't about death?" Nick said,
pleading in his eyes. "This is about living and loving as a normal human
being."

     She ran a fingertip sadly over his lips. "You gave that life up almost
eight centuries ago to be with me and LaCroix. You cannot have it back."

     "Or I can die trying."

     Janette covered his mouth with her hand, frowning in pouting reprimand.
"Don't say such things. Trust me, someone *will* take you literally."

     Nick broke into a boyish grin. "But not you. Never you."

     "Ah, Nicola...you think that you know everything..." Janette sighed.

     "I know that you are being true to your word, and you are distracting
me from my purpose. Janette, I must go."

     "Distracting you? That is all you can say when confronted with never
seeing me again? Accept it, Nicola! If you continue on this path, there will
not be any more random encounters a decade or so in the future. You will be
gone from my existence."  Her eyes flashed hotly as he looked away in
impatience. "What is it? Am I wasting time in your precious fantasy? How can
you begrudge me a farewell? What are a few hours in comparison to parting
forever, without a final kiss or caress to ease the pain?"

     "It isn't a waste, Janette." Nick caught her lips briefly with his own.
"I just find it hard to imagine living a life where you're not a part of
it."

      "Then you had better come up with a new fantasy," she rebuked. "Why
don't I help you?" Janette sighed with careless affection, then curled her
fingers around the back of his head to pull his mouth close once more.

***************************************************************************

     Natalie poked her head inside the front door, calling out a tentative,
"Mr. Roarke?"

     He was seated at his desk and immediately set down the papers he was
studying to stand and invite her into the room. "Welcome, Natalie!
Please...do come in."

     She entered somewhat hesitantly, somewhat distracted. "I'm not
disturbing you, am I?"

     "No, not at all. Did you have an interesting day at the infirmary?"

     "I think you know the answer to that already," Nat said. Mr. Roarke
motioned a hand towards one of the chairs, offering her a seat. She
accepted, not giving a second thought to how quickly she was becoming
comfortable in a virtual stranger's presence. Normally, she would have been
a tongue-tied mess or unusually stiff, but since coming to the island, her
sociability seemed to be blossoming. "At first, I thought nurse duty was
going to be rather dull. You know, I didn't believe Doctor Takada was going
to let me do anything, much less that there would be anything to do. I never
*dreamed* that I'd be working on a homicide investigation!"

     "And dealing with a murder victim doesn't bother you?"

     "No!" Natalie said a mite too quickly, then reconsidered. "Well, it
bothered me a little in the beginning. I realized, though, how Doctor Takada
and Sergeant Kamae can help the deceased: they can examine the clues left
behind by the perpetrator, find Joe Yakima's killer, and bring that person
to justice. That's a worthwhile goal, and I'm helping them. No, that doesn't
bother me."

     Mr. Roarke gave her a wise smile. "It's good that you can look beyond
the surface. That is an unusual trait to find in someone so young. I must
say, I am pleased that your stay on Fantasy Island has turned out to be
exciting so far."

     "Oh, yes! This experience has been like a whole new world. Everything
is a discovery, a mystery waiting to unravel. I came here to thank you for
allowing me this opportunity, Mr. Roarke. I never imagined so many new
things to see and do and understand..." Her voice trailed off, and
distraction overtook her features once more.

     Mr. Roarke assumed a curious, concerned demeanor. "I can see that
something is troubling you. Is there any way I can offer assistance?"

     Natalie frowned, annoyed to catch herself drifting once more into
thoughts of the blonde homicide detective from Chicago.  she lectured her wandering thoughts.  Somehow, however, just from looking at the photograph of
Nick Corrigan that Sergeant Kamae had found, Natalie had an overwhelming
certainty that he hadn't killed Joe Yakima. He hadn't come to this island to
murder...

     "Do you believe in intuition, Mr. Roarke?"

     "Yes. Yes, I do. Following the leanings of your heart is a powerful act
of faith, Natalie. Intuition is the currency of the brave."

     Natalie continued to appear doubtful and wrinkled her nose. "But isn't
it just a guess? No rhyme, no reason, no..."

     "No empirical evidence?" Mr. Roarke supplied.

     Natalie nodded. "I'm going to be a doctor, a scientist. What kind of
job can I do if I just guess what the solution is all the time and not
follow the symptoms?"

    Mr. Roarke chuckled, then, breaking into a brilliant smile, said, "I
assure you, Natalie, some of the best scientists that history has known excelled
because they could trust their intuition. Their hearts led them down the
right path so that they could identify the data that was important to
follow. Intuition doesn't make you ignore the facts or the symptoms. It
simply leads you to emphasize the crucial ones."

      Natalie's intuition screamed. She breathed in a deep
sigh. 

     "Thank you for your advice, Mr. Roarke," Natalie said. "You can't begin
to understand what a difference that makes to me."

     He nodded, saying enigmatically, "I believe that I do, Natalie."

     She didn't pay attention to the statement, her thoughts moving ahead to
her incumbent search. "Mr. Roarke? Is there a place on the island where I
could do some research on Chicago? I need to go back about twenty-five
years."

     "The island receives a vast array of newspapers and periodicals from
around the world to cater to the tastes of my guests. I have at least thirty
years' worth of back copies stored on microfiche at the island library." Mr.
Roarke stood from the desk and consulted his pocket watch. "The hour is
late. I cannot escort you there in good conscience tonight, knowing that
your parents will be concerned. As a compromise, what if I took you there
bright and early in the morning? You could engage in several hours of
research before Doctor Takada would need your assistance at the clinic."

     "Bright and early?" Nat repeated thoughtfully. "You mean, with the
sunrise?"

     "With the sunrise," he confirmed.

     "That would be great!"

     Mr. Roarke gallantly offered Natalie his arm. "Then allow me to escort
you safely back to your bungalow, Miss Lambert."

**************************************************************************
End Of Part Six
Continued In Part Seven

Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (07/11)
Copyright 1998
By Bonnie Rutledge

     "What was that?" Janette demanded cautiously. They were lounging by a
copse of trees, savoring the aftermath of their lovemaking.

     Nick glanced up from nuzzling her neck. There were incidental sounds
floating through the night, but nothing that didn't belong to the jungle's
natural inhabitants. He noted a few birds chirping, then turned his gaze
worriedly to the sky. Dawn would be in about an hour. They had to get
moving, to cross the barrier of the banyans before the sun rose. If they
waited too late, they wouldn't be able to fly over the trees. Nick ducked a
swift kiss against the column of Janette's throat. "I didn't hear anything,"
he murmured, then moved to stand. He watched Janette straighten her clothes
for a moment before offering her a hand to pull her to her feet. "Will you
come with me?"

     Janette pursed her lips, clearly unhappy with the dilemma. After
several thoughtful seconds, she reached out to take Nick's hand. "Yes, I
will, but this doesn't mean that I am helping," she warned.

     As she drew upright, there came a whisper of movement from the trees
overhead. Both vampires went on alert this time, their spines growing stiff
and their eyes burning with a dangerous tint.

     "There it is again!" Janette said in a hissing whisper.

     The canopy broke with a crash, and a figure rushed down from above. It
was another vampire, someone neither Janette nor Nick recognized. As the
stranger whooshed closer, Nick realized that the man held a stake in his
hands, and Janette was at the forefront of their attacker's path. Nick
instinctively swept her aside, taking the brunt of the blow through his
upper shoulder. There was a fiery sting and crack of bone as the wood ripped
through his flesh.

     "Nicola!" Janette shouted as he fell aside. The attacking vampire stood
over his body and was attempting to pull Nick's machete free for a finishing
blow to the neck. Janette released an unholy shriek of rage as she seized
the stranger by the throat. She yanked him off-balance easily, tossing him
several feet away. Janette turned her attention toward Nick, quickly
grasping the stake that protruded just below his right collarbone and
jerking it free. Nick drew in a sharp breath and groaned.

    In those brief seconds, their attacker had taken the opportunity to
regroup, running in a flash toward Janette and knocking her back against the
barrier of trees. She tried to shake him off, but the vampire was stronger
than he had first seemed. She no longer had the advantage of his distraction
on her side, so she could not break free.

     The attacker released one of her arms so that he could strike a blow to
her midsection. Janette cried out in discomfort, but used the freedom of her
limb to punch upward at his jaw. There was a violent crack, and the stranger
released her other hand to clutch at his chin while simultaneously jamming
an elbow to the right of her sternum, crushing several ribs. She spared a
second to consider the pain as one of her lungs was punctured and fully
expected another blow as punishment for succumbing to the temptation. Hands
grabbed the other vampire from behind, however, pulling him away before he
could injure her further.

     Nick had used the time Janette fought with their attacker to recover,
then seek his revenge. He pummeled at the other vampire angrily, sparing him
no mercy. The force of Nick's fury seemed to catch the stranger by surprise,
and, after one particularly gruesome uppercut, the detective saw the other
man's eyes widen with disbelief and pain.

     The stranger fell forward, revealing that Janette stood behind him. The
stake extended from his back, piercing their attacker's heart. Janette and
Nick stared at the still form of their fallen adversary for several seconds
before exchanging concerned glances.

     "He wasn't an Enforcer," Nick observed.

     Janette shook her head. "Non. He was simply one of many who do not wish
you to succeed."

     "And you destroyed him," Nick said in a probing tone. "Is this your way
of not helping me?"

     Janette scoffed in annoyance. "Nicola..."

     He gifted her with a devilish grin as he clasped her hand. "You don't
have to answer that. How are your injuries?"

     "I'll live."

     "Good, because we have to fly."

     "Fly where?"

     "Over the trees. They're blocking us from the center of the island, and
that's where I need to be. The sun will be up in half an hour; we won't be
able to fly then."

     Janette thought that statement was outrageous. "What makes you think we
can do anything then but scorch?"

     Nick gave a full-throated laugh at her question, then leapt into the
air. "Don't worry, Janette. I'll show you later."

     She absolutely hated it when he tried to tease her with a mystery. She
was of half a mind to not follow him, but her curiosity was too great.
Instead, Janette delivered one more crisp, "Nicola..." before joining
him in soaring through the last of the night sky.

***********************************************************************

     Natalie peered out the front window of the bungalow for the fifth time
in as many minutes, checking to see if Mr. Roarke was coming down the walk
to pick her up. She'd been awake for over an hour, anxious for the island's
host to arrive and let her into the library so she could begin her research
into the past.

     "Come on..." she muttered. "Can't you be early?"

     "Geez, Nat! What're you doing? Your banging around woke me up!" Richie
complained groggily from his bedroom doorway.

     "It sure took you long enough to complain. I've been 'banging around'
for close to an hour."

     "And it took me that long to get fed up. I am obviously a saint,"
Richie declared, not-so-humbly. Nat gave a doubtful snort, causing her
brother to scowl at her in irritation before asking, "So why are you up?
Didja finally give up on the 'beauty sleep' thing working?"

     Nat fought down the urge to throttle him. Little brothers just didn't
know what was smart. "*I* have an appointment with Mr. Roarke. He's going to
be here to pick me up any minute now," she said condescendingly.

     "Yeah, right. The big boss around here's bothering with you. Why don't
you just claim you're Princess Leia while you're at it?"

     "It's true!" Nat said hotly. "You'll see! Mr. Roarke asked me to assist
in the island's infirmary yesterday! There was a murder, and I got to help
with the autopsy and everything!"

     At the mention of dead people, Richie perked up. "A murder? Wow? You're
gonna catch who did it, right?" he said, as though it was a foregone
conclusion. It was what he would do, and no one could possibly imagine
anything different.

     "That's what I'm trying to do. Mr. Roarke's got to come and let me into
the library so I can do some research."

     "Research?" Richie made a face. "Why don't you just chase the killer
down, like Baretta, or something?"

     "Because this isn't television, and I don't have a cockatiel. You are
*so* argumentative! I swear you should be a lawyer, Richie."

     "Maybe I will be," he countered. "Do you think I can't?"

     "No..." Nat said absently as she peered outside once more. "He's
coming!" she let out with a whoop. She turned and shooed her brother back to
his room. "Go back to bed! I swear, if you embarrass me, I *will* torture
you later!"

     "What'd I tell ya?" Richie snorted as he closed his bedroom door. "A
total Princess Leia."

***********************************************************************

     They hovered over the body, glowering at the wood fragment jutting from
the vampire's heart. The couple had stakes of their own clenched with subtle
malice within the grip of their ancient fingers.

     The sound of leisurely footsteps sounded through the brush. Sleek black
leather shoes appeared in the backdrop of shadowed green.

     It was LaCroix.

     He gave the Enforcers a knowing look, as if to say 'Didn't you realize
this would happen?' He nudged the deceased with the side of his foot like so
much litter, then coolly plucked a stray frond of fern that clung to his
silk shirt.

     The Enforcers were not amused. "Don't give us the impression that you
are amused," one warned. "This could be construed as another violation of
the Code."

     "On the contrary," LaCroix drawled. "I believe he got what was coming
to him. After all, he took it upon himself to do your job. What nerve."

     "And he obviously was not up to the task," the other Enforcer observed.

      A strategic gleam lit LaCroix's eyes. "Well, my children may have
unpleasant streaks of independence, but they certainly are resourceful. I
think the wisest course would be to leave the handling of this situation to
me. I do have the most experience in...handling...them."

     "Apparently your influence has not been sufficient to preclude our
current dismay," was the Enforcers' reply. "We have no confidence in your
ability to control Nicholas de Brabant."

     Jaw clenching, LaCroix worked to keep a hiss of anger from appearing in
his response. "I give you my word that Nicholas will not leave this island
as a mortal."

     "We appreciate your show of support. Your offspring's ultimate fate has
yet to be decided, however. The sun is on the verge of rising. We must find
a place to hide for the day. Join us, if you wish."

     LaCroix gave a short bow. "I must decline. I think I will use these
last minutes to move the body to an area less shielded from the daylight. We
want all evidence of the vampire destroyed, do we not?"

     The Enforcers nodded stonily, then departed. LaCroix stared
malevolently in their wake, then turned to heave the staked form over his
back. He flew briskly back toward the village, spreading the deceased
vampire out in a field about two kilometers from the cluster of wooden and
stone buildings. As the first hint of dawn pricked the sky, LaCroix had
already taken shelter in town, choosing the company of a lovely woman who
would see him through the coming day.

************************************************************************
End Of Part Seven
Continued In Part Eight

Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (08/11)
Copyright 1998
by Bonnie Rutledge

     "Nicola! Are you mad? We must seek shelter! The sun is rising!"

     Nick laughed and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Relax, Janette.
Mr. Roarke cast a spell of some sort. The sun will not affect us today."

     Janette looked affronted. "This is supposed to be a good thing?"

     "Think," Nick said with growing excitement. "When have we ever enjoyed
a sunrise together? We were always fleeing, in danger."

     "Incinerating," Janette added. "Yes, I did notice the smoke. I am a
creature of the night, however, Nicola. I do not *want* to enjoy a sunrise."

     Nick consulted his map of the island, while Janette glared at the
blossoming day with disapproval. "We're in luck," he announced, tapping the
paper surface before folding it up. "The center of the island is about
twelve kilometers to the east. We get to follow the sun." Nick garnished the
statement with a boyish grin.

      "My..." Janette said sarcastically. "Quelle chance."

***************************************************************************

     Natalie stared at the microfiche in amazement. She'd been poring over
copies of the Chicago Tribune, dated from 1953, the year the prints were
taken from Professor Nicholas Girard. Now she couldn't look away from the
film for one front page headline and its accompanying photograph. "It can't
be...that's just impossible."

     "Natalie." She started and looked over her shoulder to find the smiling
Doctor Takada. "What's impossible?" he asked good-naturedly.

     She tried to maintain a casual, blase demeanor. "It's not really an
impossible thing, just really weird. Look at this picture," she said,
gesturing toward the microfiche screen. "Does he look familiar to you?"

     Doctor Takada released a low whistle. "It's looks like that Nick
Corrigan fellow Sergeant Kamae is trying to track down."

      Nat nodded, then pointed to the caption below the photo. "Yes, only
this isn't Detective Corrigan. This is Nicholas Girard, that assistant
curator from the University of Chicago who just happened to have
fingerprints that match those the sergeant found on Joe Yakima's camera."

      "I can't even begin to hypothesize on the similarity in fingerprints,
but as for their appearances, maybe the two are related. They *are* both
from Chicago. What's the newspaper article about?"

     "Kind of a trial. This was during the McCarthy era, and Professor
Girard was investigated for un-American activities. He lost his position at
the university on the grounds that he was an inappropriate teaching
influence. Here's another thing to file under strange and unusual: bottles
of animal blood were found in his possession. They thought he was some kind
of freaky Commie cultist."

     Doctor Takada rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That is interesting. It'd
be significant, too, if this professor wasn't dead. After all, Takada's body
was several pints short of a full tank."

     "That reminds me...did you have any more ideas on what caused those
puncture marks in Joe Yakima's throat? I know you didn't think they were
teeth marks."

     Doctor Takada shook his head. "Nope. A human bite would have caused
bruising, and there wouldn't have been such neat little holes. Fang marks
from a cat or a snake could have caused the shape, but the punctures weren't
the proper distance apart to match any of the island's wildlife."

     "Oh." Natalie stared at the black and white image of Nicholas Girard
again, tapping the eraser of her pencil against her pad of written notes. "I
guess this isn't much help, then."

     Doctor Takada clapped her encouraging on the shoulder. "Hey! It might
be significant. People have faked their deaths before. We just don't know
what's important at this point, so don't get discouraged. Anyway, the reason
I came here is we have another body."

     Natalie glanced up excitedly. "Really?"

     The doctor nodded. "The sergeant managed to get Roarke to give him
directions to the island Nick Corrigan's fantasy is taking place on. Kamae
found a body, out in the open, a couple kilometers from the island's main
village."

     Nat's face fell. "So it still looks like Corrigan is a suspect."

     "Yes," Takada agreed. "But I dropped by to see if you wanted to come
along and help me handle the corpse."

     Nat's curiosity was an unstoppable force. Plus, there was always a slim
chance she might actually encounter Detective Corrigan. "I'm there!"

***************************************************************************

     Nick smiled at the glowing, sun-filled landscape. "Isn't the day
beautiful, Janette?"

     She gave a hearty sniff and said, "If you like that sort of thing."

     "Come on! Why are you frowning? Just consider how long it's been since
you've stood in the sunshine without your flesh catching fire!"

     "This thought is supposed to fill me with childish glee?" Janette said
tartly.

     "Yes!" Nick announced, spreading his arms wide to gesture at their
surroundings. "Everything looks different in the light! The flowers, the
plants, look at that blue sky!"

     "They are the *same* flowers, plants and sky, Nicola. Just because it
looks different, that certainly doesn't mean the daylight is any better. In
fact, I think it can hardly compare with the night."

     "You don't like it, then?" Nick said teasingly, putting his hands on
his hips.

     "No, I do not."

     "What's not to like?" Nick challenged.

     Janette rolled her eyes slightly, pausing as though she had so many
complaints, she was challenged to find a starting point. "Mon cher, if someone 
used these colors to decorate my apartment, I would kill them." Nick laughed,
causing the vampiress to protest. "I'm serious! Everything is so...colorful
in the light. It screams cheerful countryside!" Janette suppressed a shudder
at this thought. "No, Nicola, I much prefer the cloak of darkness. It adds
subtlety and refinement to an otherwise brash assault upon the eyes."

     "You mean the darkness deceives your vision from the true nature of the
world," Nick countered.

    "No, mon amour. The darkness does not deceive. It simply makes the view
more palatable."

     "Well," Nick concluded as he moved to walk ahead of her with an air of
disappointment, "I suppose that is where you and I beg to differ."

     "Really, you make our differences sound like such a bad thing. I
remember how, last night, you did not find our contrasts so unappealing. In
fact, I would say you found them most enjoyable."

     "That isn't the same thing," Nick insisted with a frown.

     "Isn't it? What *I* think, Nicola, is that you let the light of the sun
blind you. The glare fills your eyes with flashing streams of color that
prevent you from truly seeing anything. You find the day appealing because
it has become unusual to you. I believe the fascination will fade upon
further exposure. Do you remember the rain? Rain transforms this blue that
you find so lovely into a dreary gray. At night, however, the rain seems
peaceful. It swirls the sky like smoke. The night is always magnificent;
clouds hold no sway. I think that in your heart, you know that I am right.
You know that the darkness is better. You know that there is darkness in
you. You've simply let the sun burn away your practicality..."

     Nick stopped walking, an annoyed set to his chin. "Let's change the
subject."

     Janette uttered a low laugh, feeling victorious for the moment. "All
right...why don't you explain exactly *why* it is necessary to hike across
this forsaken island for your fantasy? Couldn't Roarke have made this more
convenient?"

****************************************************************************
End of Part Eight
Continued In Part Nine

Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (09/11)
Copyright 1998
By Bonnie Rutledge


     When Takada had said Sergeant Kamae found the second body out in the
open, he hadn't been kidding. Natalie couldn't help but shake her head,
wondering why on earth a killer would choose to simply prop their handiwork
in the middle of a field as though they *wanted* the shining light of day to
beam down upon it. 

     The sergeant was staring methodically at the shard of wood protruding
from the victim's back. "I guess turning him over would be a bad idea, huh,
Doc?"

     "Yes." Doctor Takada didn't appear very verbal. He had already
confessed he didn't have a wide range of experience with stakings.

     Sergeant Kamae nodded. "Well, the back of his head sure doesn't look
local."

     "What gave that away?" Nat asked, feeling a bit giddy at the oddity of
the situation. "Was it the red hair?"

     "That, and he's wearing a black suit. Folks who live here don't do
that."

     "Ah." Natalie glanced around, noticing how their walking had tracked a
path though the plush grass. "We didn't walk over any evidence, did we?" she
asked, positively horrified. Doctor Takada gave an annoyed grunt. Whether he
was irritated by her question or the difficulties inherent in lifting the
ungainly corpse into a body bag, she couldn't tell.

     "Nope," Sergeant Kamae announced. "Just like the other murder, the
killer just seemed to plop the dead guy in the middle of the field as though
they could fly."

     Doctor Takada stood up from the corpse, the body shielded by black
plastic except for the slit exposed by the yawning closure that he hadn't
fastened yet. "Let's start scanning the area for evidence. Zip up the
victim, will you, Natalie?"

     Nat did as requested, having no trouble with the bottom half, but as
she approached the chest cavity, things grew a little tight. The bag was
designed for bodies and had some allowance for the varying sizes of body
types. It did not, however, comfortably allow for long pieces of wood
jutting from the back of a victim's ribcage. It took some effort on Nat's
part to tug the toothed edges together and pull the zipper closed all the
way past the victim's head. She crossed her fingers, hoping that the plastic
wouldn't puncture.

     She followed the sergeant and the doctor for a good hour, soaking up
their discussion as they perused the landscape for more evidence, adding a
few comments or posing a question or two when she thought it important.
Finally, she broached the subject burning on her thoughts. "Are you going to
look for Nick Corrigan while we're here? He's on this island, right?"

      "Yes. I checked after him first thing, before I found the body." The
sergeant pulled a slightly wrinkled map from the breast pocket of his
uniform. "I interviewed some of the villagers, and I found one that sold the
detective a map identical to this one yesterday morning."

     Takada eyed the drawing, then shook his head. "This isn't entirely
accurate. I came here on a fishing trip last summer, camping on the other
side of the island." The doctor slipped a pen from his jacket pocket and
began to ameliorate the map. "I remember we had to drive around, rather than
straight across, the island, because there's a healthy growth of banyan
trees that barricade most of the inner land." The natives say that's why the
first inhabitants lived there...it kind of nipped any chance of attacks from
unfriendly neighbors in the bud."

     "Well. I know that *now,*" the sergeant said, his voice filled with
complaint.  "It took quite a bit of driving before I figured it out, too.
People never tell the police anything! Anyway, I was heading back to the
main island in order to commandeer a helicopter, figuring that would be the
simplest way to sweep the island before the sun went down, when I spotted
our shish kebab friend."

     "Hmm..." Natalie was examining the map with interest, especially the
ring of trees Doctor Takada had added to the landscape. "You know, this
island kind of looks like an eye."

     The sergeant gave a confused blink. "What are you talking about?"

     "The shape of the island, " Nat explained, pointing out different
aspects of the topography. "And between this lake near the center and the
tree barrier, it almost resembles an iris and pupil."

     Doctor Takada and Sergeant Kamae exchanged a humoring glance, as if to
say, "Kids: what imaginations."

      After inspecting the scene, the sergeant left Natalie and Doctor
Takada, preferring to return to the main island for a helicopter. Nat and
the doctor scanned the area in more detail, searching for any further
evidence.

     Two hours passed before Doctor Takada resigned himself to frustration.
"I think the only evidence that we're going to get at this point is on the
body. "Let's head back to the clinic."

     The high point of the day had glided past, the sun passing its peak and
arching downward on a collision course with the horizon. Collecting their
gear, Natalie and the doctor packed their gear into the back of the borrowed
wagon, then followed with the body bag. The ungainly load just barely
cleared the wagon roof, but the bag remained intact, despite the tight fit.

     They traveled back to the main island by boat, the windy day making the
inlet waters choppy. Natalie gave silent thanks that her stomach didn't seem
to be easily upset and decided that she had probably handled the sights and
smells of the past day better than the average person. The thought gave her
a small glow of pride, followed with a growing measure of confidence.

     The clinic's station wagon was waiting for them when they arrived back
at the south pier. They passed the short drive in silence, then efficiently
moved to transport the corpse inside, Nat rolling a gurney to the front
doors to use for transport. As they hefted the body from the back of the
car, Sergeant Kamae's own vehicle pulled up beside them. They were rolling
the corpse through the clinic's entrance as the sergeant slammed his car
door shut.

     The sergeant stalked inside after them. "Typical! Just typical!" he
complained. "The second I need to do an aerial search for one of Roarke's
guests, all of the island's helicopters just happen to be in use!"

     There was a slick crackling of plastic as Nat and the doctor slid the
black bag onto the examination table. Doctor Takada and Natalie both began
to prepare for an autopsy. "Couldn't you radio for any of them to return?"

     The sergeant released a sarcastic snort. "No one responds. They're all
'out of range,' probably parked where I can't get my hands on them."

     Natalie frowned. "Are you suggesting Mr. Roarke had something to do
with you being unable to find a helicopter?"

     He glanced at Doctor Takada briefly, then turned to stare frankly at
Nat. "It's not the first time he's arranged a situation to benefit his
guests rather than the island staff."

     Nat balled her hands into tight fists as she gained the distinct
impression that statement was aimed at her. Her face flooded with heat, and,
suddenly, the feeling that she fit in seemed to wane. She looked at the
doctor, who had finished prepping for the autopsy and was now sliding the
victim out of the body bag rather than engaging in the conversation.
Natalie cleared her throat, then spoke in matter-of-fact tones to attract
their full attention. "If I've cramped your style by being here, just give the 
word, and I'll leave."

     Doctor Takada let out a sigh and turned away from the corpse. "Natalie,
if you're concerned about being a third wheel here, the answer is 'no.'
You've been extremely helpful, and I don't think you've cramped anyone's
style." The doctor raised an eyebrow in the sergeant's direction. "Has she,
Kamae?"

     The sergeant had an annoyed tilt to his chin, but grunted out the
abrupt reply, "No."

     Nat crossed her arms in front of her chest, examining both men
suspiciously. "But you didn't exactly want me here when Mr. Roarke
approached you, did you?"

     "I had doubts," Takada admitted, "but you handled yourself well, so I
put them out of my mind. Besides, my regular nurse was due for a vacation."

      Natalie's mouth dropped open, and her eyes flashed indignantly. "She
doesn't have the chicken pox?"

     "No chicken pox. She's on a ski trip in the Alps."

     Nat was stunned. "Why would Mr. Roarke lie?"

     Sergeant Kamae had begun to sniff the air during this exchange. "Hey!
Do you smell something burning?"

     Natalie and Doctor Takada stopped talking and joined the sergeant in
taking a whiff. Both of them blinked at the smell, then Natalie exclaimed,
"There's smoke!"

     Everyone jerked their heads around, turning in the direction of the
corpse. It seemed to be breaking down before their eyes. A mist of dust
streamed from the body, danced briefly in the shaft of sunlight that
telegraphed through one of the clinic's windows. Natalie took a step back,
closing her eyes as the victim seemed to transform from flesh into fine
paper. The sergeant released a hoarse shout, then rushed across the room for
a fire extinguisher. He doused the body with foam, and the smoking stopped
as the form was coated in a fluffy layer of white.

     "What the hell was that?" Doctor Takada demanded.

     "So I'm right in my novice view of thinking that was, like, not supposed to 
happen?" Natalie asked succinctly.

     "You're right on the money," Sergeant Kamae confirmed.

     The foam had begun to fizzle away, exposing segments of the body to
their view again. Almost immediately, the corpse began to smoke once more.

     "What is happening?" the doctor asked no one in particular.

     "Maybe we should douse him in water?" the sergeant wondered.

     Natalie, meanwhile, had focused her attention on the window. The light
had shifted, as though the sun had gone behind a cloud, and the body
simultaneously slowed down its destruction. She rushed across the room on
instinct, slamming the window's shutters closed, then blocking them with her
back.

     The body stopped decomposing. There was little left of the corpse, and
what was there appeared brittle and ashy.  Doctor Takada reached out slowly
with a gloved hand to poke at the remains. They seemed cool. "What is going
on here?"

       "I...I think it was the sunlight," Natalie stammered, still backed up
to the window. "The burning seemed to stop when I closed the shutters."

     Despite the doctor's light touch, one of the victim's blackened arms
broke off, then collapsed into a heap of dust. All three witnesses shouted
in surprise.

     "Well, this is a fun autopsy," Takada commented sarcastically.

     Suddenly, Tattoo rushed into the room. "I heard shouting...What is
going on?"

     Nat, the doctor and the sergeant all pointed to the ex-body. "That's
the guy who was staked to death," Sergeant Kamae said.

     "He spontaneously combusted," Doctor Takada explained.

     Nat felt compelled to add on the qualification, "Because of the
sunlight."

     Tattoo's eyes widened in alarm. "A vampire!" Realizing he had gasped
aloud, Tattoo clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oops."

     The sergeant rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "A vampire? You know,
Roarke's got some weird stuff on this island."

     "Impossible," the doctor protested. "Vampires don't exist."

      "Yeah," the sergeant argued, "but you've got a victim several quarts
low on blood, a killer who can apparently fly, and another guy killed by
staking who falls apart in the sun! Tell me that doesn't scream like a
Hammer film."

     All three stared at Tattoo, looking to him for an answer. He backed
away nervously. "Vampires? What was I thinking? That sounds crazy!" he
announced, aiming for damage control. No one seemed to buy the excuse.
"Uh...I've got to go." He rushed from the room.

     The sergeant and the doctor watched Tattoo leave in a daze. Natalie
stared at them for a moment, then stepped away from the window. "Well, I'm
going after him!"

     And she did.

************************************************************************

     "From the light into the dark, core of the eye, take the dark into the
light?" Janette repeated after Nick. "What nonsense," she sniffed. "Because
of this...riddle," she said the word as though it was tantamount to garlic,
"you are making me traipse across this island in broad daylight?"

     "'Core of the eye'...that must mean the center of the island, Janette.
It's 'I' for island."

     "And this poem is supposed to refer to the location of a page from the
Abarat? Wouldn't the clue have been in a language other than anglais
originally?" Janette mused. "Ancient Sanskrit, perhaps? How do you know
the intended meaning hasn't been lost in the translation, Nicola? You could
be on a wild goose chase."

     Nick grinned. "I guess I just have to have faith that I'm on the right
track."

     Janette rolled her eyes. "I suppose I can endure the walk then. At least
it's not swimming." She gave a momentary shudder. "I hate to swim."

***************************************************************************
End of Part Nine
Continued in Part Ten

Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (10/11)
Copyright 1998
By Bonnie Rutledge

     "Tattoo! I'm going to catch up with you, so you might as well stop
running!" Nat threatened.

     The man threw his hands into the air in surrender. "I didn't say
anything! There's nothing to say!"

     Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits of blue. "But you did say
something. You said..." she paused for emphasis, "...vampire."

     "No, I didn't!"

     Nat stubbornly propped her fists on her hips. "You did, too! You said a
vampire was running loose on Fantasy Island, then you tried to brush it
off!"

     Tattoo shook his head. "The vampires aren't running around the main 
island," he retorted, then clapped his hands in horror over his mouth once more.

     Natalie's face lit in triumph. "Caught you!"

     Tattoo began to walk away briskly once more. "The Boss is going to kill
me."

     Nat followed him ruthlessly. "Come on! Tell me what's going on! You
know something about these killings. Mr. Roarke knows it, too. What is it?
Does it have something to do with that man, Nick Corrigan...Is he - ?"

     "He's a guest on the island, and, if you want to know private
information about him, you're gonna have to ask The Boss," Tattoo protested.

     "But -!"

     "Miss Lambert! This is my job! You'll cause me trouble!"

     "All right," Nat relented, then turned east with her walking, making
Tattoo follow after her for a change. "If I have to ask Mr. Roarke, I'll ask
Mr. Roarke. I've got a few things to hash out with him, anyway."

     "You aren't going to his office, are you? He's not there," Tattoo
warned.

     "Fine with me," Nat insisted. "I'll wait."

***************************************************************************

     Nick watched as the sun set. The urge to cry, to bellow at the sky to
freeze its movement was overpowering. He felt as though the light was slipping
through his fingers, never to be seen again. With the dawn, the magic Mr.
Roarke had worked to protect him from the day would be extinguished. "I've
been searching for hours! There's no sign of any parchment!"

     Janette stepped up behind him, running her fingers over his shoulders
with indecipherable intent. The gesture could have been soothing or it might
have derived from possessiveness; it was unclear. "Perhaps there is nothing
to find."

     Nick pulled away, running one of his hands through his hair in
frustration. "Maybe that's what you'd like me to think. Hmm, Janette? I'm
defeated again, and we can all pretend nothing ever happened to disturb your
little world as you see it."

     She lifted her chin in proud anger. "The same could be said of you. Do
you think I like seeing you bitter? No, I do not. The man I fell in love
with so many centuries ago was not angry at the world, nor did he blame
everyone surrounding him for his unhappiness."

     Nick gave a harsh laugh. "But, then, my world hadn't yet been torn
apart when we first met, had it? That happened later."

     Janette shook her head, furious. "Don't you dare start that again! This
is *your* quest! I cannot take responsibility for what you alone decide that
you need! I have done more than I should have in the past to assist you,
Nicola. Do not presume to take your anger at your failure out on me!"

     "I never said that I have given up," Nick said defiantly.

     "I am pleased to hear that." Mr. Roarke stepped into the clearing, his
white suit stark against the darkening sky.

     Janette and Nick exchanged a startled look because they hadn't felt his
approach. Janette turned her head slightly away, appearing discomfited, while
Nick had an aura of embarrassment, as though he'd earned some admonition
from his host. "Mr. Roarke," he acknowledged in a quiet voice.

     "Mr....Corrigan," Roarke said with a deliberate pause. "I see you have
company. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle DuCharme."
Janette started at her name, and he laughed in a low, charming manner.
"Nicholas will tell you that I make it my business to be aware of my
guests'...pasts, if you will." Mr. Roarke walked closer as he continued to
speak. "I merely came here to see how your fantasy progressed, Mr. Corrigan.
I take it from the segments of your conversation - that I couldn't help
overhearing - that you have yet to find success."

     "That doesn't mean that I won't," Nick replied stiffly.

     "Oh, certainly not!" his host said enthusiastically. "As I said before:
the opportunity is there. If I didn't believe it was within you to recognize
it, I wouldn't have accepted your fantasy." Janette's eyes narrowed at these
words, her mouth assuming a distinctly displeased slant that Mr. Roarke
could not fail to notice. "You see, I do not believe in impossible dreams,
Ms. DuCharme. Perhaps I am like Mr. Corrigan in that respect." With that, he
exchanged a polite nod with Nick, then stepped back toward the growing
shadows. "I also came with a warning: there have been two killings, ones I
believe you are fully aware of. While I am willing to tolerate...
adjusting...how the evidence of your vampire presence may appear to my
island's police, there are certain authorities that I cannot guarantee that
I can control."

     "The Enforcers," Janette concluded.

     "Exactly. Good luck, Mr. Corrigan. Ms. DuCharme." Mr. Roarke took one
more step back, then seemed to melt away into the night.

     They watched the spot where he'd disappeared for several quiet seconds.
Janette instinctively grabbed Nick's hand and squeezed his fingers. "Nicola,
I am afraid of what they might do. Let us continue the hunt without arguing,
mmm? You may search for your parchment. I will look for a place for *us* to
hide."

****************************************************************************

     LaCroix sucked in a sweet, deep breath of night air, fragrant with the
scent of a hundred villagers, then gave a scorching smile. "What do you
want?"

     Mr. Roarke's expression carried no less cordial danger. "It isn't what
I want, but what you need to know."

     "Unlike my son, Roarke, I have no patience for riddles."

     "Perhaps you should force an interest," he countered smoothly.

     With a short twist of his mouth, LaCroix's answer was simple. "Why?"

     "Because I am willing to tell you the location of the cure."

     LaCroix burst into full-throated laughter before he repeated his
question. "Why?"

     "You realize, of course, that the Enforcers will hunt Nicholas, and
quite possibly Janette, for as long as they remain in this area?"

     That subject sobered the vampire's laughter into a sneer.  "Of course.
I am very aware of their tenuous predicament."

     "Do you know how close the Enforcers are to finding them?" Mr. Roarke
said in a challenging tone. "Certainly, they would be aware of your
interest. They could shield their location from you, couldn't they? The
Enforcers could be bearing down on your offspring as we speak, and you
wouldn't know it."

     LaCroix didn't like that reminder, either. "Get to the point, Roarke.
You know that if you give me the page from the Abarat, I would destroy it,
therefore ruining any chance of you fulfilling Nicholas' foolish dream of
mortality. Why would you be willing to do that?"

     A knowing glint burned in Mr. Roarke's dark eyes. "I don't believe that
is really what you would do. Nicholas claims that you took the Abarat from
him before...Is that really true? I would think that, if the necessary page
is on this island, it couldn't have possibly been in another volume."

     "That is an interesting thought," LaCroix allowed, "but why would I do
that?"

     "An abject failure means nothing. Making Nicholas believe that you
destroyed the cure proves your power over him. That *is* what you want,
isn't it? You want him to belong to you. You want his darkness to win."

    The vampire's eyes began to glow faintly. "His darkness is all that he
has."

    "Then give him the cure," Mr. Roarke said firmly. "If what you say is
true, it will not serve him. You will confirm that he belongs to you.
Destroying the parchment, however, withholding it from Nicholas'
choice...that will prove nothing. Unless...you believe he can be cured?"

     "You give a persuasive debate, Roarke." LaCroix's smile was submersed
in insincerity. "I suppose you will have to give me the location to test the
success of your argument."

     "Ah...you'll be delighted to know there is a riddle, as well..."

****************************************************************************

     Natalie was proud of herself. She had waited in Mr. Roarke's office a
full hour before she began snooping. Nothing among his desk papers was to
her interest, unfortunately, and she concluded the important details were
locked away in a safe somewhere. After another hour, she sneaked a snifter
full of what she assumed was damn-fine brandy and grabbed a copy of a Mary
Shelley novel off of Mr. Roarke's bookshelf to pass the time.

     She must have dozed off somewhere around the death of the
protagonist/antagonist's fiance, for she awoke at the sound of the front
door opening, then was startled by the thud of the book's spine hitting the
floor. She scooped the volume up and concealed her brandy glass in the
flora of a potted palm in one, swift movement. She then weaved to a stand
and announced, "Mr. Roarke. I've been waiting for you."

     He descended the stairs before answering with a distinct note of
chastisement. "So Tattoo informed me when I arrived back on the island. I
assumed with the late hour, however, that you would have returned to your
bungalow by now. I was surprised to find your parents alarmed at your
disappearance and myself forced to give a reason for your absence."

     Natalie's first instinct was to apologize and explain that she had, in
truth, fallen asleep. Emotions from the events of the day overwhelmed her
quickly, though, and she leapt into a disapproving tone of her own. "Good. I
wouldn't imagine you'd have any trouble lying to them."

     "Miss Lambert, just because you are upset with someone, it is no excuse
to be rude," he said with a stern expression. "I am amazed by how often, no
matter how old they may be, individuals fail miserably in learning that
lesson."

     "And just how old are the individuals you know?"

     Mr. Roarke started to answer, then paused in his speech. He moved to
turn on his desk lamp, illuminating the room in a soft glow. "Ask me the
questions on your mind."

     "Will you give me truthful answers?"

     "I'll tell you what you need to know."

     She shook her head desperately. "That's not the same thing!"

     "No, Natalie. It is better."

     She released a heavy breath and began to pace the room. "You know who
killed the bodies that were found, Joe Yakima's and the man who
spontaneously combusted in the clinic this afternoon, don't you?"

     Mr. Roarke nodded. "Yes."

     "Was the killer Nick Corrigan?"

     "No."

     Natalie stopped moving and closed her eyes as the thoughts raced
through her head.  The sound of her heartbeat rushed in her
ears, and her lids flicked open to meet Mr. Roarke's black, fathomless gaze.
"Are Detective Corrigan and Professor Nicholas Girard the same person?"

     "Yes, they are."

     "Because he's a vampire, and there are other vampires on this island."
Natalie heard her voice saying the words, but there was still a sense of
unreality in her that they could really be true.

      "I must warn you," Mr. Roarke said in a cautionary tone, "tomorrow, if
you speak of any of this with Doctor Takada or Sergeant Kamae, they will not
recall any murders, Detective Corrigan, and certainly no information
confirming the existence of vampires."

     Natalie blinked numbly. "Will I remember anything?" She saw Mr. Roarke
nod once more, then felt hot tears push at her eyes. "Why? Why me? Why did
you want me at the clinic instead of the normal nurse? Why do you think I
should know anything?"

     "Because you have a good heart," Mr. Roarke said gently. "You've proven
that you can have faith in your instincts, yet operate on factual evidence.
You have a brilliant mind, and, one day, you will make an excellent medical
examiner. Which excuse do you like?"

      "You knew from the very beginning that I wanted to become a doctor,"
Nat said in amazement. "You wanted this exposure to forensics to persuade my
career choice for some reason. Why on earth would it matter to you? My
family is just here for the beaches and sun. I don't *have* a fantasy!"

     Mr. Roarke surveyed her calmly as he offered an explanation. "I believe
in a chain of existence. One person's actions can irrevocably transform
another's existence for the better or the worse. Every decision you make
matters, Natalie. I simply wanted to open up a choice to you that you had
never considered before."

     Nat sniffed back her tears, feeling like a squalling child, yet
terribly, terribly old. "And now that you've opened up this realm of
possibilities, what am I supposed to do with it? I *know* that vampires
exist. I've seen proof! But, then, I guess every sign of physical proof I've
witnessed in the past two days has been destroyed from what you've been
telling me. How do I just go on? How do I go back to my parents and my
brother? They'll think I'm loony if I say a word! How do I know that I'm not
crazy?"

     Mr. Roarke slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew a folded
rectangle of paper. "You won't believe me, but without empirical evidence, I
promise you that, in time, you will forget everything you have seen here.
You would doubt your very eyes." He slipped the paper into Natalie's shaking
hand, closing her fingers around it. "The question is...are you a person who
wants to forget, or do you want to remember?"

     Natalie pressed the paper into her stomach and stumbled backward
several unsure steps. "I don't know what I want."

     Mr. Roarke stared at her, his gaze filled with compassion. "You will,
Natalie. You will." She turned toward the exit, and rushed out the door.

    Mr. Roarke reached across his desk, then shut off the light.

****************************************************************************

     "Found anything interesting, Nicholas?"

     Nick and Janette whirled around, glancing up at the rocky ledge where
LaCroix stood over their heads. "LaCroix! How long have you been there!?"
Nick demanded.

     Their sire feigned a yawn and replied nonchalantly, "A good stretch of
time. The sun is ready to rise - I'd say you're running out of time. No 
parchment yet?" LaCroix tsked. "Oh, Nicholas...you must be feeling miserable. 
Any chance of finding your cure is slipping through your grasp, yet you've 
scoured what *must* be the 'core of the eye' for hours with no success." The 
elder vampire picked up a medium sized stone as he talked, chucking it casually 
into the depths of the lake pooled at the bottom of the rock outcropping.

     "So you've come to gloat," Nick said bitterly.

     "You may not believe me, but I've come to help you." LaCroix pointed
toward the sky. "The first stretch of light on the horizon. Have you found
shelter for the day yet?"

     "No, we haven't," Janette said worriedly, "and the Enforcers..."

     "Are on their way," LaCroix finished for her. "Yes, I know. Perhaps we
should be on *our way* then?"

     "I'm not going anywhere with you," Nick sneered.

      "Why, Nicholas! I'm wounded!" LaCroix drawled as he jumped down from
the ledge to join them.

     Just as Nick stepped back from his sire, a stake plunged through the
air, narrowly missing impaling him with a deadly blow. LaCroix swept an arm
around both his offspring as they looked up with fierce eyes.

     The two Enforcers glowered from above, additional spikes of wood in
their hands awaiting victims.

     "Well," LaCroix sighed, "it seems I may have waited a bit too long to
save you."

****************************************************************************
End of Part Ten
Continued in Part Eleven

Xover: No Man Is A Fantasy Island (11/11)
Copyright 1998
By Bonnie Rutledge

     "I told you that I would take care of this problem," LaCroix called.

     "We are not satisfied that you can," one of the Enforcers replied. The 
other swept down from above, ruthlessly knocking over LaCroix. He refused 
to accept the attack and kicked up at the other vampire, the move 
accompanied by a snarl.

      As their combat continued, the second Enforcer flew lower, throwing 
Nick off of his feet. They tussled, the Enforcer having the better hand 
until Janette struck him from behind. This interference earned her a 
backhanded slap, and she fell to the water's edge. Nick's attacker grabbed 
his throat in a clutch hold, then the Enforcer raised his stake to finish 
off the errant Community member.

      LaCroix had rolled farther down the hill while struggling with his own 
Enforcer. The two vampires came to rest near where the initial attack had 
failed, and the wood fragment had fallen unsuccessfully to the ground. 
LaCroix clutched it first, then reached around his opponent's back and 
stabbed downward. This gave him the opportunity to shove the man away and 
turn his attention toward Nicholas. LaCroix leapt at the second Enforcer, 
blocking the downward stroke of the stake with his forearm. He slung the man 
around, forcing him to abandon his grip on Nick's throat. 

     While LaCroix continued fighting, Nick rushed to Janette to check her 
condition. By this time, the sun had risen fully in the sky, and Janette 
brushed at her smoking skin in terror. "Nicola! We must get out of the 
light!"

     Nick jerked around, watching as his sire battled the second Enforcer, 
thin, burning streams rising from both their forms. The first Enforcer had 
been temporarily incapacitated by the stake in his back, but he was slowly 
crawling to his knees. Nick flashed to his side, jerked the wood free, then 
slammed it home again straight into the Enforcer's heart.

     Nick felt the heat of the sun searing him, and Janette's strength 
seemed to be fading. "LaCroix!" he shouted, torn between assisting his sire 
and protecting his lover.

     Again, LaCroix caught the Enforcer off-guard momentarily and threw him 
aside. "The lake, Nicholas!" he bellowed. "There is an opening through the 
lake to a cave!"

     Nick turned to Janette, guiding her into the water. Despite the threat 
of incineration, she still managed a wrinkled-nose protest. "Uuhf! I *hate* 
to swim!" she complained before diving under the surface. 

     Nick glanced back at LaCroix and saw the Enforcer seize him from 
behind. "LaCroix!" he yelled, then started for his sire.

     "It's your parchment or me!!" LaCroix hissed. "It's your choice!"

     Nick paused for a split-second more, then dove into the water.

     LaCroix released a sound of disgust, then devoted his full energy to 
the fight. The heat of the sun was everywhere, blinding. His skin was 
beginning to feel like scorched parchment, brittle to the touch. The clinch 
with the Enforcer had become a battle to the death, and, if it did not 
finish soon, they would both burn away.

     Suddenly, he was free. No arms tried to wrap him in a bear hug. The 
sensation of fire licking his skin faded into a cool breeze and only a 
slight irritation. LaCroix whirled around, confused at his altered 
surroundings, and found Mr. Roarke standing a few feet away, brandishing 
that same, annoying, enigmatic smile.

     "I see you succumbed to my argument and gave Nicholas the location of 
the parchment," Mr. Roarke observed.

     "My alternative was a mass incineration...not exactly what I had in 
mind as a fitting end to this fantastic farce," LaCroix said in a 
deprecatory tone.

      "Just as I had no intention of your destruction. You were protecting 
your offspring, after all."

     "I could have approached them earlier, and you know it," LaCroix 
countered.

     "Perhaps you were...afraid of the outcome?"

     The vampire let out a derisive shout. "He surely has his hands on his 
'cure' by now. I don't particularly care to go frolicking in the lake, even 
if it means watching my Nicholas fail. Tell me there's some other route to 
that cave, Roarke."

     Mr. Roarke laughed in a low voice. "Not a quick one, I'm afraid. You 
surprised me, LaCroix. I gambled that you would actually risk the 
possibility that your son might succeed in his quest, and I won. For that, 
I'll share a secret."

     "I must admit, you've made me curious. What is the nature of this 
secret?"

     There came another annoying, enigmatic smile. "Have you ever tried 
disappearing into a puff of smoke?...I beg you pardon. That was probably a 
poor choice of phrase. What would be another suitable term?...Ah, 
yes!...Teleportation."

****************************************************************************

     The water washed over Nick in a cooling balm. He bobbed momentarily 
from the fluid pressure, then spread his arms in a wide arc, causing his 
body to bullet swiftly into the lake's depths. The stone that appeared to be 
a boundary from the water's surface displayed a looming fissure from this 
vantage point. Nick swam steadily toward the darkness, the growing barrier 
of water acting as a shield from the sun.

     He slipped eel-like through the crack in the rock, then tilted his body 
upward. As he swam, face turned above, Nick noticed a glow as it began to 
develop in the water ahead. The liquid seemed to acquire a fluorescent hue 
as he forged ahead. His head broke into open air, and he gulped a deep 
breath out of instinct, not necessity.

     Nick shook his head, then turned in a semi-circle, where he saw Janette 
twisting the excess water from her clothing. Her hands reached her hair, and 
she uttered a furious curse as she squeezed a pencil-thin waterfall from the 
ends. "I...hate...swimming!" she hissed, then, giving her attention over to 
Nick, she knelt at the lake's edge. "LaCroix - is he following you?"

     He grasped the ledge with strong fingers, then shook his head in a 
stiff gesture. Janette released a muffled cry as she watched Nick pull 
himself out of the water. "You just *left* him?!"

     Nick stood. "There was nothing I could do," he said, not meeting her 
eyes. He shrugged half-heartedly, then added, "The parchment is in this 
cave. I have to find it!"

     A betrayed glaze cast over Janette's expression. "That is all you care 
about," she said, her tone heavy with the conclusion. "You don't really 
belong with us anymore...perhaps in your body but not in your heart."

     Nick reached out to her, his voice carrying a thousand excuses. 
"Janette..."

     "No." She jerked away, the movement final. "Go find your cure. I don't 
want you anymore."

     Nick backed away a few steps, then turned to begin his final search in 
earnest. He treaded deeper into the caves, a soft phosphorous glow 
supplementing his enhanced vision. The air was cool and strangely dry.

     His footsteps echoed distinctly off of the smooth stones below his 
feet. Tooth-like projections of rock with rounded tips draped downward from 
the cave ceiling. After a minute, Nick heard light footfalls behind him; 
Janette had begun to wander the passages as well.

     The tunnel he was in seemed to dead end into a narrow slit. Nick barely 
slipped through the opening. He found a large chamber on the other side. It 
was room-like, with signs that the walls had been molded by human hands. The 
walls were smooth, without cracks, and had a fine, marble texture. Each met 
the floor and ceiling at a sharp angle, rather than a rough curve. There was 
one passageway outlet and a cubical hutch carved into the far wall.

     The hollow contained a rectangular stone box, slightly propped onto its 
end. As Nick drank in the sight of its surface etched in intricate script, 
he breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly grasped the box lid and lifted it 
away. The weight would have strained the back of a mortal, but, to Nick, it 
was an effortless movement.

     He found the parchment inside.

     With reverent fingers, Nick gently lifted it by the edges for a closer 
look. It felt more substantial in his hands than it appeared. The texture of 
the parchment resembled linen, but the thickness appeared uneven, as though 
age and the cave's moisture had eroded the piece. 

     The page was blank.

     Nick flipped it over and anxiously inspected the backside.

     Again, the page was blank.

     Nick's shoulders slumped, and he leaned an arm tiredly against the 
unyielding stones.  He shivered as he 
felt Janette enter the room.

     "This appears to be the only non-dead end," she announced coolly. She 
noted his dismal posture and could not resist inquiring, "What did you 
find?"

     Nick held up the parchment, displaying both bare sides to her view. 
"The parchment's useless. I'm too late. The writing has worn away with 
time." He took a deep, solemn breath and repeated, "I'm too late."

     Janette spared him no pity. "So your quest for mortality ends with 
nothing. What about LaCroix, hmm?" she challenged. "How much have you lost 
over this foolish chase?" 

     "How much *has* Mr. Corrigan lost?" a silky voice inquired. Mr. Roarke 
stepped into the room from the unexplored passageway, another figure 
directly behind him.

     "LaCroix!" Janette exclaimed.

     "How did you?..." Nick asked dazedly.

     "Escape?" LaCroix finished. "Mr. Roarke offered me some timely 
assistance. Have you found your cure, Nicholas?"

     Nick shook his head, then allowed the parchment to fall from his grasp. 
"The writing has worn away."

     "Then you have my apologies," Mr. Roarke said smoothly, "for offering 
you a pointless search."

     "I don't know," LaCroix stepped forward, his presence seeming to fill 
the room. "I think that we have all learned from this experience," he said 
knowingly.

     Mr. Roarke held out a hand toward Nick. "Come, Mr. Corrigan. Your 
fantasy is over. We have found another path out of the caves," he said, 
sending a significant look toward Janette. "One without water. A covered 
boat can transport you back to the main island."

     Nick and Janette followed him into the cave opening, but LaCroix 
lingered. He gave the discarded parchment a thoughtful stare, then quickly 
plucked it off the floor. He folded it carelessly, slid it into a trouser 
pocket, then rejoined the others.

***************************************************************************

     The night was lit by torches, and a sad song of farewell played on the 
ukuleles in the background. Nick stood at the plane landing with Mr. Roarke 
and Tattoo. He shook each man's hand, earning a suspicious look from Tattoo 
as they made contact.
   
     "Again," Mr. Roarke said, "I regret that your fantasy did not have a 
happier ending."

     "Don't worry about it. You couldn't control how the parchment had 
deteriorated."

     "I hope this failure has not dissuaded you from your quest," Mr. Roarke 
said urgently.

     "A little, but that will change with time," Nick admitted. "I think I'm 
going to return to Chicago and try to focus on helping people other than 
myself for a while."

     "A worthy endeavor, indeed. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. 
Corrigan."

     "Likewise, Mr. Roarke," Nick said, then entered the hydroplane.

     Tattoo watched the plane motor out of the lagoon with relief.  As the vehicle lifted into the air, he realized 
his employer was smiling. "Boss! Why are you so happy? The guy's fantasy 
didn't work out!"

     "On the contrary, Tattoo. Mr. Corrigan only thinks this is the end. His 
fantasy is far from over."

***************************************************************************

     Janette stood in the doorway to the bedroom while LaCroix stared into 
the flames of the sitting room's fireplace. It was midday and too hot for a 
fire by mortal standards, but LaCroix had very little use for such things as 
'mortal standards.'

     "I just called Tattoo," Janette announced. "He said that Nicola left 
the island last night by plane."

     "Good." LaCroix approached her, sliding around the back of her neck in 
a gentle caress. "Are you so very upset with him?"

     "I hadn't accepted how far he had grown from us until he left you 
behind to burn. No, I still haven't accepted it," Janette said stubbornly.

     "You don't need to. He will always belong to us." LaCroix pulled his 
hand away, then pushed her gently toward the bedroom. "Go. Sleep."

     She followed his command, and LaCroix sat thoughtfully before the fire. 
He dug into his pocket and pulled the folded parchment free. He spread the 
linen out on the coffee table, gazing at it for some minutes. "From the 
light into the dark, core of the eye, take the dark into the light," he 
whispered under his breath.

     Suddenly, LaCroix stood, snatching up the parchment and striding toward 
the sitting room shutters. He flung them open without caution, then held the 
linen up to the glare of the sun. As he felt a growing sting along his skin, 
LaCroix observed the light filter through the material. Where, before, the 
parchment had appeared worn with age, the light illuminated a specific 
pattern to the thickness. The thinnest areas of the weave spelled out 
several lines of ancient Sanskrit, visible only beneath the glow of the sun.

     LaCroix stepped back and closed the shutters in satisfaction. Nicholas 
hadn't thought to face the light again before accepting his defeat.  LaCroix mused contentedly as he 
balled up the parchment and threw it into the fireplace. The material 
quickly curled and turned black. 

****************************************************************************

     Natalie sighed at the view and closed the shutters. Her parents had 
already loaded their luggage into the station wagon. It was time to leave, 
and by now she would be holding them up. Richie would probably snitch that she 
was fully packed, too, simply loitering because she didn't want the trip to 
end.

     She had returned to the island clinic. True to Mr. Roarke's word, no 
mention had been made of any murders or vampires. Sergeant Kamae was nowhere 
in sight. The routine was back to inoculations, throat cultures, and the 
only blood she saw was drawn for routine tests. It was still interesting 
work, and Natalie poured over Doctor Takada's forensic textbooks in her 
spare time, her brain starving for new information.

     Now she felt a little lost and empty, as though the last fragment of 
her childhood had been taken away and replaced by something clouded and 
mysterious. She felt a faint tremor of wonder at the thought of what her 
future might bring once she left Fantasy Island. 

     Her parents honked from the wagon, and she yelled, "Coming! Just a 
minute!" She flicked her last cigarette free from the pocket of her shorts 
and lit up. She had already decided to quit - she'd seen quite enough people 
smoking, thank you, and the time had come to quit playing at being an adult - 
but this final light had another purpose other than assuaging a nicotine 
craving. 
 
     She held the items Mr. Roarke had given her in her other hand. One 
piece was the photograph of Nick Corrigan that had been taken by the late 
Joe Yakima. The second was a copy of the newspaper article outlining 
Professor Nicholas Girard's indictment for un-American activities, complete 
with a picture. It was physical proof that she hadn't dreamed her encounter 
with vampires while on this vacation. The question was, as Mr. Roarke had 
put it, was she a person who wanted to forget, or did she want to remember?

     Natalie took a puff on the cigarette to bolster the flame and her 
courage, then plucked it from her lips and held the burning tip against the 
newsprint. As it caught fire and began to smoke, Nat experienced a sudden 
wave of panic. She threw the news article down onto the bedside table and 
smothered the budding flame with her bare hands. She squeezed her eyes 
closed at the burn, but felt a growing sense of relief. Nat stubbed out her 
last cigarette in a decorative vase, then surveyed the damage. The bottom 
left corner of the article was gone, but the majority of the text and the 
photograph was intact. She ran a fingertip over Nicholas Girard/Corrigan's 
troubled face and thought with discovery, 

     The car horn honked again. "All right! All right! I'm there already!"  
She carefully folded the newspaper around the picture again and slipped them 
into her suitcase. Then Natalie dragged her luggage out to the car, finally 
ready to leave Fantasy Island.

***************************************************************************

1990

     Thirteen years is a long time when it's only your twenty-eighth 
birthday. 

     A pipe bombing victim, that's what he was supposed to be, but when 
Natalie zipped open the bag, she saw a handsome, if pale, face and 
experienced a glimmer of recognition. When he rose and rifled the blood 
supplies, she had asked, "What are you?" but a part of her had already 
known. His answer, "I am a vampire," struck her with a flood of memories: an 
island vacation with her family when she was fifteen, her first forensic 
experience, vampires - oh, god - vampires, and a pair of photographs of this 
very man tucked away, temporarily out of mind, in an old yearbook on her 
bookshelf at home. She remembered Nick Corrigan, Nicholas Girard, and every 
word Mr. Roarke had spoken to her in an instant, but how could she tell him 
that? How could she tell him that her career had been permanently altered 
because of his trip to Fantasy Island years before? How could she explain to 
this closed-off, pained soul that part of the reason she became a medical 
examiner came from his actions? She didn't have the words, so she let him try to 
persuade her mind to let go of his legacy then leave, but it made no difference. 

     They met again.

     "You're testing me," she said as she turned to face him in the street, 
"to see if I've forgotten."

     "I see that you haven't," he said, starting to move toward her, 
focusing his attention.

     "Oh, please, don't bother.  It won't work," Nat insisted, her intuition 
telling her that this was the choice Mr. Roarke had hoped she would make all 
along.  "Maybe I'm just one of those people who they say can't be 
hypnotized...or maybe I don't want to be." 

     "And...you're not afraid?" he questioned

     "Fear is based on ignorance. I'd rather try to understand. What makes 
you think I can't help you?"

     "Help me?  Are you serious?" he sneered. "No one can help me. My 
immortality is a curse. A fall from grace." He moved to stand behind her and 
spoke directly into her ear. "Evil is a metaphysical condition."

     "You're not evil," Natalie said, her intuition voicing itself once more, 
then turned to face him again. "You ended up on my examining table because you 
tried to help people. Also, your condition *is* a physical one."

     "I see. Your specialty. And how on earth do you think you can help this 
eight hundred year-old body...this incessant hunger for blood? This... 
physical...condition of mine?"

     "I don't know...yet," Natalie replied, "but I am willing to try."

     "And what's the reward for you, Doctor?" he challenged. "What could you 
possibly expect in return?"

     "Solving a puzzle is its own reward for me," Natalie insisted.

     "Are you sure?"

     "Oh, yes," Natalie said, fighting the urge to cross her fingers behind 
her back.

     "You do not believe that I am cursed?" he asked her in wonder.

     "I believe in a chain of existence," she said slowly. "One person's 
actions can irrevocably transform another's existence, even in ways they 
never see or imagine. I think that you believe this, too, because you don't 
want to be a vampire anymore. You've come to realize that every life makes a 
difference. Who they are, what they do, none of it gives their existence any 
less value than your own. We share in every death. That's why I'm a coroner: 
to share in the deaths of those taken before their time is due, to learn from 
them, and to help justice along when I can. I don't think that you're cursed. I 
think that you deserve the same things as any other human being." She eyed him 
steadily. "Do you believe that I can help you?"

     He stared at her for several moments. All at once, she saw the first 
glimmer of light streak across his features in the form of a tentative 
smile. "Yes, I believe," he said, then his brow furrowed with a question. "I 
don't even know your name."

     "It's Natalie...Doctor Natalie Lambert."

     "Natalie," he repeated, trying the name on for size. "Call me 
Nick...Nick Knight."

     She extended a palm toward him. "I am pleased to meet you, Nick 
Knight."  she thought silently.

     "Likewise." He grasped her hand, his fingers strangely cool.

     A thought instantaneously sprang to Nat's mind.  She didn't say it aloud, even though the sentiment no longer seemed 
childish or foolish to her. Instead, she said a swift prayer for her 
past and looked toward her future. 

     Both stood in front of her, holding her hand.

****************************************************************************
End Of Part Eleven
End Of 'No Man Is A Fantasy Island'

Some dialogue quoted from 'Only The Lonely.'

One of the inspirations for this story was from John Donne's 'Devotions Upon 
Emergent Occasions'  Meditation XVII. The relevant passage:
     
     "When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but 
translated into a better language;... No man is an island, entire of itself; 
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be 
washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, 
as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death 
diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to 
know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee. Neither can we call this a 
begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable 
enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking 
upon us the misery of our neighbours. Truly it were an excusable 
covetousness if we did, for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man 
hath enough of it." 
 

There you have it! Nick is a poster child for Donne! :D

Send comments, questions, and virtual metaphysics to: br1035@ix.netcom.com