part 2 (of 3)
"There you are! Stacy, I've been looking all over for you." Hunter walked over first base, heedless of the man at the pitcher's mound.
"Hello Mr. Rose. I didn't realize she was with you." Stone looked up, slightly peeved that their little game had been interrupted. It seems the lighted and striped diamond did not automatically come with players. "She's very good. Twice now she's hit it out of the park." He extended his hand to Hunter, who did not take it.
"Stacy, I thought we were going bowhunting tonight. The moon is only up for another couple of hours."
"Bowhunting! Cool!" She was going on 14 now, with the enthusiasm and quirkiness of that age. She dropped the bat and ran to Hunter, taking his hand. She turned back to face Stone. "Thanks for the game, Mr. Stone."
"Zeke. My pleasure, Stacy. Have a good time now."
"Good evening," Hunter said to Stone, fighting hard to conceal the anger in his voice. Not only had some other guy been spending quality time with *his* ward, but he'd recognized who that guy was.
Stone watched wistfully as the two walked away. Hunter grabbed the Erie SeaWolves baseball cap off Stacy's head and violently threw it to the ground.
While Stone was 'busy' watching the tide come in, the devil was busy dodging Roarke's obstacles. What fun, Roarke thought. He hadn't tangled with him in years, and was glad to know he hadn't lost his touch. The devil knew that Stone was on the island--had known since he arrived--but every time he tried to get at him found himself stymied. Roarke counted on the place's natural magic to dampen his mobility; beyond that it was simply a matter of putting enough distractions and obstructions in his path. It couldn't last forever, but it only had to hold one weekend, and he was up to that.
Hunter Rose had been a more difficult guest. Roarke wondered at his latest request, to arrange an assassination for Stacy to aid him in. He knew about Hunter's profession but was a little taken aback at his desire to bring the child into it. Had the Devil been talking up Rose? No matter, a lesson to be learned. He prepared a phantom target and a carefully pruned list of witnesses.
The target was a gangster. He would be dining in a quiet, secluded part of the restaurant with a few thrillseekers going as fellow gangsters. Hunter knew the time and the place, and had only to plan the entrance and exit. Stacy entered, masked, carrying a fork he had created the night before out of her sight. She arranged for the restaurant staff to leave them alone with a combination of suggestions and threats. Hunter then entered in his Grendel attire and herded the thrillseekers away from their intended target. Carefully pinking the gangster, he stepped back and invited Stacy to make the killing blow. She didn't, couldn't. Frustrated, he pulled her near to witness as he gutted the gangster with both pikes. They barely escaped, and with none of the grace that Hunter considered an integral part of a good hit.
Stone had been eating a sumptuous lunch near the door of the restaurant that afternoon. Even on a weekend off he still had the instincts of a cop, and he knew when something was amiss. When the two masked figures ran past him he had the presence of mind to take a close look at them both in hopes of identifying them later. The male's mask was well crafted to camouflage his facial features, but one feature couldn't be missed. Under the white fabric panels, the assassin's eyes had burned red. Damn. So much for the rest of the weekend off.
As if in response, a waiter walked up to the table and addressed him. "Thought you could get away for awhile, Stone?" The face was far too familiar, as was the taunting in the voice.
"Why, hello. Nice of you to ruin a perfectly good meal. Good vacation. Good tan. Good life. You're not supposed to be here."
"So ask for a refund." He smiled a toothy grin. Gotcha. Suddenly a day and a half of refreshment was worse than none at all. "Go away. Please."
"'Puh-leeze'? No. Did you see that masked man? Something overdramatic about--"
"Is there a problem here?" Mr. Roarke had stepped up behind the devil and was looking at him sternly. The devil whipped around to face his adversary.
"Yes, Mr. Roarke. As a matter of fact there is." Stone put on the face of an irritated customer. Roarke followed his lead. "The food is excellent but the service is shameful. This waiter smells so bad it is ruining my appetite."
The devil was taken aback by Stone's boldness. Roarke sniffed. "Is your shower not working? My God, man!" He wrinkled his nose at the 'waiter' and turned away. The devil reached over and cuffed Stone.
A pair of bouncers arrived at the scene. Roarke, visibly indignant, waited for the bouncers to restrain the waiter/devil. "Pack your bags, you're fired!"
The devil shook off the bouncers and glared at Roarke. "We'll discuss my terms tonight." He stalked away unescorted.
Hunter led Stacy on a detour through the jungles in order to assure that they had not been followed. He was livid. Too like the real girl, she lacked the stomach for real killing. Further, she had another 'uncle' to steal her affections with mushy, useless pastimes. When she fell behind in their chase he kept running. Good for her if she got caught.
Hunter returned to his bungalow and sulked. Even Stacy's quickly maturing body and growing resemblance to his old mentor/lover provided no comfort. Even in fantasy, she would never be his protege. She sat on the bed beside him, kissing his cheek, appeasing. He pushed her away. She pushed back, with surprising strength.
Hoping to intimidate her into leaving him alone, he stood up and created a weapon with a flourish. She waved her hands in front of her, and he saw something smoky wrap around the staff and pull it towards her. She smiled and let her eyes flash.
Recognizing the one other strange and wonderful thing that Hell had given him, Hunter let his damned lover draw him nearer. She wrapped her body around his like a boa constrictor, and he drove into her with unearthly lust. Their passion burned hot as Hell and as cold as murderers' blood.
Ariel stormed into Mr. Roarke's office, Harry and Cal trailing meekly behind. "Do you know who is on this island?!"
Roarke didn't even look up. "As long as the plane arrives once a day, I have a pretty good idea."
"The, the the devil is here! Satan! Belial! Lucifer! Mephistopho...!" Ariel was infuriated beyond words, so Harry picked up the thread. "Sir, how did he get here?"
"On the plane, I suppose, like everyone else. Is that all?" It was Harry's turn to be speechless. He was used to Roarke's indifference, but he couldn't imagine anything more serious than this. "What he's saying," Cal interjected, "was that we figured that this guy was trouble. I mean, if we'd known that's who we've been running interference against we might have--"
"You might have been so intimidated by him that you wouldn't have done it, is that what you're saying?" It was like a father scolding a child for being afraid of worms. Cal started to stammer a reply, but Roarke cut him off. "None of you have been in my employ long enough to remember the last few times he was here. There are rules that he operates by when he's on Fantasy Island, I suppose as a matter of professional courtesy. He is no less reasonable than many of the guests we have here, and in some ways more personable. Besides," he paused meaningfully, "he's made me aware of some other unconventional souls on the island that my usual sources failed to note. As long as he is here, we will give him what he desires..." He looked back down at his work. Ariel and Harry left briskly, unwilling to upset him further. Cal waited a moment longer, but Roarke ignored him. As he slowly walked away, he heard Roarke say under his breath. "...just like any other guest."
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