All Fantasy Island characters are the property of Aaron Spelling, Sony Tri-Star and TPTB. Any other copyrighted characters are the property of their respective TPTB. We're only borrowing them for a while. We'll give them back when we're done ... Maybe. Anyone else belongs to us and can be used only with our permission.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Lawrence could almost sense it as he pressed the button on the porch column. That rang the automated bell atop the tower of the main house. The bell signaled that new guests were arriving, and summoned the greeters to the seaplane dock. Something wasn't right. This did not feel like the usual festive atmosphere that surrounded most of the arrivals on Fantasy Island. Even though the temperature was in the middle 80's he shivered and pulled his coat tight against him as he approached the auto that would take him to the dock. Whatever it was, it felt cold. It felt …

0-0-0-0-0-0

The young man that got off the seaplane at the Fantasy Island dock looked as though he did not belong with the other passengers. For one thing, he did not smile, nor did he partake of the drinks or other festivities as the other passengers did. Instead, he stood by himself, away from the others, and he seemed to exude an aura of animosity and hostility that was almost palpable.

"I dare say, Sir." Lawrence said to Roarke as the two stood on the seaplane dock. "That young man looks like he is going to a funeral instead of coming here for a holiday. What sort of a fantasy has he wished for?"

"Perhaps you are more correct in your assessment than you suspect." Roarke answered sadly. "That young man is David Teeterman. Fifteen years ago, his father was killed on Fantasy Island. Ever since then, Mr. Teeterman has had recurring nightmares about the incident. He feels that the key to ending those nightmares and the headaches that accompany them is here on the island where his father died. That is his fantasy. To provide some sort of a closure for that horrible incident."

Roarke took the beverage offered by one of the hostesses and solemnly raised it. In the background, a steel drum band began playing a Polynesian tune. "My dear friends." He intoned. "I am Mr. Roarke. Your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island." He smiled as he usually did, but this time the smile did not quite reach to his eyes.

0-0-0-0-0-0

As Lawrence entered Roarke's office, his employer was sitting behind his desk lost in brooding thought.

"Ahem!" Lawrence cleared his throat. Roarke looked up, his face was a picture of melancholy.

"Excuse me, Sir. I ... I took the liberty of looking up the elder Mr. Teeterman's records in the archives." Lawrence continued. "There must be some mistake." He held up a manila folder. "According to these documents, you were the one who was responsible for Alan Teeterman's death. I know you. I do not believe that is possible. You could not kill anyone."

"There is no mistake." Roarke said solemnly. "I killed Alan Teeterman, and it has weighed heavily on my conscience ever since. He was a convicted criminal. He had been caught embezzling a huge sums of money from the Fantasy Island Bank. At his trial, he threatened revenge on everyone connected with his capture, and especially on me as the Chief Justice.

A year later, he escaped from prison. In doing so, he killed two prison guards and wounded three others. I lead the party to track him down and recapture him. I caught up with him in a clearing not far from his house. I tried to reason with him, but it was no use. There was an exchange of gunfire and ... " Roarke's voice trailed off and his face became even more somber. "I did not want to kill him, Lawrence. It goes against everything I stand for. I had no choice. It was self defense."

"What do you think David Teeterman will do when he learns that you were the one who killed his father?"

"He already knows, Lawrence. He was hiding at the edge of the clearing where it happened. He saw everything. Although he was only ten at the time, I am certain that the trauma of seeing his father killed is what is responsible for his reoccurring nightmares." He looked at his watch. "It is time. I have to go and talk to Mr. Teeterman."

"Would you like me to go with you, Sir?" Lawrence asked. "For moral support, I mean."

"Thank you for the offer, but no thank you, Lawrence." Roarke sighed. "This is something I must do alone. Besides, there are other guests to attend to, and I am counting on you to see to their needs."

0-0-0-0-0-0

David Teeterman shook Roarke's hand warmly as they walked across the living room in David's bungalow. "Thank you for allowing me to return to Fantasy Island, Mr. Roarke. I just hope that this works. I hope something works. For the past fifteen years, I have had nightmares about my father's death. I've tried everything, therapy, hypnosis, you name it, but they won't go away. Lately they have become more frequent and more graphic. Now, it seems I can hardly close my eyes without reliving that horrible day. Then there are the headaches. They too have been getting worse. I've even tried street drugs, but nothing stops the pain." David put his hand to his head and closed his eyes tightly. "If I don't get some relief soon, I'm going to go insane."

"I can sympathize with you." Roarke said. "For a long time after the shooting, I too had terrible dreams about it. I do not begin to suggest that they were in any way comparable to what you have been going through ... It must be terrible for you.

I have already talked to the officers of the bank where your father worked, and to the police chief, as well as any other people involved. They have all agreed to help you in any way they can. If I can be of any further help, do not hesitate to call on me."

"I won't hesitate, Mr. Roarke. You can count on that." David put his hands to his head once more. "If you will excuse me, the trip here has been very long and I am afraid I'm not feeling too well. I think I'm getting another headache."

"I understand. I'll let myself out."

From the window of the bungalow, David Teeterman watched as Roarke walked down the sidewalk to the street. He took a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Roarke's head. He kept him in the sights until he reached his car. Slowly, he squeezed the trigger. The hammer struck an empty chamber.

"The next time it won't be empty." He vowed. "Next time you'll pay."

"Patience, my son. All in good time." The woman who spoke was in her mid forties, but the years had not been good to Norma Teeterman. Her straggly hair was completely gray and her face was pale and lined with wrinkles. She wore no makeup. Her hazel eyes were hollow and without any spark in them. She wore a nondescript skirt and blouse that practically hung from her thin frame. She handed her son several red pills and a glass of water. "This should relieve the headache."

"Thanks, Mom." David said as he downed the pills with the water. "But nothing brings much relief these days. I sill don’t see why we have to go through this elaborate charade. Why couldn't I have killed him as he left here and been done with it?"

"After what he did to us, I want him to suffer. To feel trapped and helpless. Just like your father felt before Roarke gunned him down in cold blood. If I had wanted it any other way, I would not have taken a different flight here under an assumed name. No. I don't want Roarke to have the slightest idea of our true purpose on the island until it is too late. Rest, my darling. We have several very long days ahead of us."

0-0-0-0-0-0

David Teeterman crouched at the edge of the clearing. At ten, he could barely to see over the tops of the bushes that hid him. Across the clearing, he saw his father come staggering down the path that led to the swamp. His clothes, prison clothes, were wet, torn, and covered with dirt and slime from the swamp. His hands and face were cut and grimy as well. He stumbled into the clearing, barely able to walk.

Another man was in the clearing as well. A tall, regal looking man, immaculately dressed in a tailored, obviously expensive, white suit. "That is far enough, Alan Teeterman." Roarke said menacingly. "This little game is over."

"Please, Mr. Roarke." Teeterman pleaded. "Please don't send me back to prison. It's a hell hole back there. I tried to be a model prisoner, but they still kept after me. The guards beat and tortured me unmercifully for the slightest infraction. Then they'd throw me in solitary for days on end. You don't know what it's like. I had to escape before they killed me. I'll do anything you want." His face was streaked with sweat. "Anything. Just don't send me back there. I'll go to any other prison. But not that one! Please!"

"I do not intend to send you back to that prison." Roarke grinned evilly. "Or to any other prison either. I intend to make an example of you for everyone else who might be thinking of stealing from me and who might think that they could get away with it."

"Please, Mr. Roarke." Teeterman was on his knees. "It was only a few hundred dollars. My family was starving. I love them with all my heart and I was just trying to provide for them."

"I don't care why you took the money. Or how much. The bottom line is that you stole from me, and now you are running away from your just punishment." His face was hard and pure evil. He reached into his jacket and took out a gun. He aimed it at the prisoner. "Nothing personal, Teeterman, but if I let you live, it would undermine my authority on the island. I can't let that happen."

"No! No! Please, Mr. Roarke. Have mercy!" Teeterman begged through his tears. "I don’t even have a gun."

"I am being merciful." The shot reverberated through the clearing.

Ten year old David Teeterman screamed.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Twenty five year old David Teeterman was still screaming as he sat upright in the bed. His face was bathed in a cold sweat.

Norma Teeterman came into her son's room. "Another nightmare?" She asked as she gently wiped her son's sweaty forehead with a damp washcloth.

David nodded dully. "They get worse each time. This was one of the worst ones so far."

"Don't worry, my son." Norma said as she cradled him to her breast. "After this is over. After Roarke is dead, there won't be any more nightmares."

0-0-0-0-0-0

The next morning, David Teeterman was waiting when the Fantasy Island Bank opened its doors. He was shown into the manager's office.

"Yes, I remember your father." Harry Beeler, the manager told him. "We started working here at about the same time. He was the last person anyone would have suspected of being a crook. He was quiet, conscientious and very personable. We were both tellers, but with your father's intelligence and determination, it wasn't long before he was promoted to accounts officer.

I'm not trying to place the blame on anyone, or trying to excuse what your father did, but it seemed that your mother was never satisfied. The more she had, the more she wanted. I suppose that's what made your father start taking the money from his accounts in the first place. To keep her happy. In the beginning, it was just small amounts that were quickly replaced. Eventually, I guess the lure of the money finally caught up with him as well. Each time he took, it was more than the last time. Each time he replaced the money, it was less than what he had taken. Finally, after about a year or two he stopped replacing the money altogether.

We only discovered the discrepancies by accident during a routine audit for an entirely different purpose. By that time he had embezzled over two million dollars, and his trail was extremely well hidden. It took some very clever paper shuffling and some very creative double entry bookkeeping to cover his tracks. There were dummy accounts, and non existent deposits and withdrawals galore. It took almost a year before we unearthed the total extent of his handiwork. As near as we could tell, he had been taking monies from his accounts for over eight years.

When we confronted him, he was arrogant, almost boastful about it. According to him, he had done nothing wrong. He bragged that the richest customers could afford to loose the money, and the poorer ones would be covered by insurance. He called us saps, and gloated about how he had been stealing money right under our noses for all those years without being caught or even suspected.

It really was a shame, you know. With your father's talent, he could have been rich legally if he had used his abilities for the right purposes."

0-0-0-0-0-0

David's next stop was at the Fantasy Island Police Station. Sam Fitzgerald, the Chief of Police, welcomed him.

"Even though I was only a detective at the time, I remember your father's case very well." Sam said. " I was one of the team that interrogated him after his arrest. He refused to cooperate with us in any way. Harry Beeler was right. Your father bragged about the theft. All that your father would say was that he had taken the money and that he had hidden it where we would never find it. We searched the island from one end to the other. Several times. But we never found even a clue to where the money was hidden. To this day, there has been no trace of it anywhere. At least not on Fantasy Island. The only thing we can surmise is that he had a Swiss or Cayman Island bank account. But we never found any evidence of that, either.

He claimed that he hadn't committed any crimes, that no one was hurt by what he did, and that we had no right to persecute him that way. He said that we would all pay for what we were doing to him and that he did not intend to rot in some jail. And he didn't. A year later, he escaped from prison and was killed in the attempt."

"By Roarke." David said angrily.

"I wasn't there, but as I understand it, Mr. Roarke had no choice in the matter. It was self defense. Teeterman fired first and nearly killed Mr. Roarke."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Gerald Westerman was waiting for David on the porch of his house. "I was the warden at the old prison when your father was there. I can tell you he was one of the most difficult men I have ever come across. From day one, he refused to follow even the simplest of rules. We have an excellent rehabilitation program here on the Island, but your father wanted nothing to do with it. He refused counseling. He refused all of the therapies available. He would not participate in any social events. He never attended any kind of religious services. He bragged that those kinds of things were for idiots and weaklings. That he was above all that.

He was always in trouble for aggressive behavior and fighting with the other prisoners. If there was any sort of a problem, you could almost bet that Alan Teeterman would be at the heart of it. It was obvious that he had no respect for anyone, himself included.

The day he escaped, he had started a fight with another prisoner and it took four guards to break it up. One for the other man and three on Teeterman. That's where he got the gun. He took it from one of the guards during the struggle and held him hostage until he was outside the gate. Then he shot him in cold blood and also shot four others who were chasing him. All the time, he was yelling and bragging about what fools we were and how he was going to live the good life once he got off the island.

"I don't like to see anyone killed, but ... " He shook his head slowly. "In your father's case ... He brought it on himself. If he'd have gone along with the program, he could have been out in two to three years with good behavior."

0-0-0-0-0-0

When David returned to the bungalow, Norma Teeterman was waiting for him. "How did it go?" She asked her son.

"It was very confusing and very disturbing." David said. "I went to the bank and the police station like we planned ... to keep Roarke from getting suspicious. I even talked with the former warden." David shook his head slowly. "The stories they told me about my father are very different from what I remember."

"Of course they're different. A man like Roarke would have to cover his tracks. He owns this island and everything and everyone on it. Just like he tried to own your father. If Beeler, Fitzgerald and Westerman want to keep their jobs and their pensions, they would have to lie for Roarke. How do you think they became the police chief, the bank manager and the warden in the first place? It was their reward for covering for him all these years.

After he murdered your father, Roarke even had the nerve to try and buy me off. He offered me a great deal of money to keep my mouth shut about what really happened. He actually thought that money would make everything all right. I cursed him and spat on him. Then I remembered that I had a son to raise. A fatherless son, thanks to him. In the end, I took the money. I figured it was the least he could do for all the pain and heartache he had caused. He had it put in a secret Swiss account so nobody could trace it back to him. It was that money that has supported us all these years. But no more. I can't take his blood money any longer. Now all I want is his death."

"And you shall have it, Mother. I have already contacted Roarke to set things in motion. Do you know what you have to do?"

"I know what must be done. And I will enjoy every single minute of it."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Lawrence was waiting for Roarke when he came into the living area of the Main House. "Sir. How did your meeting go?" He asked as he poured a cup of tea from the silver service on the mahogany cart.

"It went very well, Lawrence." He took the cup that the butler offered and sat down in an overstuffed leather chair by the fireplace. "I believe that Miss Lambert is well on her way to realizing her fantasy. I wish every fantasy was as easy to fulfill as this one."

"Speaking of fantasies, David Teeterman called while you were out." Lawrence said. "He wants to meet with you at the old prison first thing tomorrow morning. He said that he has some important matters to discuss with you."

"The old prison? That's where his father was incarcerated. It's been closed ever since they built the new one ten years ago. It's over a hundred years old and it has been neglected all these years. It's falling apart. If my memory serves me, it's due to be torn down sometime later this year. I suppose it must be very important for him to meet me there instead of seeing me in the office or in his bungalow. I'll call him and make the necessary arrangements."

"Don't forget you have an appointment at one o'clock tomorrow with Professor Girard about the artifacts he found at the archeological site."

"I won't forget. I'll be there."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Roarke and David walked in near silence through the prison corridor. The only sound was their footsteps echoing off the crumbling walls of the deserted building. They stopped before a cell. The steel door stood half open, and was rusty and corroded in spots. The paint was peeling in large chunks from the damp and musty walls. The floor was littered with objects left behind when the prison was emptied, as well as with evidence of the myriad of creatures that had made the prison their home since then.

"This was your father's cell." Roarke explained.

"I know." David replied. "Do you mind if I went inside for a few moments?"

"Of course not." Roarke fully opened the door with difficulty. The hinges had rusted with years of disuse. He and David entered the cell.

"Not exactly your home sweet home, is it?" David said surveying the cell. "The thought of spending fifteen years in here is pretty depressing."

"I agree it is not a pleasant place, but I do not think you asked me to come here to discuss the current state of the prison facilities."

David walked to the door. "No, Mr. Roarke, that is not why I asked you to come here." In one move, he stepped outside and with a mighty effort, pulled the door shut. The lock, although not used in over ten years, still snapped into place. "I brought you here so you could experience first hand what it is like to be locked up in a hell hole like this."

"Teeterman!" Roarke shouted. "Let me out of here. You don't know what you are doing!"

"Don't I? My father spent a year of his life in this cell and if you would have had your way, he would have spent fifteen years here. And for what? Stealing an insignificant sum of money that you could have easily covered from petty cash. Now it's your turn to suffer like you made him suffer."

"Teeterman!" Roarke yelled. "Don't do this! You've got it all wrong. It wasn't insignificant. Your father was ... "

"Yell all you like, Roarke. There's no one to hear you. Only the ghosts of the men you imprisoned and tortured here." He laughed maniacally as he started down the hall. "Besides, I couldn't let you out even if I wanted to. Which I don't. There aren't any keys to these cells anymore."

"Teeterman!" Roarke yelled once more. This time there was no answer. Only the sound of his voice as it reverberated through the empty building.

He sat on the rusty bed frame. < There is a way out of here. There has to be a way out of here. All I have to do is find it. > He got up and went to the front of the cell. Although he knew it would not do any good, he rattled the bars anyway. Something ... He shook them again. This time slowly and deliberately. Listening. < Yes. There it was. > A third time. < The lock. > Something was loose in the lock. Maybe if he could put enough force on it ... He grasped the bars above the lock and concentrated. With all the force he could muster, he yanked at them. Something gave. He could feel it. He pulled again. It gave even more. Again. And again. Over and over. Finally, just as Roarke thought he could not try another time, the lock groaned and the metal, weakened by rust and age, gave way at last. The door creaked and squealed as he forced it open.

Cautiously, Roarke stepped out into the corridor. It was vacant. Carefully he made his way to the front of the building. He half expected Teeterman to be around every corner, but for all intents, he was the sole inhabitant of the deserted building. From the doorway, he searched the courtyard between the door and the gate. It appeared empty. Guardedly he made his way into the yard. < So far, so good. > As he approached the gate, a bullet spat into the ground at his feet. He leapt for the cover of an overturned dumpster.

"That's it, Roarke. I knew you'd escape from that place. Just as my father did. You couldn't stand to be cooped up in there for even one day. Imagine what he went through being in there for a whole year." David Teeterman's voice rang through the deserted area. From his position of relative safety, Roarke searched the courtyard. In a tower on the far corner, a man was silhouetted against the opening. It had to be David. From his perch high over the wall, he had a commanding view not only of the prison, but of the area outside as well.

Roarke spotted his car parked across the road from the gate. If he could just make it that far ... He broke at a run across the road. A hail of bullets followed him. He dove for the passenger side of the car. As he did, one of the bullets struck the rear panel in a line with the gas tank. Within minutes, the car was covered in flames.

Roarke spotted the drainage ditch beside him and headed for that.

"The swamp. Roarke. Head for the swamp." David called. "Just like my father did. It's your only refuge."

Roarke looked around. His choices were limited. He could stay where he was and risk being gunned down. Or burned to death. Already the heat from the flames was almost unbearable. He could make a run for Teeterman's car which was parked about a hundred yards down the road. It was all open land. He would be like a duck in a shooting gallery. No, that was not a wise move. Or he could head for the swamp. Not exactly the best of scenarios. He paused a few seconds. If he had counted correctly, David should be out of ammunition. A line of mangrove trees about fifty yards away marked the beginning of the swamplands. There were a few scrub bushes along the way that might offer a little cover. With a bit of luck he should be able to reach the trees before David reloaded. It was still a risk but the swamp was the best choice. He scrambled out of the ditch and ran for the trees. As he reached them, David fired again, but by now, Roarke was well out of range.

"Are you scared, Roarke?" He taunted. "Is your heart beating a mile a minute? Are you sweating? Shaking in fear? Good. Now you know how it feels to be on the other side. To be the hunted instead of the hunter."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Once inside the swamp. Roarke paused. He did not hear anyone behind him, but the thick foliage and the dampness served to keep sound from traveling too far. He looked around to get his bearings. Then he heard it. a footfall. David. He pressed on. The swamp became denser and more treacherous. Several times he heard a splashing sound as though something large was getting into the shallow water. There were several trails through the marshy land. He opted for the one that would take him to the prarie in the middle of the island. There was a village about a mile from the swamp's end. From there he could get help.

He reached the fork in the trail. The trail to the grasslands was slippery, and footing was tenuous at best. Several times, Roarke had slipped and nearly fallen into the murky waters that bordered the path. He could see the ripples that marked the passage of several large snakes and other creatures in the water. About a mile along the path, he rounded a sharp bend only to find that his way was blocked by several huge trees that had fallen. Because of the thick vegetation and the treacherous waters surrounding the trail, there was no way to go around them. He would have to retrace his steps and try another way.

Another possibility was a trail that led to the river where the swamp finally drained. The only problem was that at this time of year, it was underwater for most of its length. The best way to traverse this area was by airboat. There was a cabin just before the trail entered the wetlands. The owner had a boat. Perhaps he could be persuaded to take Roarke through the water. As he approached the cabin, Roarke could see that the cabin had been abandoned. The boat, although still there, was partially sunk. It could take days to raise the boat and get it in running condition. IF he could get the necessary equipment into the area to do the job.

To attempt to walk through the tall sharp sawgrass would be dangerous. In addition to the myriad of deadly creatures that inhabited the swamp, the roots lying just beneath the water's surface waited to entangle the trespasser's feet. The jagged sawgrass itself could cut through the hides of all but the toughest animals and could wreck havoc with a human's skin. So that way was impractical.

The third way led to a clearing near the seaside village. This way was relatively safe. It still was a dangerous trek, but Roarke could not see any alternative. As he walked, he was aware of a sudden silence. Nothing was growling, barking or chirping. Almost at the same time a heavy bow fell from one of the trees in the canopy above him. He stepped back as the limb crashed into the ground mere feet from where he was standing. Although it did not kill him, he did not escape injury. His right trouser leg was torn and blood poured from a multitude of deep cuts and scratches caused by the branches. Carefully he tested the leg. Thankfully, it was not broken, but it would definitely impair his efforts.

0-0-0-0-0-0

David Teeterman waited in the clearing at the edge of the swamp. It was the same clearing that had claimed his father's life fifteen years earlier. This was where it would end. This was where Roarke would die as well.

As soon as he was satisfied that Roarke was well into the swamp, he got into his own car and headed for this spot. There were several exits from the swamp, but Norma Teeterman had been waiting for Roarke just inside the swamp's boundary. Her job was to insure that Roarke chose this particular one. David knew that his mother would take great pleasure in herding Roarke to his destiny. He also knew she would not make it easy ... or painless either.

0-0-0-0-0-0

David heard someone coming down the path to the swamp and turned around. A man stumbled into the clearing. It was not Roarke, but Alan Teeterman. < That isn't right. It's not supposed to be my father. It has to be Roarke. > David shook his head to clear it. It was definitely his father. He wasn't asleep. At least he didn't think he was asleep.

A few seconds later, Roarke came into the clearing. This time, his clothes too were torn, muddy and wet. "Give it up, Teeterman." He said. "Do not be foolish. Surrender and I will be as lenient as I possibly can be with you."

"I told you in the court that I'd get you for putting me away. Now its payback time." Teeterman yelled as he fell to the ground. At the same time, he pulled a gun from his waistband and fired at Roarke. Roarke dodged and headed for a boulder by the edge of the clearing. Teeterman took cover behind a tree.

"Teeterman." Roarke called as he drew his gun. "You cannot escape. The rest of the patrol will be here in just minutes. The money is not worth your life."

"Two million dollars is definitely worth it." Teeterman answered. "I've already killed twice for that money. A few more ain't going to make any difference. If I have to, I'll kill you and everybody else that tries to stop me."

"What about your wife and son? Are they worth your life?"

"My wife? You got to be joking. The only reason I married her in the first place was because she was knocked up. I never wanted kids but she had to go and get pregnant. She's the reason I'm here. Nothing I did was good enough for her. I couldn't make enough money or do anything else to satisfy her. The kid's nothing but a spoiled little brat. She treats him like the sun rises and sets on the little bastard. Once I get off this island, they can rot in hell for all I care."

He ran toward Roarke, firing as he ran. Roarke had no choice but to return fire. Suddenly, Alan Teeterman stopped in his tracks and clutched his chest. "Damn you Roarke. Damn you to hell." He hissed as he slumped to the ground. Blood poured from the wound in his chest. He did not move. His eyes stared blankly into unseeing space.

Roarke slowly walked to Alan Teeterman's body. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to have to do that." He said. "I'm so sorry." His voice cracked as he wiped tears from his face along with the grime and sweat.

The scene faded and the clearing was empty once again.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Roarke came limping into the clearing. This time it definitely was Roarke. He stopped as though he knew what was going to happen next.

Without saying a word, David stepped in front of Roarke, and pointed his gun and fired.

Stunned by the impact of the bullet, Roarke spun and fell to his knees. In seconds, David was in front of him, his gun pointed at Roarke's head.

"Kill him!" Norma Teeterman screamed as she came into the clearing. "Shoot him down like the rabid dog that he is! Remember what he did to your father. He doesn't deserve to live!"

David held the gun to Roarke's head for a long minute. Then he slowly lowered it to his side.

"What are you doing?" Norma shouted. "This is the moment we've been waiting for. Planning for all these years. You have to kill him. You have to avenge your father's death. How can you forget what he did to us?"

"No." David said softly. "I haven't forgotten. I remember everything that happened. Only this time I remember it as it actually happened. Not as you've been telling me all these years. What other lies have you been telling me, mother? What about that loving happy family life? That was a lie, wasn't it? Alan Teeterman didn't give a damn about us. What about the money? Was it two hundred dollars? Or was it two million? Did he take it for us … or for himself? Was the money that’s been supporting us all these years Roarke's blood money, or was it the money that my father stole and hid?"

"It doesn't matter where the money came from. Or why. What matters is that Roarke killed your father and he has to pay for that." Her face became hard and her eyes blazed with a surreal fire. "I've waited all these years for this moment, and I won't be denied." She grabbed the gun from her son's hand. "If you don't have the guts to do it, I do."

Roarke struggled to his feet. "You don't have to do this." He said.

David stepped between Roarke and his mother. He held out his hand to her. "No, mother. There has been too much bloodshed already. Give me the gun."

"David!" She said. There was a wild sound to her words. "I don't want to hurt you. I only want Roarke's death. Don't make me have to kill you as well. Step aside."

"Give me the gun, mother." David started slowly toward her. "I know the truth. Father deserved what he got. Roarke is innocent. Now, give me the gun ... Please?"

"No!" Norma Teeterman squeezed the trigger. The shot reverberated through the clearing. David Teeterman looked at his mother with surprise and bewilderment written on his face. Slowly, he crumpled to the ground.

Norma turned the gun to Roarke. "Now see what you have done, Roarke?" Her eyes had a blank look to them and her voice had a strange sing-song quality to it. "First you killed my husband. Now you killed my son. Next you are going to kill me." She pointed the gun to her head.

Roarke grabbed the gun and pulled it away, but he was a fraction of a second too late. The explosion ripped the side of her head off. As though in slow motion, Norma Teeterman collapsed into Roarke's arms. Gently, he lowered her to the ground. Numbly, he took off his coat and covered her shattered head with it.

He stood up, and the shock of what had just happened, coupled with the pain and loss of blood from his own injuries, hit him like a concrete wave. His legs were rubbery and the ground rolled and weaved beneath him. He staggered to a tree and clung to it for support. His chest was on fire and his shirt was drenched in blood. His own and Norma Teeterman's.

A pair of strong arms supported him. Lawrence.

"When you failed to keep your appointment with Professor Girard, I became concerned. Lawrence explained as a medic from the emergency squad eased Roarke onto a gurney. "I called Chief Fitzgerald, and then we set out to find you. The police found your burned out car at the prison. We have been searching in this area, and we were only a short distance away when we heard the shots. What happened here, Sir?"

"Hate happened here, Lawrence." Roarke replied. "Hate and a desire for revenge so deep that it consumed everything it touched."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Roarke stood at the open grave in Fantasy Island Cemetery as the workmen lowered Norma Teeterman's casket into the plot beside her husband's. His left arm was cradled in a sling, and he leaned on a cane. Lawrence stood beside him. A short distance away, a small knot of people stood. Watching. Whether they were mourners or just curiosity seekers was debatable. The incident had been in the papers, and on the minds of nearly every inhabitant of the Island for days.

"From what you have told me, Sir." Lawrence said. "She probably was quite insane. I sincerely doubt that she was even aware of what was happening, especially toward the end. There was no way she could have been able to differentiate between right and wrong."

"I pray that you are correct." Roarke said as the workmen began filling in the grave. "I also pray that she finds the peace and closure she was looking for."

"Amen to that, Sir."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Roarke and Lawrence stopped at the nurse's desk in the intensive care unit at Fantasy Island Hospital.

"David Teeterman is still in very critical condition." The nurse told them. "He is conscious though, and the doctor has said that you can see him for a few minutes."

David Teeterman seemed lost in the maze of tubes, wires and monitors that surrounded him and his bed.

"I can't begin to apologize to you for all the problems I've caused. And for the pain." David said weakly. "I can't believe all the horrible things that my mother said and did." He shook his head. "And worst of all, I believed her lies implicitly."

"Hate and revenge can do strange things to a person's mind." Lawrence said. "It's entirely possible that your mother actually believed that what she told you was the truth. You believed her because she was your mother and as a ten year old, you believed that your mother would never tell you anything that wasn't true."

"Your headaches and nightmares probably were the result of the struggle in your subconscious mind between what you saw in that clearing all those years ago, and what you had been told happened there by your mother." Roarke added.

"I know that now. For the past few days, there have been no more nightmares or headaches. At least not because of ... of what happened there fifteen years ago. It's almost as my being in that clearing once again finally set things right. But that still doesn't make what I did any less wrong. I suspect that what I did will haunt me for quite some time to come. I am ready to face my crimes and accept my punishment."

"I have talked to the prosecutor and to the judge who will be hearing the case." Roarke said. "They have both agreed to accept a plea of guilty to a charge of assault with a deadly weapon instead of attempted murder. In addition, I will testify on your behalf. The judge has said that he will be as lenient as possible when it comes to the sentencing. Possibly only a year or two in jail. Most likely probation."

"Why? Why would you do that for me? I came to Fantasy Island for the specific purpose of killing you in cold blood."

Roarke shook his head slowly. "That may have been your intent when you arrived, but in the clearing there was an entirely different scenario. According to your military records, you are an expert marksman. You had a clear shot at very close range, yet the wound I received was only a superficial flesh wound. In addition, you had a second opportunity to kill me which you purposely did not take. These are hardly the actions of someone intent on cold blooded murder.

You also saved my life when you stood between your mother and me, and it nearly cost you your own life. You have been punished enough for whatever wrongs you have done."

Out of the corner of his eye, Roarke saw the nurse signal that it was time to leave.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Lawrence looked puzzled as they exited the hospital. "Did you mean that, Sir? I mean about testifying on his behalf and asking for leniency for him. After all, he was correct. He did try to kill you."

"I meant every word of what I said, Lawrence. David Teeterman is no killer. Besides, it does not matter what sentence the court gives him, Fate has handed him a much harsher verdict. A life sentence. Not behind bars, but behind wheels. You see, the bullet that he took to save my life has shattered his spinal cord and several vertebra as well. The doctors tried to repair the damage, but the spine was too badly crushed. David Teeterman is totally and hopelessly paralyzed from the waist down."

"That is truly a bizarre end." Lawrence said sadly.

"Yes, Lawrence. It is a very bizarre end to a very bizarre fantasy."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Remember, you are on Fantasy Island.