Have you ever wondered why New Orleans
Was haunted by Dr. Facilier?
You might be surprised to know
Not all villains start out that way.
So gather around me children,
If you can,
And listen to the story of how he
Became known as the Shadow Man.
The hot autumn sun was beating down upon the city of New Orleans. Streets were alive with the spirit of jazz. Everything jumped to the rhythm of the saxophones, drums, and acoustic guitars, whose tunes carried on the wind with the fluidity of water and clarity of crystal. Yes, it was easy to say that New Orleans was alive.
When he stepped out of the front door onto his miniscule balcony, he took a deep whiff of air and sighed contentedly. He adored the smell of Louisiana more than anything – everything was mixed together in a great melting pot of aromatic bliss. Why, if he strained his nose, he could pick out faint scents of Cajun cooking that wandered from the bayou. The man licked his lips, the slimy tip of his tongue tickling the hairs of his thin black moustache. "Today's gon' be a good one, I can just feel it." Spinning around, he sauntered down the three steps of the ramshackle house and onto the grainy yellow grass.
And he walked briskly, smoothly, down the dusty lane until he reached the true limits of New Orleans. His eyes simply had to take in the great sights: buildings rose like creatures of myth from the cobbled streets, stretching themselves to the breaking point in an attempt to touch the sky. So far above them, the object of their desires was a shimmering blue, almost like the waters of the bay except a twinge lighter. Like all good days, there wasn't a single cloud in sight – today was going to be exceptional, he could feel it.
Then again, days were never unexceptional when you were Facilier, the smooth 20-year-old who was, hey, available. And what woman could resist his snakelike charms? His tongue was forged of the purest silver; his hands knew their way around a woman's face that made heat rise to her cheeks at an alarmingly fast pace; his voice was like chocolate. Everyday was an adventure into the world of a heartthrob bachelor who, for personal reasons, never told you his name; only that he was a doctor and knew what he was doing, so relax. Nothing to fear but waking up the next morning with no one by your side, almost as though he had never even been there. There was an inexplicable urge to push him to the back of your mind.
That was how Facilier functioned. He hated the fact that he could never create a stable relationship with another woman, for he knew that somewhere in Louisiana there lived his soulmate. And try as he might, the man who was in the lap of attractive luxury could never seem to establish a working relationship. Somehow, all the women were far too different, and not particularly to his liking.
Facilier had the opportunity to be picky. And he made use of it regularly, each night a failed romance that he ended at the nearest moment. True, the days were exceptional when your name was Facilier; however, they always ended in disappointment and hating oneself.
Today, though, Facilier was sure that he would find that special someone. He had a feeling, an indescribable confidence, that reassured him of it.
But the day was mostly the same as always. He easily wooed each girl he stopped to adore, but when he found himself bored and out of witty one-liners, he disappeared, melting back into the crowd and becoming invisible to the world. His deep brown eyes would scan the people moving to and fro on the street; every now and then, his hands would reach up and remove the top hat from atop his mess of black hair and scratch his temple. Things were looking very bleak. Each woman he courted was exactly the same – boring, bubbly broads who made everything very mushy and couldn't tell guitar from trumpet. It annoyed Facilier that on such a wonderful day he had to be so melancholy – would he ever find the woman for him in New Orleans? Most definitely, he didn't want t leave; no, it was one of the last things he wished for. The music and stars in the sky were all the paradise he needed, and to forgo all that…. There was a good chance doing so would kill him.
Yet all this was seeming more and more like a necessity. Other than the two reasons that had attracted him, the city held nothing for him. His future was running short, as he was getting dangerously low on money – every morning, he would wash his black jacket and purple undershirt; every other morning, he'd do the same to his slacks and shoes. In no more than a few months time, he'd be destitute and living on the street.
He'd have to pick up what he had and start walking. The same thing had happened when his mother was banished from their kingdom for the same tendencies Facilier had inherited. With nothing to her name, she walked, carrying the young Facilier until he could walk as well. Then, one day, when he was around six, she couldn't do it anymore. She collapsed and didn't move again, and Facilier could do but one thing: walk, the only thing he'd ever been taught.
At the present time, Facilier could think of nothing. New Orleans was rather vivid, but the sun was mercilessly hot. Wiping his brow for the umpteenth time, the man decided to go find somewhere to relax.
Shuffling through the crowd proved to be easier said than done. Everyone appeared to be pressing against him like a great human torrent that prevented him from getting anywhere. Underneath a blazing yellow orb, and in the presence of so many people, it was getting rather hard to breathe. And he was burning to flaming bits in the dark-colored clothes on his back – how unlucky that those garments were the only ones he had at his disposal. Back when he had made enough money to not have to wear rags from the alley trashcans, the outfit had unparalleled appeal. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought of the repercussions of such actions – namely, the fact that black and purple were colors not suited for an environment such as New Orleans.
Eventually, Facilier had to concede that he was not traveling far with the mass of bodies coming at home. Not taking another minute to push and shove and dirty himself, he ducked down a sidestreet. All light seemed to fade in a climactic diminuendo as it reached the alley. Facilier blinked and stared into the increasing shadows. At least there would be shade and refuge from the heat, despite the creepy feeling that ran up his spine.
Taking slow, careful steps, he inched his way into the alley. Peculiarly, though, as he made his further down the hidden lane, the shadows broke. They cleared, and light surged into his eyes, growing more powerful little by little as Facilier continued.
A minute later, he emerged in front of a small shop. Taken by surprise, Facilier wondered how he could have never noticed the bright lights coming from the tined windows. After more than a decade in New Orleans, he was sure he knew every nook and cranny, yet a small place had eluded his vision all these years. His curiosity piqued, Facilier stepped up to the front door and cautiously gripped the front door handle. Breathing deeply, he pushed the door open.
The interior of the shop was nothing more than that of a regular pub. One long red carpet ran from the entrance to the bar, with small tables pushed to the sides. A small, half-circular staircase led up to the bar which – bar? Facilier felt his throat rasp. It was in dire need of something cool to ease its pain.
No one else appeared to be in the shop. "That's odd…" Facilier quietly told himself. But, nonetheless, thirst overtook him and he strolled as nonchalantly as he could manage up the glimmering scarlet carpet. Hopping up the steps, he took a seat at the bar, resting on one of a set of tattered barstools.
"How can I help you?"
Before Facilier knew it, a woman was standing before him. He took one look at her and felt a thump in his chest. This girl had skin tone that was a beautiful brown, with coal eyes and a smirk in those cracked red lips. She wore a white apron, which did its best to hide a plain blue dress that was nothing fancy. The woman, as Facilier noted, was more than a little overweight; her stomach had a bit of a bulge that caused her dress to flutter out. Faciler thought to himself that she was nothing like the women he was used to having ogle him; this one wasn't perfectly curvaceous, nor did she have an angelic smile on her face.
Still, he couldn't help grinning and chiming with his usual line. "How y'all doin', gorgeous?"
The woman let out a short laugh. "The best that can be expected, hun. Now, you want a drink or what?"
Facilier raised an eyebrow. "What would you suggest? What do you like?"
She wouldn't give him an inch. "It don't matter what I want. You want a scotch? Okay? Good." Grinning to her customer, she went to work on the drink as Facilier sighed. Scotch wasn't something he normally drank. It had a bit of a bitterness to his tastes and was…expensive. There was no avoiding shuddering. However, he'd just have to make do.
When the woman returned with his drink, Facilier asked her, "So what should I call you, lovely?" It was what he mostly used to impress the women out on the streets, but it would have to work in here.
The woman at the counter smirked. "What's yours?"
"You first," Facilier insisted, flashing her a smile that showed off his fashionably white teeth.
Sighing, the woman said, "Alright, you win. The name's Leona Buckham."
Facilier nodded. Leona was a nice enough name. Clearing his throat, he replied, in his most debonair voice, "You can call me the doctor. Doctor Facilier."
