Many Faces

Disclaimer: Don't own any version of POTO. It belongs to Leroux, Kay, Webber, etc.

Summary: Ever wonder how all those contradictory versions of Phantom of the Opera could possibly be true? Well, I've done some sleuthing and finally worked out how they all fit together. Enjoy, or at least try not to get too disturbed.

Chapter One: The Early Years

In 1832, in a little town just outside Rouen, the boy who would become the Phantom of the Opera was born. His mother, Madeleine, was understandably distraught when she saw the hideous deformity marring her only child's face.

"Get that ugly thing away from me!" She shoved the child into the arms of the village priest, sobbing miserably. "Ugh, this is a mother's worst nightmare, giving birth to an unsightly supergenius! I'd kill my husband for getting me into this mess if he wasn't already dead."

The priest just bit his lip nervously. As the only confessor in the village, he was one of the few people who knew the truth about the baby's father. Poor Charles had dutifully catered to the whims of his wife for the past couple of years with the patience of a saint. The people of the village had looked on the man with a mixture of pity and awe, as none of them could stand to be in the little brat's presence for more than five minutes without cracking. But when the hormones from her pregnancy had kicked in, her whining tantrums, violent mood swings, and an increasing tendency toward throwing things at his head had become too much even for her patient husband. A couple of months ago, he had faked his own death and run away to start a new life managing an opera house in Paris.

While the good priest didn't like the idea of anyone dishonoring their marriage vows in such a manner, he couldn't help but sympathize with the poor man, having been forced to sit through several of Madeleine's tantrums himself over the years. "Uh, yeah." He coughed awkwardly. "Well, no use crying over spilled milk. You've got to think up a name for your new baby."

"I'm not in the mood," she sniffled. "If this thing wants a name so badly, he can name himself."

"Yay!" her newborn piped up. "I was hoping you'd say that. I've always been partial to Alexandre…"

"GAH!" The priest nearly dropped the child. "Dang, you weren't kidding about the whole supergenius thing, were you? This is amazing!"

Madeleine peered down at the baby distastefully. "Ugly and overly smart. He'll never be one of the cool kids now."

The baby hadn't been paying attention. "…Or how about Antoine?…No, no, that's much too common…"

"Do you ever shut up?" grumbled his mother.

"There's no need for childishness, mother," the ugly wonder-baby chided.

"How dare you call me childish, you unattractive prodigy! Oooooh, just for that, I'm having you christened…" she paused for a moment, then grinned wickedly. "Ermenegilde Rudophe Ignatius Konstantine."

The baby burst into tears, and the good priest gasped in horror. "How can you be so cruel to your only son?"

"Oh, I'm just getting started!"

She kept little Ermenegilde Rudophe Ignatius Konstantine, E.R.I.K. for short, locked up in the attic for the next nine years, occasionally letting him out for music lessons, architecture lessons, or a round of emotional abuse. She forced him to wear a mask over his deformed face, and never showed him the slightest amount of affection. As is to be expected, he went a little nuts, and even took up ventriloquism in his desperation for someone to talk to. He'd sit up there all day, debating politics with his stuffed animals and gossiping with his tin soldiers.

His mother spent her days going from adoption agency to adoption agency, asking if they knew of anyone who would be willing to take a creepily smart, monstrously ugly, utterly insane little ventriloquist-in-the-making off her hands. Tact had never been her strongest suit.

Mother and child were both perfectly miserable the entire time, but Madeleine cheered up a little when a gorgeous doctor named Etienne Barye came to town and instantly fell in love with her. Of course, at first, her behavior towards her son put him off at first.

"I'm shocked that you could even think of treat your own son this way," he lectured her. "It's unthinkable! Locking a disfigured child up in your attic!"

"You really think so?"

"Yes, you should have drowned the ugly thing years ago."

"I knew it!" Madeleine moaned miserably.

"But," Etienne continued, "as long as you keep his door double bolted, I'm willing to indulge you."

"Aww, that so sweet! Let's get married!"

Erik, who had been listening at the door, eager for some dirt to talk over with his tin soldiers, rolled his eyes. "Ugh. I never thought there could be someone more shallow than her, but she's found him. Looks like these two were made for each other. Well, I'd better hit the road before his indulgence runs out and I find myself at the bottom of a river." He climbed into the window, pausing to pick up his stuffed monkey Bob. Bob, the only one of his stuffed animals more ugly than Erik himself, had always been his favorite. "Come on, boy. If Mom doesn't want us around, we'll find somebody who does."

"If your own mom can't stand the sight of you, what make you think perfect strangers will be able to?" he made Bob reply through ventriloquism.

"Shut up, Bob!" he shouted, shaking the monkey furiously.

Erik made his way to a nearby village that was hosting a Gypsy freakshow. Smoothing his hair and straightening his necktie, he ducked into the first tent down the line and bowed politely to the bearded woman and two-headed man playing a round of bumper pool inside. "Good evening, ma'am and sir…uh, sirs. One disfigured little ventriloquist and one unimaginably ugly stuffed monkey looking to join on, here."

"You'll have to talk to the guy in the tent to the left of us, kid," replied the man's left head.

"No, no, no, Dmitriy, you've got it all wrong. He's two tents to the right of us. Idiot," grumbled the right head.

"Thanks!" called Erik as he headed down the line. He stepped into the tent, placing Bob on his shoulder for full effect. "Good evening, sir," he said to the Gypsy sitting inside. "Today's your lucky day. The unbelievably ugly Erik and Bob have come for a place in your freakshow."

The gypsy shrugged. "Okay, why not? You can never have too many freaks. I'll hire you on one condition."

"What?" Erik asked eagerly.

"Keep the monkey out of sight when I'm around." He shuddered.

"Deal!" Erik stuffed the monkey inside his vest. "So, I guess we'd better come up with a name for my act."

"Our act, Erik." Erik threw his voice to sound like it was coming from inside his vest, then switched back to his normal voice.

"Shut up and be a team player, Bob!" he hissed.

The rather confused gypsy thoughtfully eyed Erik's death-like visage. "How about we bill you as 'The Living Corpse'? It fits, doesn't it?"

Erik shrugged. "I don't know. It's fitting, I suppose, but it just doesn't grab your attention the way a freakshow attraction should. What we need is something with a little more pizzazz, like… 'The Devil's Child!'"

"Don't tell me how to do my job, kid!"

"Okay, fine, how about a compromise? We'll use my title half the time and yours the other half and see which draws more spectators."

"Would you care to put a little money on that?"

"Ten francs okay?"

"Deal!" crowed the gypsy.

"It's all settled then." Erik concluded brightly. "I guess you'd better show me to the stage."

"Well," drawled the gypsy hesitantly. "It's not a stage… so much as it is a cage."

"Huh? Wait a minute--!" Erik began to protest.

"No take-backs!" The gypsy cut him off, tossing him into a cage.

TBC…

A/N: Mostly Kay so far, but there will be more of the other versions in the next chapter. Let me know what you think.