Chapter Two: The Great Escape

Erik spent the next few years locked into a cage in the gypsy freakshow, crowds screaming and laughing at his deformities, nobody for company but Bob, getting crazier by the minute. When the gypsies stopped off in Paris for a few days on their way to Vegas, however, real trouble arose.

One night, Erik's gypsy keeper escorted a crowd of chittering little ballerinas into his tent, blissfully unaware of his approaching fate. "…And this is where I keep my prize freak, the ugliest creature in the world! Bob the monkey!" The gypsy ripped the cover off the cage proudly, to reveal Erik crouched on the floor, wearing a burlap bag over his head, discussing the need for more effective disability rights laws with Bob.

The girls paled at the sight of the stuffed monkey. "AAAAAAAAAGH!"

"Oh my God! He's hideous!"

"Someone poke out my eyes! I'm begging you!"

Half of them fainted dead away, while the other half screamed and retched uncontrollably. "Oh, I almost forgot..." The gypsy ripped the sack off Erik's head as an afterthought. "This creature in the cage with him is Ermenegilde Rudolphe Ignatius Konstantine Destler. Or, as he is better known, 'The Living Corpse'!"

Erik stood up, poking his head through the bars of his cage. "I think he means 'The Devil's Child'."

"Don't start that again, kid!" growled the gypsy impatiently, turning back to his customers. "Now, as I was saying, the Living Corpse here--"

"Prefers to be called 'The Devil's Child'." Erik broke in.

"Must you do this during every damned show!" snarled the gypsy.

Erik sighed long-sufferingly. "You're just jealous because the people like my name better."

"They do not!"

"I don't want to take sides," one of the ballet rats piped up, "but 'Devil's Child' really is a lot more catchy."

"See?" Erik smirked triumphantly.

"Shut up, both of you!" Erik's gypsy keeper roared.

"I'm sorry. This guy's never had any sense of showmanship," Erik told the girl, shaking his head sadly.

"You little ingrate!" the gypsy shouted, throwing the cage door open and storming inside.

"I really hate to interfere again," the ballet girl ventured, "but Devil's Child, or Living Corpse, or whatever his name is, seems to have a point." She indicated the floor where the audience had been standing moments ago. It was now nearly empty, with the last two or three fainters picking themselves up off the ground and stumbling for the exit.

Erik threw up his hands in exasperation. "Now look what you've done! You've gone and scared off the audience again! This is exactly what happened when we were auditioning for Cirque du Soleil!"

"And then you wonder why you keep getting passed over for that assistant manager position," Erik made Bob chime in.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" The infuriated gypsy grabbed a conveniently nearby stick and began to beat Erik mercilessly.

"Ow! Knock it off! Ow!" The boy fell onto the dirty floor of the cage, trying to shield himself. "Dang it, somebody sure has trouble taking constructive criticism! Ouch!" He scrambled away from his captor. "That's it, Bob and I are sick of you taking your problems out on us!" Erik grabbed a conveniently nearby noose and began to choke the life out of his keeper.

The gypsy's eyeballs bulged, and he gasped for air. "Ergh…I knew I should have used that hunchbacked kid from Notre Dame instead…" he rasped out, falling on the floor with a thud.

"What was that?" a muffled voice outside the tent muttered.

"I don't know. It sounded like a disfigured pre-teen strangling a Gypsy," a second voice replied.

"Think we should call the cops?"

"Naw. Let's get an angry mob instead. Less paperwork to fill out that way."

"Right behind ya!"

"Uh oh." Erik coughed awkwardly. "Maybe I should have thought that out a little more thoroughly."

The little ballerina, who still hadn't left the tent for some reason, still seemed sympathetic in spite of the brutal murder she had just witnessed. Maybe her boss was incompetent, too. "Aw, poor kid. Come with me. I know a place where you can lay low until the heat is off you."

Erik's eyes lit up. "Really? And Bob, too?" He held up the monkey imploringly.

The girl cringed. "Oh, all right, Bob too." She grabbed him by the hand and towed him through the streets, stopping in front of an enormous opera house. She pulled open a grate in one of the walls and motioned for him to climb through. "In you go."

Erik frowned suspiciously. "What is this place, anyway?"

"This is the Webbére Opera House."

"I've never heard of it."

"Yeah, it's kind of obscure. The audiences are always pretty small. Once that Paris Opera House they keep talking about building is finished, I think I'll see about getting transferred there instead. Now hop in, quick."

Erik obediently climbed inside. "Wow, what's this elaborate maze of tunnels doing under the theater?"

"Do you want my help or not?"

"Sorry," Erik apologized quickly.

"I've got to go, but I'll come back later and bring you some food and clean clothes, okay Ermenegilde?"

Erik shuddered. "Call me Erik," he yelled after her.

Meanwhile, Webbére Opera House manager Gerard Carriere, formerly Charles Destler, was taking a stroll through the tunnels. Not many people knew it, but he was the one who had built them. As a mason, it had been an easy task for him, and now he had the perfect place to hide out if his wife ever came looking for him. He came down every now and then to do a security sweep, and had never found an intruder…until tonight.

"AGH!" He nearly jumped out of his skin when he discovered that his stronghold had been breached by what looked like a walking corpse.

"AGH!" Erik, thinking the mob had finally caught up with him, screamed at the top of his lungs.

Charles looked the intruder over carefully. Why, this wasn't an undead creature! It was just a little boy with a deformed face. Poor kid, he looked scared to death. "There, there, child, don't be afraid." He smiled warmly, stooping to pick up a stuffed animal that the boy had dropped in his state of panic. "Here, son, you dropped your…" The moonlight shining through the grate fell across the face of Bob the stuffed monkey, and the blood drained from Charles' face. Not because he was frightened by Bob's ugliness, but because he immediately recognized the monkey. It had been his wife's one attempt at sewing, created for the baby during her sixth month of pregnancy. He still remembered the day she had shown it to him. He had told her it looked very unique, she had accused him of not being sincere, and whacked him over the head with a lamp.

He shuddered, his fingers tracing the scar now hidden by his hair, dropping the hauntingly familiar monkey on the ground. Wait a minute, if this boy had Bob…that meant…holy macaroni! His eyes went wide. This was his son!

Erik looked at the pale, shivering wreck of a man in front of him with concern. "Are you all right, Monsieur?"

"I'm fine," Charles squeaked less than convincingly. Dear lord, what was he going to do now? Obviously Madeleine had tracked him down and sent the child after him. He looked his son over in terror. He didn't even want to think about how ruthless any child raised by that woman would be.

Erik was still studying his father intently. "You know, you look awfully familiar to me. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"N-no!" shrieked Charles frantically. "I mean, uh, that's impossible. You see, I'm…uh…well…foreign!" He immediately affected a cheesy Italian accent. "Pleased to meet-a you, I'm-a Giovanni, from-a the city of Roma."

"Er, I'm Erik Destler."

"Well, Erik, this is really no place for a little boy; you should be getting home to your mother." He was now pushing Erik toward the exit. "Here, some cab fare to get you home!" He thrust a purse full of coins into the boy's hands.

Erik stared at the money in disbelief. "But monsieur, there must be two hundred francs in here!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" He shoved his billfold into Erik's pocket. "Here, take it all, just go home, quick!"

"I don't really have a home." Erik slumped his shoulders dejectedly.

"Oh?" Charles paused, looking the boy over curiously.

"Yeah. Mom and her new boyfriend were going to keep me locked up for the rest of my life because I'm so ugly, so I ran away."

A wave of guilt washed over Charles. This was all his fault. Leaving an innocent child in the hands of that wife of his was unforgivable. Well, he was going to make up for it, starting right now! "Tell you what, son, why don't you come live with me for a while?"

"You mean at your house in Rome?"

"Uh…that's right…in…er, Roma." He made a mental note to purchase himself a new house in Rome and a set of phony I.D.'s. that night. If this child ever found out that this was the man who had left him alone with Madeleine for all these years, he'd never forgive him. "I can teach you all about architecture, would you like that?"

"Cool! Thanks, Giovanni!"

"Anytime, son. I think you'll like living with me. I've got a daughter about your age." During his years as Carriere, Charles had adopted a girl named Luciana. Actually, that was a funny story. The whole reason he had adopted her was because he had suspected at first that she was the child he had abandoned. She was the right age, and she could have been a clone of Madeleine, even in her behavior. Especially in her behavior, actually. Charles shuddered again. "That reminds me. I promised her I'd be home with her ice cream in twenty minutes. We'd better hurry."