He's finally here! Our favorite voodoo man has decided its high time he made his appearance this chapter. And let me tell you, I had so much fun writing this. I got to look into what kind of past I thought a guy like Dr. Facilier would have had, and this is the result. For those of you who have been waiting for him, you'll be very happy here.

Thanks to Nana Cloud, Whiteling, maramouse, Mylinda Antoinette, haruko sohma, and lizziemagic for reviewing the last chapter. I love you guys! Keep 'em coming.

Also, I've been thinking about what I'm going to do for the rest of the story. I really like writing this one in third person, and I'm considering doing the rest of them like that, even though the past couple of chapters have been from Evangeline's POV. The whole first person thing got kind of awkward, and there's so much more I want to show that I can't do when I write like that. What are your thoughts? Would it be too wierd if I switched to third person? I'd really appreciate your help.

So, finally, here is Chapter 5!

Dr. Facilier's life had never been especially simple. Some of it had been downright unfair. Nothing had ever really gone his way, even after his mysterious voodoo powers had been bestowed on him by his so-called 'friends on the other side.'

He found it much easier to blame his problems on the Friends, the monstrous shadows that haunted him wherever he went, slinking next to him to make sure he paid his debt. It was he who was truly the victim, not the careless souls he preyed on. Poor Dr. Facilier was nothing more than a penniless beggar unable to pay his rent, and the Friends his cruel, unfeeling landlords. In his world, everything was rent.

The 'Shadow Man,' as some residents of New Orleans had dubbed him, oftentimes could be caught wondering what had happened to lead his life to astray, so far off his plans. After much pondering, he determined it had all begun when he was the fresh, joyful age of 12.

Young Facilier wasn't known as Doctor back then. He was actually called Little Andre, since his father was Andre and they never wanted to mix up the two. The Faciliers lived in a very, very poor section of town, where danger lurked around every filthy, rat-ridden corner. The few families there were, despite the conditions of the neighborhood, all knew each other and lived close together, more for protection than convenience. Little Andre and the other boys didn't mind the bad place they were stuck in. It gave them a place to play without fear of automobiles or stuffy old men to yell at them.

Very few times did anyone get ill or injured. They'd all grown up in that environment, and street smarts and bad hygiene had strengthened their immune systems to super human standards. Besides, none of them could afford a doctor, so whenever someone caught a cold or broke an arm, it was up to the band of neighbors to decide who was bringing the soup or who was best at setting bones.

That was the only world Little Andre had ever known. They didn't have much, but he learned to make do. He was a tall, lanky boy, who could beat any fool at a race, only partly because he liked to play dirty. He was nimble, too, and able to dance his socks off whenever the adults decided to pluck out some music on their beat up guitar or harmonica. It was no secret that Little Andre had easily charmed his way to being the most well-liked person in the area. Everyone knew him, and everyone wanted him around.

His fortune changed just weeks before his thirteenth birthday, when his little sister Lisette's health started to fail. She'd been born weeks early, an event that almost ended her life and succeeded in taking their mother's. Lisette was the only kid in their neighborhood that couldn't play with the others, or even do much outside. She was frail and weak. Her growth wasn't normal, so she was always smaller than children her age, and even younger. She always had a cough, and was paler than anyone Little Andre had ever seen.

No one made soup or gumbo for her. They couldn't afford to make it almost every week for a little girl who probably wasn't going to get much better.

It was almost expected when she was suddenly bedridden for days on end, but Little Andre's twelve year old mind couldn't wrap his mind around why. He wanted to know why her cough had gotten worse and why she was shivering with fever all the time. He wanted to know why her breathing was labored, when it had been fine the week before.

He wanted to know why no one was going to find a doctor.

The adults wouldn't tell him, and when he asked they quickly changed the subject or distracted him with a story about what Spot, a smelly old stray that the boys liked to chase in the street, had been doing that morning. When Lisette's conditioned worsened even more almost a month later, Little Andre set out on his own to find someone who could help, and maybe even tell him what was happening.

He asked every doctor he came across, but as soon as any of them took one look (or whiff) of the rag-tag almost-thirteen-year-old, they shut their doors in his face. His search took his all the way out into the bayou, where he heard tell of an old voodoo mistress who had the reputation of helping those who truly needed it. Mama Odie, they called her, but not without a quiver in their voice. For some reason, not a soul offered to help Little Andre to the place where Mama Odie brewed her potions and cast her spells, so the child had to make the difficult trek on his own, not daring to return home until he had an answer. It was a foolish, even stupid thing to do, but the mind of a child doesn't consider what could go wrong

He could easily admit to stealing a boat to accomplish his stupid plan. He'd stolen many things in his lifetime with the other boys, though it was mostly useless trash they found lying on some faceless goon's front porch. That torn up rowboat carried him from one corner of the swamp to another while he searched, clueless of the whereabouts of the fabled Mama Odie.

Little Andre found her only by a stroke of luck when a peculiar swarm of fireflies he followed so he could have at least a little light stopped at a makeshift tree house constructed from a resurrected sunken river boat. Though the stories he'd heard of Mama Odie scared him silly, he had to keep from laughing at how silly the stories themselves were when he discovered the resident of the river boat was actually a babbling old lady, whose stature hardly matched Lisette's. Her sanity was questionable, but Little Andre didn't argue when the ancient woman handed him a vial of milky liquid.

"I know who you are," she told him, her toothless gums slurring the words together. "You are a little boy who knows what he needs. But," she looked straight at him thought it was clear her eyes hadn't seen in a long time, "beware of your heart. One wrong turn can leave you power hungry and greedy. Keep your mind on what you need." Being a kid, Little Andre didn't care for the life lesson, but he was happy to have a cure for Lisette in his hand at last. He wasn't sure what exactly the potion would do, but Mama Odie had said it would help. He left the river boat quickly once she started cackling into a bathtub full of gumbo. If he was being given an unknown concoction by an insane woman, then ignorance was bliss.

It was impossible to tell how long he was in the swamp after that. What felt like days could have only been hours, and seconds could feel like minutes. That's what happened when someone was lost, he figured. How he was able to avoid the usual dangers of the bayou, alligators and such, he'd never know. It was how he got out that he never forget.

The swamp was already a shadowy place, with dark shapes always looming over the water and striping the boat. Little Andre didn't know much, but he was almost positive that when the shadows started to move, he had a serious problem. Especially when those shadows were huge, hideous monsters, each one with its own, unique silhouette.

But, it seemed that being almost positive meant that there was still the chance that he was wrong. As it turned out, the shadows meant well, they whispered things in his ear, certainly succeeding in terrifying him, but he relaxed when he realized the whispers were directions, and the creatures guided his boat straight out of the bayou. It was night back in New Orleans, and Little Andre felt unusually secure as he strolled down the street with the shadows trailing all around him, like obedient pets. They told him things along the way, gave him advice.

"You shouldn't trust Mama Odie." One slithered up next to him, curling around the arm of his own shadow.

"She's not right in the head. That potion's more likely to kill your sister than aid her." Another, a great bat-like beast, purred into his ear, though when he turned his head, nothing was there.

"Really?" Little Andre's voice trembled as he tossed the vial from one hand to another.

"Yessssss." They chorused. "But we know the real cure. We can teach you the ways of voodoo, and help you save your poor sisters life. We can give you great power, the power to do whatever you wish." The possibilities were flying through Little Andre's mind. He could be a hero if he cured Lisette. Everyone would adore him more than ever.

He grinned, the gap between his teeth blatantly apparent in the store window he was passing. The glass vial, cold between his fingers, rolled gently along his palm, its white liquid sloshing against the cork as he turned it. Without even thinking he let his fingers tilt, and sent the vial tumbling onto the pavement, where it shattered. The potion sprayed across the road and spilled away in a thin, runny stream. The shadows made sounds of approval, and swarmed around him like he was stuck in the eye of a tornado.

The low beats of drums came from nowhere, and Little Andre's eyes widened in panic when the shadows sang out in unison, "Are you ready?" He felt something grab hold of him and his entire body was caught in an invisible fist. He struggled, but the beings were too strong to fight. They continued to chant in some unknown language, and Little Andre gasped loudly when he saw that not only were the shadows around him singing, but his personal shadow had leapt to life, acting out his signature dance moves and reaching toward him for a high five.

It was then that Little Andre discovered his mobility had returned, and he hesitantly held his palm out, feeling an unexpected slap as the dark hand connected with his. His heart pulsed and his blood ran hotter than usual. The power was coursing through his veins, and he felt it might spill out of his mouth or eyes if the level rose any higher. It felt better than anything he'd ever known in his life.

His shadow pointed a long, bony finger at him. "You are one of us."

He was never the same after that day. The adults were only mad at him for about a seconds until they saw Lisette walk through her door to watch them. She was walking. Yes, she was still weak, but she had miraculously gained her strength back. When they asked her how, she looked straight at her big brother and said, "Little Andre did it." She hadn't even seen Little Andre yet, but somehow the Friends had told her.

Little Andre had a big head before he'd left, but after his father and the adults showered him with praise and questions, it grew ten times larger. He wouldn't tell exactly how he was able to somehow cure Lisette's illness, but he just said he'd spent lots of time with her, willing her to get better. The rest of his time around the neighborhood was no longer spent with the other boys wrestling and chasing Spot. Instead, he hung out in a suspicious dark alley, disappearing for hours on end while the Friends filled his brain with corrupt knowledge on how to make voodoo dolls and use people's blood for twisted uses. No one called him Little Andre any longer. He insisted he was old enough to just be called Andre.

When he was sixteen, he decided he didn't need his family anymore. Lisette was healthy and doing well, and didn't need her brother to take care of her. In the middle of the night, he packed a bag, and let the Friends lead him to an old abandoned warehouse, where he began unpacking his collections of masks, which the Friends spoke to him through, and other disturbing voodoo paraphernalia. No one questioned his presence, so he lived in that warehouse with his shadow as his only companion.

It was then that the Friends started to become less and less like friends. They told their young follower, who had changed his name to Dr. Facilier (after all, he was a witch doctor), that in return for their services, they required energy. They were dying, they told him, and the only thing that would keep them satisfied were human souls to control and feed off of. Dr. Facilier refused at first, but when they threatened to take his power and condemn him to eternal torture. Debt wasn't an option if he wanted to live, and he loved his power.

So he had no choice but to agree. He tried to target those who wouldn't be missed, the old beggar or pick-pocketing orphan who he could easily lure in with his charm and charisma. He'd show them a few things, the usual razzle-dazzle, and then when they were hypnotized by his magic, the Friends, in the form of floating masks, would take them. Facilier learned to use only his limited powers as much as possible to avoid burying himself in more debt. He avoided asking the Friends to help him with bigger feats. It was like digging his own grave.

But still, he craved more power. He could read bits of the future, he could make potions, he could change one animal into another, but he could do nothing for himself. It was political power he sought after. Despite his less than wise choices he'd made in life, he was a smart man, and people trusted him enough to follow him. He was charming, like a Venus fly trap, using a sweet aroma to attract an innocent, insignificant bug into his lair, only to trap them in an inescapable prison.

Years of this had made it routine and boring, but he soon found himself fascinated with the idea of running the whole city of New Orleans. With his power it wouldn't be hard, he just needed to get control of the most influential and wealthy family in the city, the La Bouffs. Once the deed was done, the Friends could have everyone in New Orleans for their enjoyment, and he'd be out of debt forever.

From there, it was history. He was so close to succeeding, but that rotten waitress and the frog prince ruined his plans, all thanks to the idiocy of that moron, Lawrence. The Friends took him to their world, and his life there was indescribable. It was like being stuck in a jungle full of the most horrifying monsters in the universe, constantly running for his life just so they could have something to chase.

After who knows how long, he developed another plan and proposed it to them, promising to make it work. The Friends begrudgingly agreed, giving him twenty years in his world to complete the task. After all, the Friends had odd pleasures, revenge an the suffering of their enemies being only a couple. Fortunately for Facilier, they hated Tiana and her prince just as much as he did.

And that was how he came to standing on that dark corner in New Orleans, observing those who strolled by and waiting for the perfect candidate to come up. Being in the shadows' world had changed him. He hadn't physically grown much older, a side effect of practically being one of them, and his appearance had become more inhuman and dark. In a way, it was more effective for drawing people in, like he was a magnet.

There were only a couple of years left in the contract. Years ago, right after he'd been released, he had almost gotten his end of the deal done. Tiana and Naveen had made it so easy, even leaving the nursery window open at night so the Shadow Man could spy on his chosen target whenever he wanted. She was a lovely baby girl, that was for sure, and so could be accomplished if he got a hold of her.

But he had to wait for the right time, so he studied the life of the royal family and memorized their daily routine. They were plain, boring people, and hardly left their baby girl out of their sight. That was fine. He simply had to strike at night.

He did so on night when the moon was gone, and a storm was about to rear its ugly head. In hindsight, it was a poor idea. While he thought the thunder would muffle any loud sounds, he forgot that children are often awoken by it, which is exactly what happened. The infant's crying had brought her mother running into the room just as he stretched a thin, lanky leg through the window. She screamed, naturally, which woke everyone else up. Needless to say he failed, and soon after the baby had vanished. He knew they sent her somewhere, he could just never figure out where.

That one horrible night had led him to returning to New Orleans. At one point the considered finding his old family again, but decided against it. They wouldn't want to see him again, and the Friends would just follow him there. He was already stuck with his shadow watching him constantly. No, it would never work. Hs alternative was taking to his former practices, dazzling whoever cared to stop with small parlor tricks, accepting meager donations in return for his entertainment services. It was all he knew to do, and he needed to feed himself. As time slipped through his fingers, he became more and more panicked at the thought of going back with the Friends.

He was scared.

A group of gossiping teenage girls were coming down the street. They were obviously rich from the look of their extravagant high fashion outfits. The rich always tipped well, an extra ten dollars was the equivalent of a penny to them. They didn't need it, so they gave it to him. Teenagers in particular were clueless about money, and very easy to amuse.

Time for him to go to work.

To be continued... next chapter

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