Erik and Veronique were startled to see the small man in the shadows. His white hair and mustache stood out against his luxurious black suit that had been covered in ashes and dust. He held himself upright, with the air of a musician: confident and prestiged. Erik immediately recognized the man by the way he held his handkerchief to his mouth in shock. It was Monsieur Reyer, whom it had been rumored that he had died in the flames that consumed the Opera Populaire. But the most shocking part of the old man was his right arm. The arm that had once conducted magnificent operas was only half there, with a small nub protruding from his shoulder.
Monsieur Reyer lifted what was left of his arm and cried, "M-m-monsieur le Fantome, I am sorry. I did not realize it was you. But who, may I ask, is this enchanting lady you have on your arm?" he asked while raising Veronique's slight hand to his lips.
Erik spat at the man, "She is of no concern to you, Monsieur Reyer. Let us be in peace. Come, Veronique, there is no time to lose." Taking her arm once again, Erik made his way to the exit of the opera house. Monsieur Reyer bowed to them humbly, then disappeared back into the shadows of the wreckage.
"Wait, Erik. That was Monsieur Reyer? I thought he had died in the fire!" Veronique's head spun, as she tried to remember what he had looked like the night of her parents death. "I simply must go and speak with him. He must remember my parents. He was so fond of them..." She trailed off as she dashed back towards the stage calling out for him. "Monsieur Reyer? Monsieur Reyer!" she cried as she spotted the man again.
"Yes, Mademoiselle? How can I help you?" He bowed to her again, and she curtsied. He was intrigued as to know what this beautiful woman had to know.
"I believe you knew my parents, God rest their souls. I am Veronique de Launce. My parents were Jacqueline and Richard de Launce?" Her eyes searched the man, and she saw the look of recognition in his eyes.
"Ah, yes! They were the patrons of the opera house, were they not? After every performance, they would come and congratulate me on another splendid show. How unfortunate, their passing was... But, Mademoiselle, what are you doing with that monster who killed them and many others? You certainly do not know him, do you?" Monsieur Reyer had hated Erik with a fiery passion. He had sworn to himself that if it was the last thing he did, he would make sure that the Phantom of the Opera never haunted anything again.
But Veronique suddenly felt the same anger and hatred towards the once-sweet man. She raised her hand and struck him across the face, spitting at him, "Never speak of Erik in such a distasteful manner again." She stormed back out and found Erik where she had left him. Retaking his hand, she joined him, taking one step closer to a lifetime of happiness.
Veronique stepped onto the streets of Paris, blinking in the bright sunlight. She had grown so accustomed to the darkness that Erik was so fond of, and it pained her to see so much light at one time. But, adjusting, she followed Erik to the small chapel down the boulevard. He had gone ahead earlier that morning to make the arrangements for their marriage. It was to be a small ceremony, with only two witnesses and a priest. Who the witnesses would be, she did not know. But she did not care. The only thing that mattered to her at the moment was to spend the rest of her life with the man she loved. Erik. Her Angel of Music, who had taught her to listen to the Music of the Night.