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Neal leans against the railing of the Pont Neuf, watching as the sun slowly sets behind the Eiffel Tower, casting on the sky and the river running below his feet, a soft shade of orange and pink. It is always the hardest time of the day for him. He knows he should stop tormenting himself into watching the sunset, but he can’t help it. Every day, he is drawn to look west, as the sun continues its course over there, over the Atlantic, shedding light on his family and friends, carrying his thoughts to them.
And every day, the same temptation.
The sky is now turning a deep blue, and the lights of the city start to shine. Neal looks down, at the distorted image of his reflection on the water. He sighs. Come on, you know the rules, the little voice in his head tells him. Today the voice sounds a lot like Mozzie.
The rules of How to Successfully Fake your Death and Start Over. Those rules are pretty simple. Rule number one: do not let anyone in the know aside from the strict necessary. Rule number two: do not, ever, and in any circumstance, try to contact anyone from your previous life. And that’s about it.
Every day, as he watches the sunset, Neal wonders how his friends are doing over there. He hopes his disappearance hasn’t been too hard on them. He is particularly worried about Peter and Mozzie. But he’d rather not think about it. It hurts him too much. The baby must be about four or five months old, now. Neal wonders how Peter is adjusting to his new parental role. How he wishes he could see it with his own eyes…
Neal passes a nervous hand through his hair and walks back toward the subway. Today, the thought is nagging him more than usual. The Panthers have just been sentenced to life, they will be put away for a very long time. Wouldn’t it be safe?
But prisons are not rumor-proof, the little voice argues, you know that very well. It’s still risky.
Of course, there is always a risk. Unless he was hiding in a hut in the Gobi desert, the risk would always be there. Anyone could spot you in the crowd. But Neal isn’t particularly inclined to live in such extreme reclusion. And Woodford seems convinced enough that Neal is dead. It’s been a year, and he’s not looking for Neal.
The train reaches the station with a roar. The doors open and Neal steps in, finding a seat at the far end of the car.
Also, Neal thinks, I know Woodford is not keeping watch on them either.
Arguably, this is not his strongest point. It means he has been close enough to breaking rule number two. Not that he hasn’t been very good at following the rules of Being a Criminal 101 lately.
Or ever.
A sad smile brushes Neal’s lips. Rule number one of that one is: do not create ties. Every criminal knows that. He has tried, and for some times it worked.
Come on, don’t fool yourself. Mozzie, Kate, Alex… You’ve created ties your entire criminal life.
The train stops at his station and Neal gets out. He quickly climbs the stairs and reaches the surface. It is dark now, and a brisk wind is picking up. He lifts the collar of his jacket and hastens his pace.
And no matter what you think, you’ve always been very bad at cutting those damn ties.
Neal has to admit it is true. Maybe he just wasn’t cut for that life. He needed ties, he needed people in his life. What was Mozzie’s saying? Unshared life isn’t living…
But I had to, he protests, I needed to protect them. I did it for them. I didn’t have a choice.
And now? Does he have a choice, now?
What’s done is done. You can’t come back from the dead.
Unless you can?
His breath short from the many stairs, Neal reaches his small apartment on the sixth floor of the old building. He opens the door, grabs a bottle of wine from the small rack in the kitchen, a glass, and he crashes on his sofa.
And what if he did? He comes back from the dead, goes back to New York. Hello guys, I’m not dead. Neal shakes his head. They would never forgive him for that.
He pours himself a Mozzie-sized glass of wine. Unshared life…
Maybe he could at least let them know he’s alive. Neal feels he at least owes them that. They’ll be mad at him, but they’d probably be relieved.
Right?
Maybe he could send them a sign, something that only they could understand. Just a sign. That’d be safe enough.
Come on, you know the minute they get the sign, Mozzie and Peter will both move Heaven and Earth to find you.
This thought actually triggers a knot in Neal’s stomach. Of course, both men would want to find him. Because that’s what they do. They wouldn’t really be satisfied by a simple sign.
Which is why you cannot contact them, Neal.
Neal ignores that annoying little voice, and drinks his wine.
Hypothetically, he could switch on the old burner phone that is buried in his go-bag under his bed. Hypothetically, he could call the young paramedic that had helped him fake his death. He could give her instructions to deliver a message to Mozzie and Peter.
You never really meant it, did you? The voice smirks.
Neal serves himself a second glass and takes a large sip. There is actually a third rule, one that he may have forgotten to mention – and to comply to. Cut all ties.
There was still the issue to whether or not they’d forgive him.
Well, I guess there’s only one way to know…
Neal breathes. He’s made his mind, and he suddenly feels a lot lighter.
He sets his glass aside and goes to get his bag from under the bed. He rummages through all the passports, currencies and toiletry to finally pull out the phone.
Will they come?
You know they will. If only to punch you in the nose.
Neal smiles. He wonders who – Peter or Mozzie – will find him first.
He turns on the phone and dials the long distance number.
FIN.