Dedication and patience were the recipe for a successful escape. Neal had both of them. Peter had been wrong when he remarked that Neal only needed one and a half month to break out of the supermax. He had needed one month to orchestrate the plan, but he had worked on it much longer. From the very first day he had been in prison, he had been on the lookout for possible escape routes. He didn't intend to use them. Four years had been a small price to pay to get the FBI off his back, a small price to make sure that they would stop digging around, a small price to protect Kate. But the knowledge that he could leave if he really wanted to had made his time much easier.
In this regard the tracking anklet had been more of a prison for him than the supermax. The two mile radius of New York felt smaller than his prison cell simply because the anklet was fail-safe. If Peter hadn't decided to send him undercover without his anklet from time to time, thus giving him opportunities to flee, he would have gone stir crazy at some point.
This was even worse. He had planned in the beginning, but each time he had to capitulate because of the collar around his neck. Soon all his planning concentrated on the damn thing. He began to pull at the chain occasionally, in the desperate hope that somewhere in the wall something would break, setting him free. Now he repeated this useless motion again and again every night in a bizarre ritual until he fell asleep.
Every day became a challenge for Neal. He was restless at the night and tired during the day. Breathing the stale air in the loft left him with the constant feeling of suffocating. Eating became a chore, a necessity to survive. The only times he felt some sort of reprieve was whenever he managed to hide a message in his work. It was only a small glimmer of hope, a clutching at straws, but it helped him through the day.
He desperately told himself that he had been lucky so far. Keller serving the gourmet menu had been a stupid mistake on Keller's part in more than one regard, but a very fortunate mistake from Neal's point of view. He had used the lemon very sparingly on his sole, knowing about its usefulness. Keller had left the painting with him during the night (perhaps because he knew how much the image of Kate tormented Neal), and Neal had used the opportunity to leave a message. It hadn't been easy to write in the darkness on a standing canvas. Neal wasn't sure if the lemon juice had been enough for the last words. Not that "no skyline" was a really helpful clue, but since there wasn't a helpful landmark visible through the window, this was all he could give Peter. If Peter even got the message.
Keller became Neal's one link to the outside world. Sometimes he was very forthcoming with information. Like the day he used the cane on Neal again, because he heard about Carrington's death. Or the day he brought him a bottle of expensive wine to celebrate that the FBI was searching for proof that Neal was behind the Carrington scam.
That hurt. After the pink diamond case, where Peter had been proved wrong after suspecting Neal initially, Neal had thought that Peter would look harder the next time something like this happened. When Peter didn't even consider that he might be involved in the Thayer theft although it was his MO, he felt vindicated. Well, he knew that Peter still checked his anklet regularly, but somehow he wasn't just the con man anymore. Neal hoped that he would be able to explain one day. Someone just had to discover his messages.
The evening Neal finished the Ingres, Keller brought a small package and put it on the kitchen counter. That wasn't good. Neal didn't give him the satisfaction of asking about it, but his eyes strayed to it while Keller was inspecting his work. Whatever had put Keller in high spirits, it surely wasn't something for Neal to be happy about. Neal very much preferred seeing the cane. Keller was always careful not to damage him too much, after all, and everything which put him in a bad mood was good news for Neal.
"It's a present for you," Keller said. "A box of confections; I thought it fitting."
"Aren't you a witty one?"
"I surely am. And you are the talented one." He went to the counter. "Here!" He threw the package in Neal's direction and he caught it by reflex. "Good work deserves a reward."
Neal noticed the yellow wrapping paper with some interest, but faked indifference and kept his attention on his adversary. Keller sat down at the chessboard. So it would be one of those evenings when Keller spent a lot of time staring at their chess game, babbling about his own greatness. This day, Neal didn't mind. He needed to know if he had outlived his usefulness already.
"You've moved the bishop," Keller remarked.
"Obviously." Hopefully Keller would now protect his rook, unaware of the chance he would give Neal this way.
"Interesting choice." Keller proceeded to stare at the board. Neal stayed quiet. He knew Keller was waiting for him to ask, and he didn't want to give him the satisfaction. The silent battle of wills persisted and Neal grew increasingly fidgety. His self-control prevented him from blurting out the one important question, but he searched for things to occupy him. His eyes fell on the package. He began to unwrap it. Taking his time, he didn't even rip the paper and finally lifted the small box from the wrapper.
"I bought it at the gift shop of the Met."
"Nice. Did you enjoy the exhibition?"
"Oh, yes. Mainly one particular piece. You will like working on it. It's an especially nice Matisse."
"Which you don't intend on stealing, but is of great interest to one of your clients?"
"Well, it is of great interest to one of my clients, but I think this time I will steal it for real. Second floor, close to the fire exit – this is too juicy to pass up."
Luckily, Neal was a pro. Otherwise he would have never managed to keep his voice calm.
"You need two forgeries?"
"One will be sufficient."
Again, they were quiet. Neal began to fiddle with the paper, folding a butterfly out of it. Finally Keller moved his rook out of the way of the bishop and stood.
"I'll bring you what you need tomorrow. Enjoy your dessert."
He left. Neal surveyed the board and allowed himself a small triumphant smile. Keller hadn't realized it, but he would be checkmated in seven moves.
Despite Keller's words he didn't turn up the next day. Neither did Neal's chain lengthen at the usual time. This was very uncomfortable, since he couldn't reach the kitchenette or the bathroom this way. Around midday, he began to worry. Beside his bed were two bottles, one still filled with water; he had emptied the other one during the morning. He still had the pralines Keller had gifted him with. For the moment, he was set, but the longer Keller stayed away and his chain stayed taut, the more desperate his situation would become.
Two days later, Neal drank the last drop of his carefully-rationed water and ate the last praline.
A/N: Well, I have finally caught up with myself. I am optimistic that I will be able to update again next weekend, but since the chapter isn't ready yet, I don't promise anything. As allways, I have to thank mam711 for her help, but all the reviews I have been getting for the last chapters were a great motivator, too. I am glad that you are all appreciate the clues and the countless hints to earlier episodes (in case you are wondering: Neal mentiones the "Matisse near the fire exit" in "Bad Judgement"). It was actually a lot of fun to put small details into the story knowing that they will become important later on.