The Scripted Night

The man in black sauntered down the car-lined back street of a small, nondescript town. Head held high, back straight, expensive slacks and dress shirt in pristine condition with perfect hair combed back - this man would have warranted strange looks from the small town locals. As it was, nearly all of the residents had moved to the center of the town, most crammed into the park where a carnival was in full swing. From his place in the middle of the street the man could see the glare from the multi-colored lights and hear the distant rumble of a restless crowd.

The sun had disappeared behind the trees mere moments ago. Even though the harsh summer heat had been replaced by a cool night's breeze the town citizens had yet to sleep. As the man in black neared the hustle and bustle of the town's folk, more and more people were seen wondering around. Some were weary of the celebration and had decided to silently head home, whether by sidewalk or one of the numerous cars that were bumper-to-bumper along the quiet streets. Others had set up lawn chairs in the front of their yards, quietly waiting for the main event.

The man grinned to himself, his white teeth gleaming in the flickering light from the street lamps. While he would've much more preferred to keep to himself in the shadows, he was obligated to sift through the crowds tonight. He had unfinished business to attend to that couldn't wait. With an eerie smirk present, he strode into the writhing crowd, intent on finding his goal.

A large, handmade billboard made of coarse wood and covered in cheap paint announced in large letters:

Welcome!
July Festival - 2, 3 & 4th
Food, Games, Live Music, and Local Entertainment!
Fireworks at 10:30, Monday

The corner of the man's mouth quirked up in a grin at the sight of the familiar sign, the same sign as last year, and the year before that. The only noticeable difference was the time-worn paint had faded from vibrant colors to dull shades, and a fresh coat was added at the bottom right corner, covering the word Sunday and replacing it with Monday. He felt the heat of the lively group of people build around him as he maneuvered his way under the greeting sign and into the mass of locals and carnies.

The people there, whether unconsciously or not, moved out of the man's way. Cutting a swath through the crowd was easy for the man in black, but picking out a particular face amongst the sea of people was proving to be a challenge. Children were running between the legs of adults, wielding glow sticks in the semi-darkness and chewing on sticky candies that melted in their fingers. Couples stood in line to get their treats or to play a game of chance, hands grasping tightly together as they smiled at the passing people. Tired parents and the observant elderly sat in their lawn chairs in the numerous open areas of the park, waving to friends and family, and monitoring the children on the playground. The mass of chairs and beach towels were situated towards an old clearing - once a baseball field that fell into disrepair - facing away from the searching man. He scanned the backs of the festival goers, searching for a particular graying head of hair. Not recognizing anyone, he moved on to the last place he knew to look.

He neared the far end of the park - past the twinkling lights of festival rides and games. The noise was quieter here, with fewer people spread out on the grass and less children making a ruckus. Sitting by himself was an older man in a worn chair, silently chewing on a toothpick as his calloused fingers wrapped around the sweating neck of a cold beer bottle. Shaggy grey hair framed a rough face, unshaved stubble reflecting in the dim light that glowed faintly from the carnival in the distance. His eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the tree tops directly in front of him - the same trees that circled around the desolate baseball field.

As the gentleman in black slowly neared the reclining man, he couldn't help but remember being in this same spot, years and years ago.

Instead of the grey-haired elderly there was a strong middle-aged man with dark hair and grimy clothes sitting in a new chair. A smiling woman was sitting on a large beach towel beside him. The blond, beaming woman was speaking quietly to two young children. Both were bright-eyed, blond kids between the ages of four and six. The elder of the two was a smiling boy, calling excitedly to the man in black who watched them from a distance. The youngest was a small, timid girl who was looking up at the woman expectantly. The woman was whispering sweet words to the young girl as the boy fidgeted tirelessly, waiting for permission to leave the side of his parents.

After a few more moments of restless movements from the child, the quiet man turned to his son. He murmured a few words to the boy, toothpick clasped in the corner of his mouth as he spoke, before waving him off. A familiar beer bottle was loosely held in his hand. The blond child took off, leaving his father, mother, and younger sister behind. He weaved between the other families that were situated on the grass, leaping over couples sprawled on their backs in the grass.

The child didn't bother to slow down as he neared the young man. He sprinted right into his strong arms, leaping up to wrap his skinny limbs around the man. The blond boy leaned back to smile brightly at the man's shadowed face. His small mouth moved quickly and excitedly, but no words could be heard leaving his lips.

The man in the expensive black attire shook his head, clearing his mind of old memories. As he focused on what was in front of him the dark haired man with work-worn clothes melted into the elder man with grey stubble. Little had changed about the man before him, he came to realize. The same brand of beer was in his hand, a toothpick still held between chapped lips and same kind of dirty jeans and off-white, dirt stained shirt.

The man walked over, his out-of-place grin still on his face as he came up beside the sitting elder. Silently working the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other, the old man didn't bother to look up as he spoke.

"It's been a while. Finally decided to return home, eh?"

The man shrugged, now looking at the tree tops, same as the man sitting beside him.

"Not much left here. You were better off staying where you were before." He finally looked up at the man in black that was looming above him. "I heard you were doing the Olympics this year. Never had a reason to watch them before, but I might have to get myself a TV now. Crawford says it'll be worth it and he offered to make me a deal. You remember him, the owner of the electronics store on Oak Street, right?"

The man didn't answer. He just bowed his head slightly, eyes still glinting in the carnival lights as he looked at the trees, grinning.

The older man snorted at the silent treatment he was receiving before looking back at the trees straight ahead of him. "Make sure it's a damn good show this year. I had better not be wasting my money on this TV," he spat distastefully.

The young man looked down at him. His grin was now ear-to-ear as he spoke quietly. "I shall do my best, sir." The older man frowned at the use of sir, glancing sourly up into the eyes of the man in black.

As he went to tip the beer bottle to his lips he grumbled half-heartedly, "It's better than Mr. Hoffmann, I suppose..."

"Some would say it is disrespectful to call one's father by his last name. I hold the utmost respect for you." Hoffmann chuckled at his son, the same son who he hadn't seen in years. "On a related subject, are you a grandfather yet?"

The abrupt question had Hoffmann choking on his liquor. Clearing his throat, he set the bottle down on the arm rest. "Well now, I was going to ask you that."

"How on earth would I have grandchildren yet?" the man mumbled quietly, perturbed.

"No, no. You settled down yet? I don't see any kids yapping at your heels, so I'm gonna guess that you're still slinking around the globe by yourself, making more money in a year than me, your grandpa, and his dad before him have made combined," Mr. Hoffmann didn't turn to his eldest son - the man in black - as he spoke, "and I'm still without grandkids..." He huffed as he raised the beer back to his lips. "Guess I'll just keep working till the day I die, huh? I ain't got anyone to worry about anymore, so I just gotta keep moving by myself."

"What about Matthew and Cecilia? They aren't here with you." The younger Hoffmann discretely shifted from one foot to the other as he searched the crowds. A deeply buried part of him was eagerly looking for the two blond children from his distant memories while a more rational side was trying to imagine them as young adults.

"It's been years since I've seen 'Cilia. When her mother died she took off with her uncle - some musician from Brooklyn, I wager. Can't remember his name, but he looked like trouble from the start."

The man in black chuckled at his father's use of stereotypes. Hoffmann senior had always been one to judge those from out of town with a critical eye, always pre-determining just how much trouble they were going to cause the small, mediocre community. When the youngest of his three children had grown attached to his brother-in-law - an eccentric punk rocker from the east coast - his opinion of outsiders became even graver.

"What about Matthew? As I remember it, he loved to come to the carnival."

"Sure, when he was still a kid, and when it was a chance he got to walk around with his brother for most of the night. Now he's always in trouble with Officer Walter and never cares to stop by. He stays at that new apartment complex on the outside of town, last I heard, and that was when he was on the front of the local newspaper." Hoffmann sat up, no longer slouching in his faded, plain chair. He stared up at his son, waiting patiently for him to look him in the eyes. When he realized he wasn't going to get anything more than a quick glance from him, he continued on. "Matthew was pretty upset when you didn't show up for Marilyn's funeral. I know she wasn't your mother, but she loved you like a son. You should've been there, if not for your stepmother, than at least for your siblings. Matthew was devastated."

The man in black adjusted his collar and straightened his already perfect shirt, making it clear that he intended to leave soon. Fidgeting, he turned to face away from the baseball field. "Perhaps I should have taken the time to stop by, but I don't see how my presence would've helped any."

"Humph, doesn't matter now, I suppose..." He watched his eldest son face away from him and knew that their conversation was coming to a close. Wearily he leaned back, picking up his beer bottling and resumed staring at the trees. Toothpick balanced precariously on his lips, he said, "It was nice to see you again. What an odd and ironic day to see you here."

"What's ironic about it? It's the 4th. I'm working today, of course. Why else would I be here?" The man's smirk returned as he looked back at the carnival, planning how he would make his way to the other side.

His father laughed - a loud and sumptuous laugh that drew the attention of the festival goers. "You're working? Here?"

"So it would seem. A wealthy man who lives in the area arranged to pay for tonight. So keep your eyes on the sky tonight, if you would."

"But, no one around here has-" Mr. Hoffmann was stopped short as he watched the back of his eldest son disappear into the mass of celebrating locals, his black clad body being swallowed by the colorful crowd.

------------

Moments after his short visit with his father, young Mr. Hoffmann found himself on his laptop. Though there was little he could do this late into the night, he found himself worrying that there would be problems with his calculations and planning. For what seemed like the hundredth time that day he stared at the 3D display on his screen.

"It's doubtful that there is anything wrong. You are very good at your job, and you can trust me to handle the rest." The man had his hands on his hips and watched his foot as he kicked at the dirt on the old baseball field. A few moments passed by before he realized that he wasn't going to get a response. After glancing at his watch he looked up, smiling. "It's about time you got going anyways, right? Don't want to miss the show!"

"Perhaps," Hoffman said quietly, not really paying attention to the words spoken to him.

Hoffmann didn't bother to look up at the man standing before him. Christopher, his associate, was an average man. His short brown hair matched his coffee colored eyes. When not meeting potential clients he was almost always in jeans with a thick vest covering a long-sleeved shirt. Even though the heat of the day had yet to be swept away he was already in a jean jacket. Sunglasses were resting on the brim of his baseball cap and tinted goggles hung from his vest. Thick, insulted gloves were tucked into one of his numerous pockets, along with other safety gear.

“Eh, looks like we’ve got a visitor. You know this person?”

Since things had already been setup hours prior, he was somewhat skeptical that his crew would be here already. They weren’t due for another half hour. Seeing as how Hoffmann had already spoken to the fire marshal and other local authorities, he couldn’t think of anyone who would need to see him this late into the night.

That left spectators. And this was no place for sightseeing.

“Tell them to vacate. This isn’t the place for untrained personnel or bystanders,” he murmured, having already written off the visitor behind him as unimportant. Even though he had run through the times, checked, double checked, and triple checked the setup he still felt apprehension. He couldn’t afford to let little mistakes happen simply because he was careless. This simply had to be perfect. He had one shot and one shot only to pull this off. Nothing was going to distract him.

Christopher moved around the crates that littered the area, heading towards the figure in the shadows. “You heard the boss, time to move out, kid. This area is going to be dangerous in less than half an hour, no place to play.”

“I’m not a kid, and I’m looking for someone. Hoffmann? You know’m?” A young man’s voice drifted through the night to reach the man in black. Stunned, he sat still, not believing his ears.

“Hoffmann? Naw, just me, the boss man, and a crew from the next county over and ain't none of them called Hoffmann. You lost, kid?”

“You ain’t much older than me! And I’ve lived here my whole life, I’m not lost!”

Hoffman turned around slowly, not yet noticed by the young man behind him on the other side of the baseball field. A shock of shaggy blond hair greeted him in the faint light. The man’s face was pulled down in a frown and he was glaring spitefully at Chris. His blue eyes were intent as the stared down the associate.

As he said, he wasn't a child, but still had the attitude of one and slightly boyish features. He was lean for his age, skin tanned from being in the sun all day. The grime that was caked onto his jeans looked to be from what looked like a long day's work on the farm. Said dirty clothes had holes worn in them and hung off his thin frame. What looked like twine was stuffed in his right pocket and some was tied around the bottoms of his jeans. Sunglasses were dangling from his shirt collar. Work boots were knotted together by the strings and were slung across his shoulder, having been replaced by filthy sandals on the boy’s feet.

"I know he's here," the boyish young man said, hands on his hips. "There isn't anyone in this whole township - whole county - that is rich enough to pay for this kind of production. Nobody cares enough, and if they did, it'd be in the city west of here. I know it's him! It's too coincidental! Now tell me where he is!"

Chris - showing the first signs of true frustration - stepped towards the blond haired boy, hand raised and pointing accusingly. "Now listen here, you little punk. No one by that name works here. Don't believe me? You can check the crew list. Otherwise I need you to leave the area immediately, or else I'm gonna have to help you back to the audience. Got that, kid?"

"But, he just has to be-"

"Matthew?" Hoffmann had stood up, getting the attention of the boy across the field. For a few moments they were silent, neither quite processing or realizing how long they were staring. "Good God, you've gotten tall," he mumbled, just loud enough to be heard by the blond.

A beaming smile split the young man's face. "Nathan! I knew it was you!" He laughed happily as he quickly made his way through the crates spread across the baseball field. "No one believed me, but just knew you were going to be here."

A small part of Hoffmann wanted to cringe as Matthew wrapped his dirty arms around him in a tight hug, most likely smearing muck on his dress clothes. He quickly threw the thought away and hugged the blond boy back, barely hiding his elation and a genuine smile.

"Nathan? This is the boss man - Mr. Abend," Chris said, thoroughly confused by the strange display of affection in front of him. "Who the heck is this kid, boss?"

"This is Matthew, my little brother," he said to Chris. "I was born Nathaniel Hoffmann, but I changed my name when I started working on big shows."

Chris gapped at the two, eyes flicking back and forth from one face to the next, and back again. Now that he really thought about it, they looked similar, but in subtle ways. Hair color aside, Matthew looked like a younger version of Nathan.

"Well, half-brothers. But no one cares about that," Matthew said before turning towards his older brother. "You talked to dad yet?"

"I did, and he complained about you. Been in trouble lately?"

"Eh, it's possible. I got a job at the Helen's farm on the outside of town, and ever since I've got my act together. Stay in an apartment by myself and everything!" Matthew's proud smile melted into a frown. "Haven't found the time to visit dad lately, though. Guess I'm still a little, um, embarrassed to show up on his doorstep."

"Huh, so it would seem. Good to know that you're taking care of yourself. When I was talking to dad it sounded like I was going to need to extend my stay here and help you straighten things out..."

"Wait, dad's here?" Nathan nodded, arms crossed and looking relaxed as he spoke with his brother. Chris had taken to staring between the two, mouth still agape. He honestly knew very little about his boss, and to see this kind of attitude change and to learn such important things about the man's life within a few minutes was a bit derailing. "So, you didn't just talk to him on the phone... You saw him, just now?" Nathan nodded again, looking exasperated.

"I suggest you see him before the night is out, Matt. I think he would enjoy seeing you."

"Yeah, sure, I'll give it a try. I figure if you could pull it off after disappearing for years like that, then it'll be a piece of cake for me." Nathan shifted, looking down his nose at the younger of the two. His brother mentioning his extended absence had set him on edge. "So he's in a pretty easygoing mood? It doesn't look like he tried to rough you up any," Matt said, a timid grin on his face.

"Yes, he was at ease."

Matthew nodded, an awkward silence falling over the two. Nathan stood still for a moment, eyes downcast. He realized Chris was still standing just a few feet from him and looked up, eyebrow raised.

"Uh, it's about time I checked on the guns, huh? I'll get on that, save the crew a little bit of time..." Chris stumbled away towards the crates, mind still reeling.

"So you finally accomplished your dreams, huh? You work with fireworks now?" Matt looked absolutely giddy.

"I have a pyrotechnic operator license, if that's what you mean. Legally I can setup and run shows dealing with explosives and such, but that's not my main focus anymore. Technically I'm a show producer." Nathan sat down on one of the nearest crates and motioned for Matt to join him.

"What do you do as a show producer, exactly?" Matt asked. He quickly unraveled his boot strings from around his shoulder and set them down on the ground. He hoisted himself up on the box and propped his head up on his knuckles, looking intently at his elder brother.

Nathan discreetly checked his watch before replying. "I can do lots of things, actually. I'm licensed in many states in the U.S. and I have qualifications in most of the major countries. That, paired with my degrees, means I'm certified to run pyrotechnic shows just about anywhere in the world and in any form - from fireworks to concert special effects. Not only can I man the show, but I design and coordinate the displays. That's what I do now, mostly." He leaned over to grab his laptop and handed it to Matt. "Here's the script for tonight's fireworks."

Matthew held the laptop still as his brother leaned over to activate the program that was on the screen. The computer flickered black before a bird's-eye-view of a familiar landscape popped up. Nathan expertly maneuvered the camera view so it was looking out across the virtual land instead of straight down. With a few more quick adjustments he started the simulator, letting Matt have the laptop.

The program started to display a beautiful show of aerial fireworks in the virtual sky above the town. Numerous colors, sizes, and types of pyrotechnics lit up the screen and the immediate area around Matthew. He couldn't help but smile. "You made this?"

Nathaniel watched his brother's face as the product of months of hard work flashed on the screen. He had tirelessly slaved in front of his computer for an unprecedented amount of time to coordinate the show that was due to fire in the next half hour. For the first time since he started creating it, he felt an inkling of confidence as he noticed his brother's smile. "I think the term 'coordinate' would fit the description better. Just about everything is already provided by the program. I just play with the visuals and see what looks best. It's also synced with music, but you'll get to see that in a bit." He reached over and clicked the laptop shut. "Enough of that, you'll see it later. Do you want to see how some of the pyrotechnics work before they're fired off? We've got..." he twisted his wrist to look at his Hublot watch, "a little less than half an hour. I can give you a quick tour."

"Seriously, I can look at'm?" Matt looked astounded and hopeful as he stood up beside Nathan. When his brother nodded he had to contain his excitement, instead turning to look out at the field. "So... why do they look like boxes of dirt?"

Nathan immediately - and loudly - started laughing. Chris - lurking in the shadows, trying to be oblivious - jumped at the loud and extremely unfamiliar sound that echoed from his boss. "The guns have to be grounded. Fireworks are explosives, so naturally they are very violent and damaging to their surroundings. Everything has to be sturdy and relatively safe. We can either cleat the racks together, or line the guns up in boxes and surround them with sand."

Matthew looked lost. "Cleat and guns?"

"Basically, when you cleat them you just nail a piece of wood into the sides of the racks. As the name suggests, racks are just guns that have been put together, generally in sets of three to five. The guns are the tubes - the ones in the sand made out of steel and the ones in racks are HDPE, or High Density Polyethylene."

Matt intently studied the setup of tubes for a minute before turning back to Nathan. "So... Guns are the tubes, tubes go into a single line of five or so, forming a rack, and the racks are nailed together to form this... box-like, 15-barreled launcher thing, right?"

Nathan gazed off for a moment in thought. "Yes... that sounds about right."

"How do the fireworks actually work?"

"We don't have enough time for me to go through the science of it, but the basic idea is that gases are produced to propel it out of the tube and another fuse is ignited inside the firework, timing when it will explode in the sky. It's timed to explode when it reaches the highest point of its flight. From there, it lights all the other little pieces and parts that you see glimmer across the sky. Depending how thick the shell is laced with string will affect how loud the boom is. Because a harder shell can withstand higher pressures that build up inside, it gets louder." Nathan pulled on a wire that hung out of one of the tubes, revealing a firework. It was quite a bit bigger than the ones Matt had seen in the store, and it was mostly round with a cone-like shape attached to the bottom. "See this?" Nathan pointed out a round, red part of the firework that stuck out. "This is the tail. This is lit and you can see it as the firework shoots up. It could be red, green, blue, or yellow depending on the compound used. Respectively, strontium, barium, copper, and sodium are used for colored fire."

Nathan lowered the firework into the tube again, quickly wrapping the wire around the outside of the tube and knotting it in what he called 'strain relief' - a method which was meant to protect the wiring system from being torn during the show.

"We fire off the show through a computer which has been programmed with the script. It can be done several other ways, but that's how tonights will be. Since I'm paying for it, I wanted the best and brightest." Nathan led Matt to a bulky computer that was standing far away from the fireworks. They sat down, waiting patiently for Chris to finish up.

"So you are the one paying for all of this?" Matthew motioned to the rows upon rows of fireworks situated in the baseball field. When he was younger he had glimpsed the fireworks that were setup for the Fourth, although at the time he didn't know what they were.

This year there were at least four times as many occupying the sandy diamond.

Nathaniel nodded and flipped open his phone, checking the time and for any messages from his clients or employees. With fifteen minutes left and seeing no messages of importance, be looked back up at Matt. "It's for dad."

"Dad? Why are you doing this for dad?"

"It may be the last chance for him to see one of my shows, and since he never bought a TV, I thought I would bring the performance to him." His eyes had drifted to the shadowed trees, behind which the waiting crowd was celebrating their independence.

"Why's it that important? Are you trying to show off how successful you are now, or what? That's kinda low, even for you." Matt felt his brother's glare as the words left his lips.

"No, he's dying."

The thick silence settled over them. Matthew was the first to break it.

"What did you say?"

"Catherine called me, several months ago, to tell me that he was diagnosed with inoperable cancer. Matt... they don't think he has very long."

The only sounds that could be heard were the whisper of the distant crowd, rustle of insects and leaves in the grass, and the outlying noises of Chris checking over the firework setup. Matt had shown no reaction to the news, simply staring off into the shadows.

"I think... I think it's about time for me to leave..." He reached down and grasped his boots by the laces. Swinging them over his shoulder, he stood still for a moment. "You... Do you think you'll be around?"

"Yes, I should be coming back at the end of the month. If you're interested, I could take you with me to my next show? Maybe get you into the program...?"

Matthew was quiet for a while as he played with his boot laces. He had just recently gotten a job and an apartment. He had found a place in life that he could fit in, a comfortable way to live his life. Now his brother had come strolling in, offering to change everything, possibly for the better. Regardless, if he left, everything would be different and most likely doors would close behind him.

For generations the Hoffmann family had lived here, never wandering far from this mediocre town. The family's head of house had consistently run their small farm on the far southwest side. Nathaniel was the first to break that trend when he up and left years back. He left no excuse for his departure besides whispered words of animosity towards, what he called, the commonplace life of a farmer. For years he quietly resented what he was expected to become, but he never fought with his father about it. Taking everything in stride, he worked alongside his father and family for years, silently abiding his time. Only on rare occasions did he open up about the deep-set hate he held for his predestined future. Those rare moments were normally when he was with his brother.

As if Nathaniel never existed, Hoffmann senior started to speak of Matthew taking Nathan's place. Matt, at the time, was both appalled and heartbroken by his father's lack of reaction to Nathan's absence. Even worse, he no longer knew what to do with himself without Nathan. His brother always had the answers, always knew exactly what to do - whether it was how to stop Cecilia from crying or how to make a model rocket for the science fair.

So, naturally, when Nathan left he resigned to being the next owner of the farm. Perhaps it was because he listened to Nathan so much that he felt as though he was being tied down. He found himself giving up to his fate, but hating it all the same.

Perhaps acting out was his way of venting, he wasn't really sure, but in the end it changed the course of his life. While his father wasn't one to yell, Matt could tell he was disappointed in him. Cecilia had already left with their mother's brother for the east, leaving him and his father alone on the farm. Deep down, he knew that his father viewed him as his last hope.

And Matthew had let him down.

Ashamed and lost without his brother's wisdom, Matt stopped coming home. Eventually he was able to work something out with the Helen family, and he started his first stable job. With that income, paired with the money his brother sent him every month from an undetermined address, he could afford a small apartment on Lake Street. He lived within walking distance of the Helen farm, making it very convenient.

He had just started to get his life figured out - had even considered going back to work for his father - and Nathaniel shows up. Word had gotten around quickly that someone had paid good money for an impressive fireworks display this year and Matt immediately suspected Nathan. It was one of the family's favorite time of year, especially Matt and Nathan's. They both had a keen interest in the colored fire that lit the sky once every year.

To his surprise, he was right, having just found his brother literally hiding in the dark of the baseball field. While he was elated to see him, this could become a bump in the road for him.

Or it could be an opportunity.

It was his brother standing in front of him. Nathan - with his expensive Swiss watch, ironed clothes, and numerous degrees from prestigious colleges - was reliable. Sure, he had just said that he would take him to the next show, but he knew that wasn't the case. His brother meant that they'd leave, possibly for good. It was Matthew's chance to get out of here.

But then there was his father - his sick father.

"What about dad?"

Nathan looked at him, eyes scanning his face for something. "I spoke to Catharine about him. She said she'd take care of him."

Matthew wasn't sure if that was good enough. "We'd just... we'd leave him by himself?"

"He seems to like it that way. He appeared rather comfortable in the relative silence." Even as the words left his mouth, Nathan knew it didn't sound believable. His words lacked conviction. But he could tell that Matt wasn't happy with the way things were, and he could offer a way out - a priceless escape, and he was offering it for free. "I assure you, whether he likes it or not, I'm paying for the best medical attention there is. He's in good hands."

Matthew noticed shapes in the shadows behind the dark haired man. Moving through the trees was a group of people in what looked like firefighter's gear. They wore black jackets with reflectors and hard hats. A few that were tagging along were in casual clothes.

It was time for the show to begin. Their time had run out.

"I'll think about it, I guess. Just promise to come back before the end of July."

"I swear it." He extended his hand, waiting. After a moment Matthew realized what he was doing. He grasped his brother's hand firmly, shaking on it.

He turned to leave, but just couldn't walk away. He took a deep breath, spun on his heels, and hugged his brother tightly. As soon as the hug started, it ended. Without looking back he headed to where he knew his father would be sitting.

------------

Nathan watched his carefully planned creation light up the sky. Red, blue and green filled the area above the tree tops, followed by the glittering gold of the short lived fireworks that screamed like banshees. Without his consent his brain was watching the show with a critical eye - timing the pyrotechnics to see if they exploded at their apogee, counting the seconds between each launch, and making sure they fanned out correctly. Seeing nothing immediately wrong, he turned to continue walking down the same road he had arrived on.

He had discreetly checked on Matthew, roughly ten minutes after they had parted ways. He was, as expected, sitting quietly on the ground beside their father, waiting for the show to start. Nathaniel carried on, walking past them without their noticing. He had paying clients to attend to tonight, after all.

Even though there was little to worry about, Nathan had left the show in the hands of the most experienced pyrotechnician he knew - Christopher. He had arranged it to be a computer run production, but someone needed to monitor everything and sync the music with the electric firing system. It was a simple process - for someone who knew what they were doing - but he wanted everything to be perfect. And that's exactly what he expected from Chris.

Looking for the last time, he watched a particularly large, high-flying firework fragment in the sky, spreading glittering stars and releasing a loud boom. It was a precursor to what was coming in the finale.

Grin in place, he walked down the street to his awaiting car. Nathaniel Hoffmann - the mysterious man in black - left his hometown, already planning his return at the end of July.