IMMOLATION: Chapter 13

“I hate coffee,” Joan said as she and Matt stood before the row of cafes that lined the street just down from the courthouse.

“That's fine, I'm sure they'll have tea,” Matt said, not looking at her as he tried to decide which cafe would be best.

“I don't like tea, either.”

“Hot chocolate, then.”

“Same problem.”

Joan got tired of waiting for Matt to decide on a cafe and so she strode over to the nearest one and pulled open the door. Matt wavered, looking like he might object, but eventually he followed.

For such a small cafe it certainly was busy. There were, perhaps, a dozen small tables, each with a couple of spindly chairs set around them. There didn't appear to be any available seats but Matt smiled as if in approval of Joan's choice and joined the line leading up to the counter. The patrons of the cafe looked as different from Joan and Matt as any one could. Piercings, dreadlocks adorned most of them while their clothes were in varying stages of disintegration that Joan guessed either meant they were handmade or never washed.

Or both, Joan thought as they passed one sitting at a table and she got a good whiff.

“What did you mean by, 'same problem'?” Matt asked after a few silent, awkward seconds of standing in line together.

“What?” Joan asked, still distracted by the cafe's inhabitants.

“Coffee, tea, hot chocolate, you said they all had the same problem. What is it?”

“They're hot,” Joan replied, forcing herself to stop staring before anyone caught her looking at them.

“Hmm,” Matt mused, “I wouldn't have thought it possible for you to get burned.”

“It's not that,” Joan prodded Matt forward as he hadn't noticed the line moving. “If I touch anything that would burn me, I ignite,” Joan smiled mischievously, “Quite a bit of a shock to the cooking staff when I was locked up.”

Joan's smile faltered as memories of that year swept to the front of her mind. The loneliness, the depression, the letter informing her about her family abandoning her. She shivered despite the warmth of the cafe. Her breathing had become stilted and tears suddenly threatened to fall. Her surroundings became very claustrophobic and only the fact that she was surrounded by people, rather than plain walls and sealed doors, kept her from rushing back outside.

“Joan?”

She looked up, the line had moved on without her and Matt was at the counter, looking back at her, confused as to how she'd fallen so far behind. Joan regained her composure and slinked back to Matt's side.

“What can I get you?” The guy behind the counter asked.

He looked like everyone else in the cafe with his matted hair and gauged earrings. Joan could have fit a quarter through the holes in his ears.

“You like 'em?” He asked, knowing where Joan was staring.

“They're...” She didn't know what her opinion on them was, truthfully, and so she turned to the large chalk board above the counter that listed all the available drinks. “I'll have the mango smoothy.”

She knew her change in subject wouldn't go unnoticed but she didn't really care at the moment. Still, the guy behind the counter didn't seem phased by it as he ran her order.

“Alright,” He said, handing her a white plastic card with the number eight printed on it in bright red. “Put this on your table and I'll be around with your drinks. Pay when you're finished.”

Joan accepted the card and followed Matt away from the counter.

“Let's find a seat up top,” He said.

“Up where?” Joan asked, but even as she did she saw, over in the back corner, a narrow, wrought iron spiral staircase that led up to a second level.

There were fewer people up there and the smells of brewing coffee and tea wafted about more densely than below. It wasn't a bad sensation, just intense. Matt inhaled deeply, still smiling broadly as he sat down at an empty table.

“I love this place,” He said.

“Come here often, do you?” Joan asked dryly, sitting herself down across from Matt and finding the chairs to be far more comfortable than they looked.

“I may not look it,” Matt said, “But I'm quite the cafe junky.”

Joan nodded and the silence that followed began to turn awkward again.

“So, interview questions?” She asked.

“Right!” Matt exclaimed and fumbled with his large duffel bag until he came back up with his notepad and paper. “Tell me about the first time you burned.”

Joan thought back to that day, her last day of high school, her last day of real freedom.

“Burning then was the same as burning now,” She said. “I'd felt it building up inside of me for a week or so, then all of a sudden I was on fire. It's been like clock work ever since, every two weeks.” She motioned with her hands as if to demonstrate her igniting.

Matt nodded, still looking at her as he scribbled notes down.

“But it hasn't been perfect clock work,” Matt noted. “Your burns have been getting closer and closer together, haven't they?”

Joan was shocked. He shouldn't have known that. Even with him taking measurements he shouldn't have been able to tell that that was happening.

“Your court sessions have been made public record. It was pretty clear I thought that you burn a couple minutes earlier each time.” Matt said.

“Yes,” Joan said, attempting to cover her concern. “Like I said, clock work.”

“And how has it been, for you, dealing with this condition?”

“Condition?” Joan grimaced. “You make it sound like I have a disease.”

“Sorry,” Matt shrugged, “But I thought 'power' was a bit too imaginative and 'ability' wasn't quite right either.”

She'd never thought about it before. Even though it had dominated her life ever since it began she had never tried to classify what her relationship with the fire was. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

“It's just fire,” She said at last.

“Fire you create,” Matt corrected her. “Fire that needs no fuel other than the oxygen around you. Fire you can control and manipulate.”

He paused.

“Fire that doesn't touch you.”

“What do you mean? Of course it touches me, it's all over me.”

“No,” Matt said, shaking his head. “Remember when I had you pick up that piece of metal?”

“Yes.”

“That was a thermal coupling. Thermometer,” He explained when Joan's face glazed over. “It was almost at the melting point when I had you grab it but the moment you touched it, the temperature dropped to just above normal body temp. When you let go of it, the temperature shot right back up.”

“So, what does that mean?” Joan asked,

“Other than what I just said, I don't know,” Matt stated flatly. “I'm still working it all out.”

He flipped through his notebook until he came to a page with numerous illegible scribblings and diagrams.

“How have you been handling normal life since your release?” He asked, somehow able to decipher the scribblings into intelligible markings.

“All right, I guess. I've got a job interview tomorrow.”

“And is that your first since getting out?”

Joan hesitated. “I've had a few other interviews.”

“But no jobs yet?” Matt continued to press.

“I've had a few,” Joan conceded, but quickly added, “But they were all too nervous about my fire so I didn't get to stay too long.”

“But you didn't burn while at work, did you?”

She faltered. She 'umm-ed' and 'uhh-ed' but couldn't think of a way out.

“Coffee, black?”

Joan nearly jumped out of her chair. The guy from behind the counter with his piercings and dreadlocks was standing right behind her, a collection of mugs, cups and condiments arrayed on the tray in his hands.

“Mine,” Matt said, taking the mug and some creamer.

“Mango for you then, right?” He asked and Joan nodded.

He handed her the tall glass and left them with their bill.

Matt busied himself with his coffee, mixing in his creamer a little at a time, stirring it, tasting it, and then adding more. He repeated the process several times. At the same time, Joan thought frantically about how to dodge the question. If Judge Dervin found out that she'd been loosing control...

Blank walls and thick doors with small glass windows. Echoing footsteps outside her room, haunting her, becoming the stuff of nightmares. She didn't want to burn, she told them that over and over again. But still it grew inside her, welling up until she couldn't hold it back any longer and she'd explode. Fear, anguish, terror even, consumed her mind as she burned those first few times. Whatever she'd been feeling before her fire sprouted was intensified, as though fueled by the flames.

Now it seemed she could hardly wait to burn, like she was looking for excuses to burn. At times it felt wrong not to burn and she secretly hated herself for it. The more she burned, the more likely it was that they'd lock her away again.

“Earth to Joan, come in Joan,” Matt waved a hand in front of her face and she started, almost knocking over her drink. “You doing okay?”

Matt proffered her a couple of napkins.

“What are those for?” She asked.

Matt hesitated, then spoke. “Your face is covered in sweat,” He said uncomfortably. “And you're crying.”

At once Joan became aware of the wetness on her face and the pressure in her eyes. The napkins did their work well at removing any sign of her recent episode but Matt's concern didn't lessen.

“Are you okay?” He asked after she'd finished dabbing under her eyes to prevent her mascara from smearing.

“I'm fine, yeah,” Joan lied. “Like I said, I got a job interview at a book store and I think things will work out there for me.”

“A book store?” Matt asked uncertainly. “And you don't think the fact that you spontaneously combust from time to time will deter them from hiring you?”

“No.”

“You sound rather confident.”

“Well that's because I am.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the manager is dating my best friend.”

Matt cocked an eyebrow and scribbled down some notes.

“Though,” Joan said quickly, trying to cover her lapse, “I doubt your readers will be very interested in that and you probably shouldn't even bother writing it down.”

Matt laughed but continued writing.

“No, I'm serious,” Joan said, her intensity increasing “I'd really appreciate it if you didn't write that down.”

“Calm down before you burn something,” Matt muttered, looking up from his notebook only briefly.

Joan instinctively checked herself over to make sure she hadn't already caught fire. She hadn't. Matt was still writing. There was no way he had that much to write about her job situation.

“What are you doing?” Joan asked after realizing Matt had begun working on some kind of diagram.

“I'm calculating how much power you could generate in an hour,” He said.

“You're not very good at interviewing people, are you?” She asked. More and more she wanted to be done. Of course she wanted to know what Matt discovered with his measurements, she wanted to find a way to stop burning, or at least to control it. But the interview was becoming more aggravating with each new question.

Matt set aside his paper and pen and looked back to Joan.

“It's not my forte, no,” He said with a wearied expression, “And when my interviewee has the tendency to burst into flames when irritated, I find it makes me even less competent.”

Joan took a sip from her glass. The smoothy had mostly melted by then, the fruit separating from the dairy, and a thin layer of water had pooled on top. It probably tasted far better before it melted. As it was, she had to force herself to swallow the one sip she'd taken. Stirring seemed to make little difference.

“I don't want them to lock me back up,” Joan found herself saying. “I don't know if I was always like this and I just didn't notice, but ever since they locked me up, I kind of freak out if I'm left alone for too long. I can't take the isolation. I can't stand small rooms or narrow hallways either. It's like I'm trapped, like there's no way out, even if I can see out from where I'm at.

“I'm afraid that if I don't find a way to control the fire, that they'll put me away for good.”

“Have you been able to see a councilor?” Matt asked with genuine concern in his voice.

“Of course I haven't, are you crazy?”

“Well, I just thought that—

“That if they think I've become emotionally unstable that they'll be less likely to want me contained, when they already know my emotions can set me off?”

“That if you got some help controlling your emotions then perhaps you could control the fire,” Matt stated. “Maybe that's why you lose control in the first place?”

Joan checked her watch. “I have to go get ready for my interview,” She said as she got up from the table. “Let me know what you find out from the data you collected?”

Matt nodded, looking back down to the note he'd scribbled and the numbers he'd calculated. It wasn't really enough for The Bleeding Edge. But then again, he hadn't gone over the data yet.

“See you in a couple weeks?” He asked hopefully.

Joan was already over by the spiral staircase and she paused, looking thoughtful before starting downward.

She pointed to his notebook. “Let me know what you find out and we'll go from there.”