IMMOLATION: Chapter 2

One Year Later

Paper was such an insubstantial thing, Joan thought as she turned the court summons over and over in her hands. She straightened her skirt and blouse for the hundredth time. They still wouldn't let her pick out her own clothes but she couldn't complain too much. Whoever did the choosing for her had good taste. Pity she only got to wear the nice clothes on her court days. She hated the jumpsuits she'd been forced to wear the rest of the time.

Joan's family hadn't been in to visit. Of course, they had no reason to. Part of Joan's arrangement was that her parents lost all legal rights to her. Then they moved and requested that their new address not be given to Joan. That news had come a few months back and Joan still fell asleep with that letter clutched beneath her pillow at night.

The last year hadn't been all bad, though. She got to watch whatever she wanted read whatever she wanted, she even got them to install a small gym for her. Even still, the isolation would have driven her insane were it not for Melanie. She was Joan's only saving grace, visiting as often as she was allowed. Melanie always brought news from the normal, outside world. The price of gas, new movies she'd seen, boys she'd dated. During those visits Joan almost felt normal herself.

Joan bounced her knee as she sat on the cold stone bench, waiting for them to call her name. If today went well, she'd be free to leave. Otherwise she'd have another long year of isolation to look forward to. To say Joan was nervous would have been an understatement. Fidgeting made it worse, sitting still made it worse, if they didn't call her name soon...Joan checked her watch.

43:02...43:01...43:00...42:59

Unlike most watches, Joan's did not tell time.

“Come on,” Joan murmured.

The tall, thin guard at the door eyed Joan as she stood up but he made no move to stop her as she began to pace. The guard checked his own watch before glancing back at the door he was guarding. Joan's footsteps echoed and her heart pounded but no other sound reached her as the warmth began to grow within her.

“How much longer?” Joan asked, not bothering to conceal her impatience.

The guard checked his watch again and then pushed the door open a crack so he could peak through. He must have got someone's attention because a moment later he began muttering and nodding his head.

“What time have you got?” The guard called back to Joan without shutting the door.

“Like thirty minutes, come on,” Joan replied loud enough so that whoever was on the other side of the door would hear.

The guard relayed the message regardless and then opened the door.

“They're ready for you,” he said.

As Joan approached, the guard reached over to his side and grabbed a small backpack and handed it to her. Inside the backpack was her jumpsuit to change into later on. As soon as she had the backpack, Joan stepped from the marble corridor into the larger room beyond. The room that was just for her.

As in times passed, the room, though enormous, held just one small, metal chair. On the far end of the room behind a thick layer of safety glass sat the Judge, the recorder and whoever else they felt like inviting. This time it looked like reporters. The rest of the walls and floor bore the same marble motif as the rest of the building and once the door was shut behind her, the room became a perfect echo chamber. A cubbyhole with a sliding door was set into the wall just inside the room and Joan placed her backpack inside it. The door was thick enough to protect the backpack in case of fire. Her heals clicked with each step and seemed to accentuate the distance she had to cross before she reached her place in the center of the room.

“Too soon, Ms Darcy,” the Judge announced without any of the usual formalities. Even though they'd been meeting twice a month for the last year she still kept forgetting his name.

“What? I've been waiting for over an hour,” Joan said.

“I was referring to the time on your watch, Ms Darcy.”

Joan held up her watch, showing those behind the safety glass her lack of proper timekeeping.

“Don't be rude,” the Judge snapped and Joan lowered her hand. “What I meant was you should have at least another hour.”

“Well I'm sorry, Your Honor,” Joan replied as she tried to keep her emotions, and the still-growing warmth within, under control. “But it's a lot like having to hold your breath over and over again.”

The Judge bristled.

“This hasn't been a problem before.”

“You never made me wait so long.”

“Are you saying you're losing control more frequently than before?”

Joan paused as a flame licked up her arm and burned a line clean through her sleeve.

“I'm saying,” Joan began once the flame had been subdued, “If the courts were to allow me controlled burns I might not lose control at all.”

Another flame licked up the side of Joan's face and all but one of the reporters edged back when the flame failed to go out.

“Do we need to have our recess now?” The Judge asked.

Joan removed her watch and checked the time before sliding it along the floor toward the far wall.

“It can wait a few more minutes,” Joan said as the warm fire played with her hair.

“Alright, Ms Darcy,” The Judge said, “We've gone over your written statement and, in conjunction with you cooperation during the past years observation period, have decided to grant your release with certain guidelines you are to follow.”

Relief flooded through Joan, knowing that in a few short hours she would be free to leave. The surge of emotion nearly cost her though as the flame on her face flared and threatened to spread. She quickly subdued the flame and turned her attention back to the Judge.

“You may not use public transportation without prior notification to the transit authorities,” The Judge was saying. “Any employer must be notified beforehand of your abilities and restrictions. Any public display of fire is prohibited unless it is deemed appropriate in an emergency. You are forbidden from engaging in any acts of vigilantism. This room will still be available to you every twelve days so you may burn safely.”

“Thank you,” Joan said when the Judge put down the paper he had been reading off of.

“Unless there's anything else, Ms Darcy, we'll reconvene in three months to see how things are going,” The Judge was already gathering his things.

“Yes,” Joan answered before the Judge could rise. “there is one more thing. I would like to be allowed controlled burns.”

“We've already made our position clear on that matter,” The Judge replied instantly.

“But if the fire is like breathing then maybe with controlled burns I won't explode every other week!”

Joan was getting desperate. Every time she'd brought this up the Judge had put his foot down. But the fire was coming sooner and more powerfully each time. The Judge paused.

“Let me try a few controlled burns this month and see if it helps.”

“Where?” the Judge asked, “And when? Because, as I've already stated, this room will only be made available to you for your bimonthly burns.”

“I have a friend who makes pottery,” Joan said as more fire blossomed in her hands, “I could burn in the brick house where she fires the ceramics.”

“Is this your friends personal property?”

“Yes,” Joan lied.

In truth, the brick house was a community kiln that belonged to several people, one of them being Joan's friend, Melanie. Truth required time, though, and Joan knew that bottling up her flame was not the best solution.

The Judge rose and Joan's heart sank. Everyone else at the table followed him as he began making his away toward the exit. Court was adjourned the moment the Judge stood.

“No more than twice a week,” The Judge said right before he exited the room.

The door shut and Joan released the fire with a whoop. Joan relished the warm comfort of the fire and thrilled at every ebb and flow. The vents in the high ceiling turned on to prevent her from burning up all the air.

She smiled as the brand new outfit turned to ash. She didn't care so long as she didn't have to pay for it. Besides, before the day was done she'd be able to wear whatever she wanted.