IMMOLATION: Chapter 8

“You really think he can help?”

Melanie watched from behind the counter as Joan hung up her cell phone and flopped, face first, back into her nest of blankets. Joan welcomed the dark comfort of the blankets and burrowed herself deeper into the pile until she hit the couch cushions and had to stop.

Melanie's voice sounded on the other side of Joan's blanket cocoon and Joan poked her head back out.

“What?” Joan asked.

“Do you really think he can help?” Melanie's tone was gentle and sweet, as though she hadn't just repeated herself for the second time to the person who broke into her apartment.

Joan extracted herself a little further out of the blankets so she could sit up properly. “I don't know,” she said honestly, “But I figure it's worth a shot.”

Melanie stabbed the piece of meat she was preparing and began slicing it into strips.

“What are you going to tell him?” Melanie asked.

“I don't know, depends on what he asks.”

“And if he asks how often you lose control?”

“I'll lie,” Joan said and Melanie shifted uncomfortably, pausing in her cutting.

“Didn't you say he could take readings, or measurements, or whatever?” Melanie asked.

“Yeah, so?”

Joan turned her attention to Melanie's laptop and pretended to look something up.

“So,” Melanie said, not bothering to hide her concern.

Melanie scraped the sliced meat into a pan and carried it over to Joan, “What if he figures out what's going on?” she asked.

“That's the point of letting him do it,” Joan said.

Melanie thrust the pan of meat into Joan's face.

“And what am I supposed to do with that?” Joan wrinkling her nose at the raw meat.

“I thought you said you'd help with dinner?” Melanie stated.

Joan didn't move but continued giving Melanie a disgusted look.

“I thought I could pour the drinks,” Joan suggested.

“That would be great, once you've finished cooking the meat.”

Joan sighed, sloughed off the rest of the blankets, took the pan of meat and crossed over to the stove.

“Which is the burner that works?” Joan asked, checking them each in turn without success.

Melanie took Joan's spot on the couch and, with a grin, gave Joan a knowing look.

“What?” Joan asked.

Joan tried the last burner. Nothing.

“I haven't had a real, hot meal in days,” Melanie said with relish and began typing away on her laptop. “Cooking thermometer's in the second drawer on the right.”

Melanie was just popping a hand full of chips into her mouth when the aforementioned thermometer came flying through the air and smacked into the chip bag, scattering it's contents everywhere and making Melanie jump.

“Hey,” she shouted, “That thing's sharp,” and she held up the impaled bag, letting the thermometer slide out and fall into her waiting hand.

“Sorry,” Joan said, her guilt not quite enough to overpower the smirk on her face.

Joan took the thermometer back from Melanie and sat down beside her on the couch.

“But seriously,” Joan said, “How am I supposed to do this?”

Joan tried balancing the thermometer in her left hand while her right held the pan. Melanie laughed.

“Here,” she said, and placed the pan on Joan's upturned fingertips, freeing up Joan's other hand to hold the thermometer. “Check the meat every once in a while when you get your fire right.”

“How hot?” Joan ignited a small flame in her palm.

“Eh, three-fifty?” Melanie shrugged and began cleaning up the scattered chips.

Joan turned her attention to maintaining a constant flame, checking the temperature until she could keep it steady. About the same time that Joan stabbed the thermometer into one of the strips of meat, Melanie finished gathering up the last of the scattered chips.

“So what if he figures out that you're losing control more often now?” Melanie asked.

“You're still on about that?” Joan frowned.

“Yes,” Melanie said, “because if he figures it out, what do you think he's going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Joan said as casually as she could but couldn't help but notice the fire in her hand brighten momentarily. Melanie noticed too and cocked her eyebrow.

“What if he tells Judge Dervin, or even worse, publishes it on that website he writes for?”

“Then they'll lock me away and throw away the key. But,” Joan went on before Melanie could interject, “I think he'll be willing to keep a few secrets for me in exchange for the interview and being able to study me.”

Melanie snorted on her mouthful of chips and put her hand to her mouth as she stifled her laughter.

“What, you think I'm expecting too much of him?”

“No,” Melanie said once she swallowed, “Well, maybe, but I just wouldn't use those exact words when you talk to him.”

Joan's fire glowed ominously.

“All I'm saying is that a guy like him could easily misinterpret what you mean by study me.”

Joan's eyes narrowed but the smile on her face gave her away.

“You're clothes still burn off I suppose when you lose control?” Melanie asked in a casual, matter-of-fact way.

“Right,” Joan said with dawning apprehension.

“I assume you've already thought it through,” Melanie was sounding more and more prudish with every word, “How you're going to protect your virtue and all.”

Joan shook her head and went back to the kitchen, rolling her eyes.

“The meat's done,” Joan said, emphasizing each word to steer Melanie off the subject.

“Unless that's what you're planning, of course,” Melanie continued, ignoring Joan, “More excitement than he's had in his whole life, the poor nerd; he'll be so shocked he won't be able to speak, let alone write about what happened...about what he saw.”

“Oh shut up already!” Joan shouted and took aim with the thermometer.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” Melanie laughed and curled up into the fetal position in case Joan decided to let fly the thermometer for the second time. “But seriously, what are you going to do?” Melanie asked when she knew she was safe.

Joan shrugged and served them both up. Melanie accepted her plate and the two of them sat on the couch, eating in silence.

“I don't suppose I have enough time to go out and find an asbestos body suit?” Joan asked.

“Sorry, no,” Melanie said, “I doubt even that would help you with him, anyway. You're just too hot.”

“Oh gosh,” Joan shoved Melanie and the two girls dissolved into giggles.