IMMOLATION: Chapter 6

Melanie's car purred down the road, at least, that's how Melanie liked to describe the new sound her car made. Those that knew Melanie but had yet to see her car thought she drove some kind of hot rod from the descriptions she gave of it. In truth, her car was an old clunker that had been on its last leg for so long now that Carl, her mechanic, had stopped asking what was wrong and instead asked how much she could afford on repairs. Melanie didn't care, she liked her car and wouldn't trade it for anything, or at least, that's what she told her friends who had seen her car.

The light ahead of her turned red and Melanie's heart sank. She let off the gas and allowed the car to slow down on its own as much as she could so she could postpone putting pressure on the brakes. Melanie prayed the light would change back to green for her and that she wouldn't have to use the brakes. She even pulled up a little on the emergency brake, though Carl had warned her about this the last time he'd seen her car. The light failed to change back to green for her and Melanie reluctantly put her foot down on the brake pedal and gritted her teeth as the loud screech of metal on metal rent the air.

Out of the corner of her eye, Melanie noticed the driver in the car next to her look her way as they both reached the crosswalk and waited for the stop light to change. In her rear view mirror she thought she saw the driver behind her talking animatedly to his passenger and pointing forward towards Melanie. Perhaps she was wrong. Either way, this was the last light she had to pass. At last the light changed and Melanie accelerated jerkily across the intersection. Another couple of blocks later and Melanie had expertly parallel parked her car and was skipping across the street toward her apartment.

The door closed behind her and Melanie, whistling now that she was home, went to grab her laptop from her room. She passed her kitchen and living room and was just beginning to shuffle through her blankets in search of her laptop when she realized there had been food cooking on the stove and her TV was on. She stopped whistling. Now that she thought about it, Melanie didn't remember leaving her room in such a mess before she left for work that morning. A last, quick search confirmed her fear; her laptop, the only thing of worth that she owned, was gone.

Melanie grabbed a baseball bat from beneath her bed and crept back along the hallway towards the living room. Whoever had come to steal her computer seemed to have overstayed their visit and Melanie was going to make sure they learned their lesson. Of course, this being the third time her apartment had been broken into Melanie thought it would have been she who would have learned to find a better hiding place for her laptop than beneath her blankets. The other two times her apartment had been broken into, the would be thieves failed to find anything worth taking and had instead satisfied themselves by just breaking things.

Melanie peeked her head into the living room. Her couch had been turned into a nest of blankets surrounded by cast off candy wrappers, soda cans and chip bags. Melanie tiptoed closer, trying to see over the back of the couch.

“Your door was unlocked again,” A voice spoke from behind her, “You should really stop doing that.”

Melanie spun, screaming and raising her baseball bat, ready to charge down whoever had spoken. Joan, standing safely behind the kitchen counter, raised an eyebrow at Melanie. Melanie lowered her weapon.

“Nice battle cry, though,” Joan teased and tossed Melanie a candy bar.

Melanie caught it without hesitation.

“I keep telling you,” Joan said as she left the safety of the kitchen behind, “With reflexes like yours you'd make an excellent fighter.”

Melanie blushed, something she seemed to do at the slightest hint of a compliment, but didn't smile.

“My baseball bat's all I need,” Melanie said, “And what are you even doing here, I thought you started your new job?”

Joan plopped back down on the couch with her newly acquired bag of chips and tore it open. Melanie saw what looked like the corner of her laptop sticking out from under a blanket.

“I did, yesterday,” Joan said.

Melanie waited but Joan seemed unlikely to elaborate without prodding.

“And?” Melanie asked.

“And today they fired me,” Joan said, again without explaining more than she had to.

“What? Why? I thought they liked you there?”

Melanie set the bat down on the coffee table and sat down beside Joan who, now that Melanie could look more closely at her, looked like she could use a good cry. Joan shrugged and stuffed a handful of chips into her mouth.

“Those are jalapeno flavored,” Melanie warned Joan too late.

Joan's eyes began to water and her face turned bright red. Joan flapped her hands at Melanie for help and hurriedly chewed and swallowed the chips.

At least she's learned to chew them now, thought Melanie.

“I still can't believe it,” Melanie laughed as she got up to grab Joan some bread. “You can burn hot enough to fire my ceramics but you can't take a little spice.”

Joan whimpered slightly as she drank some soda before accepting the bread from Melanie.

“It's not my fault,” Joan said after the pain subsided.

“What isn't your fault?” Melanie asked, “Losing your job or not being able to handle a few chips?”

Joan looked unimpressed by Melanie's ability to bring the conversation back around to that unfavorable topic. Melanie, though, really was concerned for Joan and Joan knew it. Melanie was the only person she could go to, could talk to, unless she counted that annoying nerd who kept calling for an interview. Yes, she had given him her number but the more he called the more she wished she hadn't. He kept asking her the same questions over and over. But his guess was as good as hers when it came to where her fire came from and he didn't seem to quite believe her.

Melanie poked Joan in the ribs.

“Earth to Joan,” Melanie said, waving her hand in front of Joan's face. “Come on, what happened at work, did you burn?”

Joan hung her head in defeat and nodded.

“On purpose?”

Joan vacillated back and forth for a moment before answering.

“Yes?” she said.

“Is that an answer?” Melanie asked, “Because it sounded like a question.”

Joan tossed her head back against the couch and grunted when her head was met not by cushion but by the hard wood of the frame where the cushion had been worn away.

“I burnt on purpose,” Joan said through gritted teeth as she massaged the back of her head, “But I only did it so I wouldn't lose control.”

“What were you upset about?” Melanie asked, being Joan's only real confidant she knew that, besides the huge explosions Joan went through every twelve or so days, that was the only other way they knew of that would set Joan off uncontrollably.

“I wasn't upset, that's the thing,” Joan moaned, more from this new development than from the lump on the back of her head. “I'm not supposed to have my big burn for another two days.”

“Does Judge Dervin know yet?” Melanie asked.

Joan shook her head.

“They said they'd put it down that I quit, seeing as this was my third job since being released and they didn't want to get me into any more trouble.”

“That was nice,” Melanie said, trying to look on the bright side. “But you are going to tell him, the Judge I mean?”

Joan looked doubtful.

“This is the second time, Joan, you can't deny it. You're losing control more often.”

Joan nodded and sighed, shutting her eyes against the fear that had made her come running to Melanie.

“I don't want to be locked back up, Mel,” Joan said through a tightening voice. “What if they don't let me back out?”

IMMOLATION: Chapter 5

The acrid stench of bat guano stung the eyes and nose and made the half dozen people in the small cave even edgier than they might have otherwise been. Nothing but the rock formations lent themselves to those who wanted to sit down and, as most surfaces in the cave were covered in a fine layer of the aforementioned guano, most chose to remain standing. Months of planing, coordinating and researching had taken place before tonight’s meeting. None of them had met before in person as all of their work up to this point had taken place online. Now, however, the time for online research and planing was over and they were ready to begin in earnest. So, unpleasant surroundings aside, they were all eager to get started.

A short, middle aged man on the side furthest from the entrance of the cave stepped forward so he was better illuminated by the gas lantern that hung from the ceiling. His neatly cropped hair and expensive suit looked at odds with their surroundings. What little chatter there had been died instantly.

“Green Tea,” the short, well dressed man said in a thick Japanese accent.

“Tea Leaves,” said another, rounder man in a tweed jacket and salt and pepper hair, his voice marking him as British.

“Leaves Early,” a young woman this time, no older than mid twenties and dressed in jeans and a tank top. Her accent was unmistakably from the southern states of America and her long red hair was done up in pigtails. Green Tea Narrowed his eyes at her.

“Early Bird,” boomed an older man in a deep, South African accent. His face and hands were heavily wrinkled but the thin, colorful clothes he wore did little to disguise his well toned ebony body.

Around the cave they went, stepping forward into the light and stating their code names in order. Everyone waited, alert for their turn as failing to go in order meant death.

“Bird Feather,” the second woman of the group, broader and heavier then the American and distinctly German. She was also one of the few who appeared dressed for the occasion in hiking boots, thick clothing and a pack of climbing gear.

“Feather Weight,” the tallest, strongest man in the group chimed in with a smirk and nodded to his fellow American. Next to the German, he looked the next best prepared for the hike to the cave. All he lacked was the climbing gear.

Having finished the ritual, they relaxed, slightly, and nodded. There was no going back now.

“Tonight,” Green Tea said, “I lead our meeting.”

Green Tea sat and gestured for the others to follow. Most had misgivings about this but only Leaves Early hesitated, trying desperately to find a spot without so much fecal matter.

“My dear,” Tea Leaves said impatiently, pulling out a handkerchief and spreading it on a flat piece of stone.

“Thanks,” Leaves Early said and sat herself down, careful to maximize the handkerchief's protection.

Light Weight rolled his eyes and Green Tea pursed his lips.

“Now we begin,” Green Tea announced and he pulled out a small collapsible table and a sheet of paper from the inside of his suit coat. The table stood only a few inches off the ground but it was enough that the paper had a clean surface to lay on.

Everyone bent down to look at it. On the paper were listed the major coal and uranium mines in the world as well as the top five oil producers.

“This is the enemy,” Green Tea stated. “The world is choking on their pollution. We've tried to get them to listen to reason but the world economies are, as they say, addicted to these pollutants.”

“And y'all know how to beat an addiction, right?” Leaves Early asked, and then without waiting for a response she answered her own question, “Cold Turkey!”

No one else said anything in response to this, though several exchanged looks as they questioned the wisdom of including Leaves Early in their group.

“Calm down there, Leaves Early,” said Feather Weight and he rested one of his heavy hands on her back to keep her from bouncing with excitement.

“Yes,” Green Tea went on, “We all need to remain calm while we work toward our goals. Our work may be to save the world, but the world is resistant and so, as Leaves Early put it, the world must go cold turkey.”

“Where do we strike first?” Bird Feather asked in an attempt to get the meeting moving forward once more.

“Here,” Green Tea pointed to the paper where the uranium mines were labeled. “We will also need to remove the power plants.”

“Now we're still agreed that we can't take out every nuclear plant, right?” Leaves Early asked, serious this time. “'Cause there's an awful lot of them. And besides, there's good chances one of them's gonna turn nasty on us and make a mess. And seein' as we want to be savin' the world and not makin' it glow green...”

The group nodded in agreement.

“And that's why you're with us,” Green Tea explained. “Your expertise with these power plants will be invaluable.”

“Wait,” Tea Leaves interrupted, “She's our nuclear physicist?”

“Course I am,” Leaves Early replied, “Why else'd I be here?” she looked around the cave and gave an involuntary shudder.

“What do you recommend?” Bird Feather asked Leaves Early gruffly before another tangent could distract her.

Leaves Early shrank back slightly under the haughty gaze of Bird Feather and looked down at her hands in her lap.

“Well,” she began, “The easiest way would be to blow up on of the cooling tanks. There'd be some leakage, but not much and it would be enough to force them to shut down the whole plant.”

The group thought, weighing the cost of allowing some radiation to leak against the ease of achieving their goal.

“But,” Leaves Early went on, “And I know this sounds terrible but hear me out, if we take out the power plants one by one, that's gonna take time and money, not to mention we'll be more likely to get caught the more of these we hit.”

Leaves Early looked around the at the group and it wasn't until Early Bird gestured for her to go on that she continued.

“Well, it's like in the past, if one nuclear plant goes critical, they shut down a bunch of them, right? So rather than risking being caught as we carefully hit a bunch of them, what if we got a few of them to go critical?”

“What about what you just said about not wanting to make the world glow green?” Tea Leaves asked, still unable to believe that Leaves Early was anything more than an annoying twit.

“We won't have to hit many, five at most and people would be so scared they'd make their governments shut down the rest.”

“How many lives?” Early Bird asked in his deep rumbling voice.

Leaves Early blushed like a small child who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Well,” she said nervously, “To make the most out of it we'd probably have to hit at least two major populations. America's got a few good spots, so does France or—

“How many lives?” Early Bird asked again, “Because there will be no point in saving the world if there are no people to benefit from it.

Again, Leaves Early blushed but she met Early Bird's gaze and said, “A couple million...give or take.”

Early Bird looked down and everyone in the circle contemplated this possible change of plans. They were fine with a few hundred, prepared for a few thousand, perhaps even accepting of a few hundred thousand. But killing millions...

IMMOLATION: Chapter 4

Matt walked calmly down the corridor. If Judge Dervin noticed the open file, it wouldn't take very long for him to catch up and Matt didn't want to look too guilty in that situation. Regardless, Judge Dervin would probably try to slap some kind of restraining order on him if he thought Matt was dangerous.

“Hold up a second, Mr Wellis,” Judge Dervin called from behind.

Matt stopped and waited. A part of him had hoped that Judge Dervin wouldn't catch him.

“Did you notice the open file on my desk?” Judge Dervin asked.

Matt thought, weighing his options. On the one hand, Judge Dervin had been straight forward with him and was, after all, just doing his job. On the other hand was the fact that Matt's past, no matter how unjust, was against him and this could actually be the chance he needed to see his dream fulfilled.

“Mr Wellis, I asked you a question.”

Matt sighed and then nodded.

“Yes, I saw the open file,” he said, “No I did not open it, Yes I memorized Joan's information but not on purpose. I have a photographic memory.”

Judge Dervin stared hard at Matt as though trying to detect any hint of deception.

“And yes, I was going to contact Joan for an interview,” Matt said at last.

“Then I suppose that's okay,” Judge Dervin said, surprising Matt, “But I'll be checking in with her about it and if I don't like what I hear there will be some serious consequences on your end.”

“Understood,” Matt said, not believing his luck.

Judge Dervin looked like he had more to say and wavered for a moment before turning and leaving Matt alone in the corridor once again.

Matt whistled to himself as he trotted down the courthouse steps toward where he'd chained his bike across the street. As he waited for traffic to clear he spotted a couple of men walking through the bike racks. Without warning, one of them pulled out a pair of bolt cutters and snipped the chain securing Matt's bike.

“Hey,” Matt yelled to them, “That's my bike!”

The two men grabbed the bike, threw it into the back of a waiting truck and were gone before traffic could clear enough for Matt to stop them.

“Did they seriously just steal your bike?” A woman asked from behind him.

Matt turned around and there before him was Joan Darcy. He probably wouldn't have recognized her in the jeans and T-shirt but the smell of burnt clothes that lingered in the air gave her away.

“Yeah, uh, that was my bike,” Matt said once he'd gotten over his initial shock. “But it's okay, I got their license plate.”

Joan pursed her lips as her eyes drifted over the press badge Matt had forgotten to remove and then back up to his face.

“You were in my hearing, today, weren't you?” Joan asked as she continued studying him.

It was difficult for Joan to be sure. The hearing hadn't lasted very long and she never really paid much attention to faces in the first place.

“Yes,” Matt replied and Joan's face darkened. “Is that a bad thing?”

“For you, I suppose,” Joan said and began to walk passed him. “My friend's on her way to pick me up and I was going to offer you a ride.”

Matt followed after her.

“Well, wait, a ride would be great.”

“Nope, sorry. I don't like people writing stuff about me.”

“And what if I promise not to write anything?”

Joan stopped and Matt held his breath.

“You write one thing about me, one word, and—

“Don't worry,” Matt interrupted, a habit he knew he needed to break, “Judge Dervin's already threatened me.”

Instantly, Matt knew he'd said the wrong thing.

“And why would he need to threaten you?” Joan asked as she backed away.

Dervin, Joan thought, no wonder she had trouble remembering his name. But too quickly that thought was pushed aside as the all-too-familiar warmth began to well up in her hands.

“Sorry, not what I meant,” Matt was saying, “He just—

“No, get back!” Joan cried with a new sense of worry and she cast her backpack to the side.

Matt noticed the change in her voice and he backed away as fire began to spread up her arms.

Just what she needed, Joan thought, lose control on her first day of freedom. She could already see her cell room.

“I thought you already burned?”

Other people were beginning to take notice and were forming a wide ring around Joan and Matt. Several of them had their camera phones out.

Joan's fire, though mostly contained to her hands, continued to build.

“I thought you already burned?” Matt repeated.

“Being upset sets me off too!” Joan screamed at him as the fire began feeding back into her anger and intensifying the emotion.

“Two men walked into a bar,” Matt said, thinking fast and hoping his idea worked, “And the first guy said, 'Oh, you didn't see it either?'”

Joan's flame stuttered a bit.

“What?” she asked.

“How do you get a one armed blonde to fall out of a tree?” Matt asked, but didn't wait for a response, “Wave at her.”

“You're a blonde,” Joan said, but regardless her flame shrank a little bit more.

“But I've got both my arms so I'm fine.”

Matt pantomimed hanging from a tree and waving with one arm, a stupid grin on his face. When he looked back at Joan, her fire was smaller.

“How are some people just like a slinky?” he asked.

This time, Joan had time to think, and as she thought, her fire shrank more.

“I don't know,” she said, “How are some people just like a slinky?”

Matt grinned as Joan's flame went out.

“Neither does much but they're both lots of fun to push down stairs.”

Joan allowed herself a snicker as the seriousness of her situation lessened. She had almost lost control, right here in front of the courthouse surrounded by a dozen or so bystanders. That would not have been good.

“Come here,” Joan said and began making her way back up toward the courthouse.

Matt followed, fearing the worst and that Joan was going to turn him in to Judge Dervin. At the top of the stairs, Joan spun on her heals and shoved Matt hard in the chest. Matt lost his balance and tumbled backward. Some people from the gathered crowd gasped but most laughed as Matt rolled over and over downward. The stone steps hurt, a lot, and by the time he came to a stop, several parts of him were bruised and bleeding.

“OW!” Matt cried out, “What the he—

“You're right,” Joan interrupted him as she skipped down the stairs after him, “That was lots of fun.”

Matt rolled over onto his side that felt the least bruised and eased himself up to his feet. Joan skipped right on passed Matt.

“Now wait a minute,” Matt called after her, “Could you at least give a ride to the hospital?”

“Like my friend wants your blood all over the inside of her car. Besides,” Joan said as she stopped skipping and turned to face him, “You don't need stitches.”

Matt wiped some blood from his mouth and flinched at the sting of his split lip.

“A ride to the bus stop then?” he asked and limped down the few remaining stairs.

Joan suspected the limp wasn't all real, but then again she couldn't deny he looked pretty hurt. She hadn't anticipated him to fall so far down the stairs.

Matt, for his part, was trying to minimize how pathetic he looked. Sure he hurt, but it was all superficial and though he'd be sore for a few days he knew he'd be fine. Mostly it was his pride that would take the longest to heal. Being a certified super-genius had a tendency to make him quite vulnerable whenever that aspect of his psyche got injured.

Joan looked around, considering, until the bus came around the corner and pulled up to the bus stop Matt had been hoping Joan wouldn't see. She shook her head and gave a Matt a wry smile. She fished something out of her pocket and flicked it toward him.

“Hold the bus,” Joan called and the driver waved to show he'd heard her.

Joan walked away, leaving Matt to bend down painfully and pick up what Joan had thrown to him. It turned out to be a small card. It read:

Joan Darcy

(The girl who burns)

Matt flipped the card over and on the back was her number. Her unspoken permission to call her was a welcomed conclusion to his otherwise unpleasant day.

IMMOLATION: Chapter 3

The door shut and the muted rush of fire sounded behind them.

“Thank you all for coming,” Judge Dervin announced, “I'm sorry for the briefness of the meeting but that's how things go sometimes with Ms Darcy.”

Judge Dervin turned to leave but one of the journalists stopped him.

“Excuse me,” he said, “But may we ask her some questions when...when the fire's out?”

The young man, by Judge Dervin's estimation, was a little too eager. He looked the part of a journalist with his short blond hair carefully groomed and pressed, collared shirt. Even the young man's pants looked like they'd been ironed. But his eyes, slightly magnified behind his round rimmed glasses, looked familiar, and not in a good way.

“What's your name?” Judge Dervin asked.

“Matt Wellis, sir...er, your Honor,” Matt replied, stumbling a bit on his words.

“Who do you write for?” Judge Dervin asked as he tried to remember if he'd ever met Mr Wellis before.

“The Bleeding Edge,” Matt said, “It's a web based tech and science reporter.”

“How long have you been with them?”

“Two years,” Matt answered.

“And before that?” Judge Dervin was certain he'd seen Matt before he just couldn't remember where or when.

“I'm sorry, Your Honor, but I don't really see what this has to do with anything,” Matt said.

Judge Dervin nodded. “Well, Mr Wellis,” he said, “If you want to interview Ms Darcy you'll have to contact her yourself—

“That's just it, the court hasn't made public where Joan will be living—

There it was. In that moment when Matt interrupted Judge Dervin, a memory from three years back popped into his mind.

“I'm not one to be interrupted, Mr Wellis,” Judge Dervin warned.

Matt shrank slightly from the reprimand but still held his ground.

“You were at school, before, weren't you?” Judge Dervin asked.

Matt nodded.

“Ivy League if I remember correctly,” Judge Dervin continued.

Matt nodded again but said nothing, his brow furrowed.

“You were pretty young when you defended your dissertation.”

“Yes, your Honor, I was seventeen when I had my defense,” Matt replied with a glimmer of pride.

“I heard you attacked one of the professors during the defense and that they had to call the police,” This was the point Judge Dervin had been wanting to get to.

In unison, the other reporters slid their note pads back out. The glimmer of pride faded from Matt's face and for the first time that day he looked truly concerned.

“The professor attacked me, not the other way around,” Matt said. “The university lied to save face.”

“Why would a professor attack you?” Judge Dervin didn't know if he believed Matt or not. He seemed honest, but a lot of people were good liars.

Matt eyed the other reporters as they busily scribbled down notes.

“Do we have to have this conversation?” Matt asked.

Judge Dervin thought for a moment.

“Step inside my chambers,” he said at last and led Matt away from the rest of the reporters.

Matt followed against his better judgment. Judge Dervin held the door open for Matt and they sat down opposite one another. Judge Dervin rested his forearms on his desk and he leaned forward in his chair as Matt leaned back in his.

“Matt,” Judge Dervin said, “I'm going to be straight forward about this; you make me nervous and I don't know why. I don't want to treat you unfairly but before I let you pursue an interview with Ms Darcy I need to make sure that my trepidation is unfounded.”

“Okay,” Matt said with a hint of uncertainty.

“So, again, I want to know why a professor of an Ivy League school would attack a seventeen year old child prodigy during his defense?”

Matt heaved a sigh and stared up at the ceiling.

“The professor in question,” Matt began, “was my mentor during my undergrad. When I began work on my doctorate, he disagreed with my thesis since it went counter to his own research and we had a falling out. At my defense, when I proved my thesis to be correct, and by extension proved the professor wrong, he attacked me.”

“And if I call your old school up, what will they tell me?” Judge Dervin asked.

“They'll repeat the exact same story they've been giving. It's their word against mine so there wasn't really anything I could do when they expelled me.”

“So no PhD?” Judge Dervin asked.

Matt laughed out loud.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked, “The moment I was expelled the professor that attacked me accused me of stealing his research. He probably would have sued me for it if he thought he could win. Fortunately it was well enough known that it was the young kid on campus who was working on the crazy idea, not him. Either way his accusation put me on the scientific communities blacklist. I only write for The Bleeding Edge so I can pay the bills.”

“And you didn't pursue any legal action of your own?” Judge Dervin asked. “If you really did prove your thesis then you should have the advantage in court.”

“No offense, You Honor,” Matt said with a hint of sarcasm, “Justice may be blind, but she's not cheap and I don't have the kind of cash necessary to pay for her.”

Judge Dervin frowned. He didn't like the way Matt spoke about the legal system he worked so hard to uphold. Still, he couldn't ignore the many times he'd heard of cases being won not by the merits of the facts, but by the value of the lawyers.

“Tell me about your brilliant idea that got you into so much trouble,” Judge Dervin said suddenly.

Matt sat for a moment and then shrugged.

“How many ways can you generate electricity?” Matt asked.

Judge Dervin thought, going over the different ways he could think of.

“Let's see, there's wind, hydro, nuclear, solar, coal...

“Wrong,” Matt said, “There's three ways. Wind, hydro, coal and nuclear all boil down to the same thing; turbines that spin magnets around. The second method is with solar cells.”

Judge Dervin waited.

“What's the third way?” he asked at last.

Matt smiled.

“Heat.”

“What do you mean? I thought they used heat already to make the steam in our power plants?” Judge Dervin said.

“I don't mean using heat to turn turbines, I mean turning heat directly into electricity.”

“And how does that work?”

“Do you know much about quantum mechanics or thermal physics?” Matt asked.

“No,” Judge Dervin said plainly.

“Then don't worry about it. Just accept the fact that it can be done. Easy, renewable, energy.”

“If it's that easy, why hasn't anyone done it yet?”

“Easy once the generator is built,” Matt clarified. “And being blacklisted makes it difficult to raise the two billion dollars necessary to build one.”

Judge Dervin let out a high whistle.

“I don't think it's your bad reputation that's preventing you from finding backers.”

“Two billion is par for a power plant,” Matt said.

“And what do you plan to use to generate the heat needed to run your heat plant?” Judge Dervin asked.

Matt shifted in his chair and Judge Dervin knew he'd hit a chord. Matt had been one of the first reporters to submit a request to sit in on one of Ms Darcy's hearings. Now that he knew Matt's idea for a generator using heat, he couldn't help but wonder how he planned to use Ms Darcy.

“There are a number of geothermal sites around the globe that would be suitable for my design,” Matt said.

“And the fact that Ms Darcy has the ability to spontaneously produce fire has nothing to do with your heat machine?” Judge Dervin asked.

“No, well yes, but not like that,” Matt said as he searched for a safe way of defending himself. “I mean, she's a heliopath! And the human body is just a complex, gooey machine. If I can find out how she makes her fire and replicate it, then my generator could be used anywhere. Think of it, clean energy the world over. No more worries about climate change, pollution, the whole energy crisis would be gone.”

“You sound like an idealist, Mr Wellis,” Judge Dervin said.

“Thank you sir...er, Your Honor.”

“That wasn't necessarily a compliment,” Judge Dervin said immediately. “Idealists come in two forms, so far as I'm concerned. The first is made up of people who dream of a better way, a better life, for all and are willing to die for it. The second is made up of people who dream of a better way, a better life, for all and are willing to watch other people die for it.”

“I'm not talking about war,” Matt stated, “My generator is not a life or death kind of thing.”

“I beg to differ,” Judge Dervin said. “What you're talking about could easily destroy entire countries. Our world is addicted to fossil fuels and if you suddenly dump a cheaper, easier source of energy into the markets it's going to send the world into withdrawals.”

Matt shook his head and stood up from his seat.

“You sound like that old professor of mine,” he said and walked to the door.

“Maybe your professor knew what he was talking about.”

Matt paused at the door, gave Judge Dervin one last nod and left. Judge Dervin rolled his shoulders back and stretched. He still didn't know what to make of Matt Wellis. Today had not been an easy one and he looked forward to a hot bath when he got home. His next case would be starting soon and he stood to make his way to the courtroom. As he did, he realized one of the many folders that littered his desk was open. He was usually good about not doing that since they contained so much personal information. As he moved to close it he read the name on the file. Judge Dervin frowned and looked up at the door Matt Wellis had just left through as he closed Joan Darcy's file.

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.

IMMOLATION: Chapter 1

Monday, 5:30 AM—Joan Darcy’s home

Joan's alarm chimed in it's usual cheery fashion before being unceremoniously thrown across the room where it crashed against wall beside her calender where she'd been ticking off the days before graduation. At the time when Joan purchased the now fragmented pink and silver unicorn alarm clock she thought it was outrageously cute. That had also been over four years ago when she was getting ready to begin her Freshman year at Lyndon B. Johnson High School. As Joan looked down on the broken alarm clock and listened to its death moans she itched to stomp it out of its misery. Joan shook herself over and quelled the surge of emotion she'd awoken with and began picking up the pieces. Joan had never been a morning person but this morning was particularly bad. In fact, Joan thought, she'd been in an off mood for a while. A good run or after school visit to the gym usually put an end to her bad moods but nothing seemed to work this go around. It was like an adrenaline rush she couldn't shake and the tense energy kept her on edge. Joan's mother blamed it on pre-graduation nerves and, as much as Joan hated to concede anything to her mother, she couldn't come up with a better explanation.

Monday, 1:00 PM—Lyndon B. Johnson High School: Cafeteria

Joan stood at the back of the line with the other students who weren't brave or popular enough to cut to the front. Melanie was a little bit ahead of her and she would probably let Joan sneak up a bit but that would mean she'd have to talk to Melanie.

Monday, 1:05 PM—Lyndon B. Johnson High School Cafeteria

The line slugged along much like the sweat on the lunch ladies flabby, sagging arms and both the line and the sweat pooled around the food counter.

“Thank you,” Joan said as always in her polite tone while hiding her disgust for the grease the food seemed to swim and breed in.

Before Joan could duck into the back corner to be by herself, Melanie spotted her and waved her over.

“Joan, I saved you a seat,” she called and Joan had no choice but to change directions. “I saw you in line behind me but you must not have seen me. That's okay...”

Melanie droned on in her innocent way and Joan smiled as best she could. She did like Melanie with her sweet innocence. But, again, today was not a good day. Joan stretched in an attempt to rid herself of some of the offending energy running through her. It didn't work but it did draw the attention of the guys sitting at the table behind her and that always made her feel a little better. Joan's mother could protest all she wanted about how much skin showed when her hands were raised, but that, after all, was the point of it. The guys looked away as soon as Joan looked their way and she feigned prudery at being ogled at.

Melanie was oblivious to all of this as she continued to ramble on in her own little world. That was one thing Joan really did like about Melanie, she could go on having a great conversation with you and if something got you sidetracked you could always get back without much trouble.

Monday, 1:10 PM—Lyndon B. Johnson High School Cafeteria

“...and so I was like,” Melanie continued as Joan enjoyed the warm sensation of being stared at behind her back, “don't you even think about it. And he was all like—Oh my gosh, Joan, you're on fire!” Melanie shrieked and pointed.

The warm sensation Joan had been enjoying was in fact fire. A small flame was burgeoning out of the back of her shirt.

“Ow!” Joan cried, though more out of fear than anything else as the fire had yet to burn her skin. “Put it out!”

Melanie swatted Joan's back with her jacket until the fire was out.

“Are you okay?” Melanie asked.

“I think so,” Joan replied. “Did it burn me?”

Melanie inspected Joan's back but shook her head.

“No,” she said, “but it's burned a hole the size of your face through everything else.”

“Everything?” Joan asked and quickly covered her back with Melanie's jacket. There was a difference between showing off and being taken advantage of.

She stole a quick glance back at the boys whom she'd shown off for previously. They immediately looked away. Melanie followed her gaze to the other table.

“Oh my gosh, you don't think one of them could have done it, do you?”

“I don't know,” Joan said.

Her stomach churned and she wished she could turn invisible. Her favorite shirt, ruined, not to mention the tank top underneath.

“I mean,” Melanie went on, “I've heard of burning a hole through someone by staring at them, and I did notice they were watching you, not that I'm jealous or anything, but—

That warm feeling hit Joan again but rather than being the warm pleasant feeling from before it was more like the warmth that precedes being violently ill. The fact that Melanie was in mid sentence, or that the boys behind her may have just lit her on fire a moment ago all seemed unimportant now. She curled up on her chair, shutting her eyes against the pain and embarrassment and letting the jacket fall to the floor as the sickening warmth covered her body.

The screaming began.

Monday, 1:15 PM—Lyndon B. Johnson High School Cafeteria

Joan burned. She had to catch herself from falling over as the seat beneath her melted. But still, the warmth was so terrible it took all of her concentration just to stay standing.

More screams and guilt stabbed at the back of her mind as the warmth washed over her in waves. Alarms added their discordant tones to the screams and Joan finally pried opened her eyes. Fire surged out from her chest and flowed out over the rest of her body. Her clothes had long since been burned away and she stared around in embarrassment. Most of the students had already scrambled out of the cafeteria but Melanie and the boys who had been staring at her before were still there, keeping a safe distance. Joan screamed and covered herself as best she could as she crouched down to the floor. The fire surged.

Melanie screamed something to her but the roar of the flames was too loud for Joan to make out what it was. Melanie turned to leave as the flames grew closer and noticed the boys still standing there, watching. Joan managed a smile as Melanie, ever the faithful friend, began slapping and kicking the boys into a retreat.

The flames turned white hot and flashed outward before extinguishing themselves and leaving Joan cold and naked in the burned out cafeteria. Melanie immediately ran to her side and wrapped her up in a long coat that had been left behind during the mass exodus of students. The two girls made their way silently to the outside.