IMMOLATION: Chapter 11

The cinder block struck the ground, cracking and falling into two pieces and leaving a deep scar in the concrete.

“A little help?” Joan asked, looking over to the steps where Matt sat, smiling.

“You're late,” Matt observed

Joan heaved another block out of her car, ignoring Matt, and succeeded in placing it gently in a cart she'd pulled out from her trunk. She'd spent the greater part of her morning driving around looking for the cinder blocks. Matt slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and joined her beside the car.

“So what's with the bricks?” Matt asked.

“Just help me, okay?” Joan snipped at him. “Questions later.”

Matt shrugged and took over loading the cart. There were around a dozen blocks in all and by the time he finished loading the cart he had broken a slight sweat.

“Thank you,” Joan said and turned toward the building. “Now hurry up and lets get inside.”

Joan marched up the ramp that ran along side the steps, Matt in tow as he struggled to pull the now heavy cart up the incline. His bag only made the climb more cumbersome and Matt quickly fell behind.

“Joan!” Matt shouted before Joan could slip through the front doors.

Joan looked back, rolled her eyes and jogged back down the ramp. She took Matt's bag and tossed it onto the pile of cinder block. A clattering of instruments sounded from within the bag. Matt cringed.

“Hope that wasn't anything important,” Joan said apologetically and moved to the back of the cart where she could push.

Matt's look of concern didn't lessen but he began to pull the cart up the ramp nonetheless. With Joan helping, they made their way to the top quickly. Joan lead the way through the halls to her room. The doors were already propped open. Joan checked her watch as Matt pulled the cart passed her and into the room.

“You've got five minutes to set up whatever instruments you brought,” She said. “After that...

Matt nodded. “And what's this for?” He asked, gesturing to the cart of blocks as he lifted his bag off the cart and began pulling out his equipment.

“You'll see,” Joan said and she began emptying the cart.

Matt set to work, arranging his sensors around the room. Joan watched him while she stacked her blocks one top of the other. Most of the instruments looked like they were built to sustain high temperatures. The others, well, Joan could only hope she wouldn't have to clean up the puddles of melted glass and plastic they were likely to leave behind. Matt seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he looked at his equipment and began moving the more delicate pieces further away. He paused again.

“How far does your fire reach?” He asked, a yellow, plastic looking box in each hand.

“Just look at the floor,” Joan said, checking her cinder block tower; it stood level with her chest.

Matt looked down and, now that he was paying attention, saw the concentric circles burned into the marble floor by Joan's fire. The circles grew lighter as they got farther away from the center of the room. They'd have to replace the floor soon. Cracks were already appearing near where Joan stood

“It's growing?” He asked.

“A little bit each time,” Joan said, satisfied with the height and width of her stacked cinder blocks and she began reinforcing the sides.

Matt considered her briefly before placing his more fragile instruments outside of the most recent burn ring. Joan moved the now empty cart to the very edge of the room.

“Time's up,” Joan announced shortly after Matt placed his final piece.

Matt picked up his duffel bag and stepped inside the observation room. Joan stepped behind her tower and began to undress. He tried to maintain a professional air about it as Joan wrapped her clothing up in her own bag and then tossed it expertly into the cart. Matt found the controls for the intercom system and turned it on.

“Nice tower,” Matt said for lack of anything else to say.

“Yeah, a friend of mine thought this would be best,” Joan replied as she waited for her fire to begin, resting her chin on her crossed arms as they, in turn, rested on the cinder blocks.

“You sure they can take the heat?”

A flame flickered across Joan's arm. “They'd better,” She said. “Or you better find the back wall in there very interesting.”

Fire caught in her hair and spread down her face.

“Watch this,” Joan said with a smile and took a deep breath. She exhaled.

A gout of flame shot out of her mouth and exploded against the far wall.

“I thought you couldn't control it?” Matt asked as he pulled a laptop out of his bag and turned it on.

“I can't once it gets going,” She said with a shrug. “But there's this sweet spot right before when I can do some amazing things.”

Joan flapped her arms like a bird and fire cascaded over them, continuing on past her fingertips until it formed a waving ribbon of fire. Readings began pouring in from the instruments scattered throughout the room and Matt, using his laptop, switched back and forth monitoring the data.

Fire exploded from Joan and Matt had to shield his eyes. He had been too distracted by the readings to notice as Joan's fire blossomed. There had been almost no warning, even watching the data as he had, one moment everything seemed stable and the next he was getting readings all over the board. The fire roared so loud that it drowned out Joan's voice as she called out to him.

“What?” He shouted into the intercom.

“I said this is where I lose control,” Joan shouted back.

“I can see that.”

Joan was nothing more than a silhouette at the center of the enormous blaze. Even through the safety glass, Matt could feel the heat. He turned back to his laptop and switched over to the infrared view. The image on his laptop looked like a watercolor painting done by a child who only had access to white red and orange. While he couldn't see any great detail about the shapes of most objects, the colors told him the temperatures. As things heated up, they would turn orange, then red, then white. He had little trouble picking out the cinder block tower and Joan at the center of the image, glowing bright white. Well, almost.

Matt cocked his head, something wasn't right. The laptop screen flickered as Matt shifted through the various infrared displays. It had been a relief when Joan didn't ask what all the instruments were for. He very much doubted that she would have allowed him to surround her with cameras if she knew. Of course, the cameras were next to useless when it came to giving any detail besides temperature but somehow he doubted Joan would have cared.

All the infrared images showed the same anomaly, but it couldn't be right. The white halo surrounding Joan was to be expected, but her center...

“Hey Joan,” Matt called through the intercom, “Could you grab that piece of metal I placed on your tower?”

Joan looked around for a moment, straining to see through the fire.

“This thing?” She asked, pointing, though Matt could see even less than Joan and so he had to assume that she'd found it.

“There should only be the one metal plate,” Matt said and Joan picked it up. “Hold it for a little bit,” Matt added and he cycled through the data once more until he found what he was looking for.

Matt stared at the readings, unable to believe what he saw.

“Okay, now put it back,” Matt told her.

Joan did.

Matt continued to stare, open mouthed, at what the data was showing him

IMMOLATION: Chapter 10

“By y'all, see you next time,” Leaves Early called to Feather Weight and Bird Feather as they departed.

She was about to climb into her own car when the others, Green Tea, Tea Leaves and Early Bird, came out of the cafe and she waved to them as well. Tea Leaves perked up, as he usually did when she payed him any attention, and he hurried over to her. The other two, Green Tea and Early Bird, nodded to him before going their own separate ways.

“Well howdy, Tea Leaves,” she said brightly, though she wanted more to be on her way than to stand around chatting. Tea Leaves was nice, in a fatherly sort of way, but she knew he, like so many other men his age, still thought of themselves as young and attractive.

“Ah, yes, Leaves Early, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind joining me for a quick drink?” Tea Leaves asked.

Leaves Early made herself blush to boost the nice old mans moral before she turned him down.

“Why Tea Leaves, are you asking me on a date?” she asked with feigned excitement. “Why what would the others think?”

Tea Leaves recovered quickly from his own obvious embarrassment. “Oh, no, I simply have some questions on your design,” he said, “But it's more of an academic curiosity and so I didn't feel it worth bringing up in our meeting.”

“Right,” Leaves Early said in a conspiratorial tone and winked at him, “Well, I'm sorry Tea Leaves but I do actually have plans for this evening,” she lied easily, hoping to let Tea Leaves down gently but quickly.

“Oh, well it would only take a few minutes really,” Tea Leaves pressed on and Leaves Early felt her smile slip a little. “But, you see, I left my notes at my hotel and so, um, I didn't feel it appropriate to invite you there, you can imagine how that would sound, so that's why I thought we could meet somewhere...” Tea Leaves trailed off, anxious and hopeful.

Leaves Early rolled her eyes and sighed, knowing she'd never be able to shake Tea Leaves off of her if she continued being gentle with him.

“I'm sorry, Tea Leaves, but I'm just not that interested in you,” she still tried to conceal some of the bluntness in her voice but the words themselves could not be so easily sugar coated.

Tea Leaves frowned. “Young lady,” he said with a shocking amount of prudery, “I am old enough to be your father and would never deign to such an improper relationship. I honestly have questions regarding your field and would appreciate some of your time in answering them.”

Leaves Early wilted slightly and now she blushed for real.

“Oh, I'm sorry Tea Leaves, I just thought—

“I know precisely what you thought,” Tea Leaves blustered, “And while you are an attractive woman, I would think that you'd understand that there comes a time in life when people stop concerning themselves so much with such things.”

Leaves Early couldn't hold Tea Leaves withering gaze and she looked away. He was so like her father, seeing through her flashy show to the insecurities she hid below. Perhaps that was why she hadn't spoken to her dad all these years.

Tea Leaves pushed back his hair and composed himself. “Now then,” he said in his usual, calm tones, “I'm flying back out this evening and if you are indeed busy, then I suppose I can wait for our next meeting to ask you my questions,” he turned to leave.

“No, Tea Leaves, wait,” Leaves Early called to him. “I'm sorry, I would love to go over your questions.”

Tea Leaves smiled and then nodded.

“Did you have any particular place in mind?” she asked him.

“No, but I do like trying new places and there were a number of pubs not far from here.”

“Tell you what,” Leaves Early said, perking back up, “You go get your notes and meet me back here in an hour. I've been meaning to try out this place down the street. The parking's terrible but we can walk from here.”

Tea Leaves nodded his thanks, got into his rental car and Leaves Early watched him drive off. She climbed into her own car, a sporty little thing with a soft top she could fold back if she wanted. She could go home, change her clothes and come back. She didn't live that far away but somehow she thought it would only increase the awkwardness between her and Tea Leaves. Sure he'd been friendly towards her, but now that she thought about it, he was friendly towards everyone. So many years of special treatment, being the only girl in the physics department worth looking at...it was all so shallow and she hated herself for it, but she had come to expect everyone to treat her that way, and she had to admit, deep down, she liked it.

The music on the radio didn't make her feel any better but it did help to distract her. She decided not to go home and change, even if it was into something more practical, more appropriate. She tapped her hand on the middle console, in rhythm with the music. As she did, she remembered she still had the plans, the real plans in the compartment of the console. She'd have to find a better place to store those in case something happened and the wrong people saw them.

The hour passed without incident and Tea Leaves returned, holding a small notebook in his hands. He was wearing a different suit jacket. Leaves Early got out of her car and she lead the way. A couple streets down, Leaves Early stopped and turned suddenly, almost knocking Tea Leaves over as she opened the door to a bar.

“Sorry,” Leaves Early said, “Almost walked right by it.”

Inside would have been quiet were it not for the radio playing. A few people sat concentrated around the bar.

“So, tell me, what are these questions you have?” Leaves Early asked once they'd settled down in a booth in the back corner.

Tea Leaves opened his notebook and rifled through its pages until he found what he was looking for. He had drawn a rough sketch of one of the nuclear power plants they were targeting.

“So my question is, or I should say my first question, is why doesn't the whole thing blow up like a bomb? Shouldn't we be concerned about that happening?”

Leaves Early shook her head and pointed to the part of the reactor where the uranium was. “See, when a reactor goes critical, it melts, not explodes. To get it to explode like a bomb is actually a very tricky operation. That's why a number of countries have nuclear power but not nuclear weapons.”

“I see,” Tea Leaves said, taking back his notebook and flipping through its pages once more. He paused, as if thinking, and then looked up suddenly. “My goodness I forgot about the drinks.”

Tea Leaves almost jumped to his feet as he moved to stand up.

“Oh sit down, they'll come and ask us what we want,” Leaves Early said, taking hold of Tea Leaves jacket and tugging him back towards his seat.

“I do apologize, Leaves Early,” He said, “But that's just not how we British folk do things. Now what would you like?”

Leaves Early gave him her order and Tea Leaves made his way to the bar. If it had been any other guy, Leaves Early probably wouldn't have been willing to let him get her drink like that. She knew of too many women who'd had something put in their drinks by charming young men, only to wake up the next morning with no memory of what happened once they'd finished their drink. Leaves Early laughed at the improbability of the thought of Tea Leaves doing something like that as he came back to the table with their drinks.

“What's so funny?” He asked, sliding her glass over to her.

“Oh nothing,” She said, “You're just a doll, that's all,” She took a sip from her drink.

“So what do you think?” Tea Leaves asked.

“Of what?”

“Of this?” Tea Leaves pointed to his notebook, still in front of Leaves Early.

“Oh, that,” Leaves Early stated, quickly scanning the page as she took another sip of her drink.

The writing made no sense. She looked again and blinked a couple of times trying to clear her vision.

“Are you alright?” Tea Leaves asked, reaching over and steadying her as she began to wobble in her chair.

“I don't...

“Have you had anything to eat today?” Tea Leaves asked, concern growing in his voice.

Leaves Early tried to think back through her day. She wasn't sure if she had eaten or not. She usually skipped breakfast, didn't she?

“Oh dear,” Tea Leaves was saying as he guided her out of the bar. “Alcohol on an empty stomach, what was I thinking? I am so sorry my dear, here, let me take you home. You can come back for your car later.”

Leaves Early made what she thought was a brave attempt at a nod but the world was spinning too much and her stomach threatened to mutiny if she made any such sudden movements and so she settled for a bit of a wobble of her head. Before she knew it, they were in Tea Leaves car and she was muttering directions for him to get her home. Through the nausea and delirium she could feel her embarrassment growing. Two sips, even on an empty stomach, should not have been enough to wipe her out this badly.

Leaves Early looked out the window. Several minutes passed until she realized what she was seeing. They were leaving the city.

“This ain't right,” Leaves Early was slurred as she turned to Tea Leaves.

Tea Leaves was steering with his knees as he fiddled with something in his jacket. Before Leaves Early could make out what was in his hands, Tea Leaves had pressed a small cloth up to her face, it smelled sweet.

Blackness.

IMMOLATION: Chapter 9

The large cafe was crowded; that was good. The only person who wasn't part of a larger group was a chubby, middle aged man who sipped comfortably from his cup of tea as though being alone in such a social location was the most natural thing for him to do. He looked up, smiling amiably as he was joined by a short Asian man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

“Green Tea?” the newcomer asked in his usual Japanese accent.

“Tea Leaves, actually,” the first man answered in a smooth British accent.

“Tea Leaves?” a flamboyant, high-pitched, Texan woman cried right behind the British man, making him jump and spill the rest of his tea down his front. He cursed as the hot liquid soaked into his clothes.

The young woman blushed but sat down at the table nonetheless and began dabbing a napkin on the table to help clean up. The Japanese man cleared his throat loudly as he too sat down.

“Oh right,” the young woman said, “Sorry but it's like my friends always say about me, 'she comes late and Leaves Early.'”

Green Tea and Tea Leaves exchanged glances but said nothing and Leaves Early seemed not to have noticed as she picked at split ends in the long ponytail that sprouted from the top of her head.

“Hmmm,” a deep rumbling voice drew their attention to three more newcomers to their table. A stout woman with her graying hair pulled up in a tight bun, a slightly younger man, tall and extremely muscled and the one who had spoken, an aged, ebony man. The three of them sat down, joining the others. “Perhaps,” the black man said in his powerful voice, “One could say you feel an affinity for the wise Early Bird?”

“If she is wise,” the older woman said, “Then I as light as a Bird Feather.”

There was a general chuckle around the table as Leaves Early scowled at Bird Feather. Everything about the German woman, her dress suit, her tight bun, seemed to be offended by the younger woman's ponytail, shorts and tank top.

A strong, heavy hand rested on Leaves Early's shoulder. “Let it go,” the tall, muscular man beside her said, “You're too much a Feather Weight to get into a brawl with her.”

Feather Weight inclined his head respectfully toward Bird Feather, who managed a smirk and a nod back. Leaves Early brooded, her perky enthusiasm evaporating as everyone seemed to be picking on her.

Tea Leaves leaned forward and began to speak. “Now then—

“Can I get you anything?” The barrista had noticed their large group and now stood over them with a pen and paper, ready to take down their orders.

“I'll have my usual,” Leaves Early said, her perkiness back in her voice.

The group looked, shocked, at Leaves Early but she was engrossed in some notes she was pulling out of her purse.

“Anything else?” the barrista asked pointedly to the large group.

“Green tea,” Green Tea said.

“Earl Gray,” Tea Leaves said.

“Coffee, black,” Early Bird said.

The rest of the group remained silent and the barrista left.

Tea Leaves resettled himself in his chair and began again, looking pointedly at Leaves Early, “Now then, how are things progressing?”

Leaves Early spread out a sheet of paper from her notebook and then placed it in the center of the table so all could see. The page had five squares drawn on it, one in each corner and one in the middle. Beside each square was a smattering of other shapes, circles, triangles and squiggly lines. Leaves Early smiled at her cleverness with her plan. The others didn't share her feelings.

“You mind explaining your little masterpiece here?” Feather Weight asked.

“Sorry, I forgot,” Leaves Early apologized,

“We are not surprised,” Bird Feather muttered.

Leaves Early ignored Bird Feather and took out her pen and pointed to the symbols on the page as she gave their explanation. “The squares,” she said, “represent the five targets we've agreed on. The circles,” she tapped the two squares that had circles around them, “represent the two targets with larger populations.”

Everyone around the table shifted uneasily in their seats and a few exchanged looks.

“The triangles,” Leaves Early went on, tapping the four squares that had triangles, “Are the ones with minimal risk to wildlife and other natural resources,” Leaves Early paused, her pen tapping the three squares that had squiggly lines, “And these three are the ones that are ready... timers counting.”

“Coffee, black?” the barrista asked, startling everyone at the table by how quickly she'd brought their drinks.

Early Bird nodded and accepted the mug.

“Green tea?”

Green Tea took his drink.

“Earl Gray?”

Tea Leaves let the barrista place the cup and saucer in front of him.

“Anything else?” the barrista asked.

“Just the check, I think,” Tea Leaves said solemnly.

The barrista left.

“Which one's first?” Green Tea asked. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of the square that had both a circle and a squiggle.

“This one,” Leaves Early said, pointing to a square that had no circle, “Then this one the week after,” she pointed to the other circle-free square that had a squiggle, “Then this one the week after that,” she pointed, inevitably, to the circled square. “By then, Tea Leaves and Green Tea should be done putting together the last two deliveries and...” Leaves Early tapped the last two squares, ending on the other circled square.

The barrista returned after a few minutes silence and they paid their respective bills, all in cash.

Green Tea turned his attention to Feather Weight and Bird Feather. “How are you two doing on your project?” he asked.

Bird Feather and Feather Weight straightened up and shook off the weight of their previous conversation.

“Things are going according to plan,” Feather Weight said, “Bird Feather has finished her geological studies and I've acquired the structural designs. Now it's just a matter of getting through security when the time comes.”

Bird Feather nodded solemnly in agreement.

“I will see what I can do for that,” Green Tea said, “And do you have a plan to get out once you've done what you need to do?”

Feather Weight shrugged. “I've got some ideas,” he said, “But to be honest I think this is going to be a one way trip. I mean, once it starts they're going to lock everything down, maybe even the borders so...”

Feather Weight fell silent and Tea Leaves patted him on the back.

“Don't worry, my friend,” Tea Leaves said, “We'll do everything we can to get you out.”

“Thanks,” Feather Weight said and returned Tea Leaves smile, “But it won't matter much. Once my part's over, I won't be of much use.”

Early Bird sipped down the last of his coffee and then pushed his chair out from the table. “It is time, we should be going,” he said.

They all rose to their feet, shaking hands and beginning to leave.

As Early Bird walked by Tea Leaves, Green Tea muttered to them both, “A word, please.”

The three of them hung back under the pretense of needing to use the restroom, to which Feather Weight chuckled and left telling Leaves Early a joke about old men and their unreliable bladders. The three men smiled and laughed.

Once in the restroom, Tea Leaves and Early Bird turned serious and Green Tea turned on the air hand dryer so they wouldn't be overheard.

“Leaves Early is too much of a liability,” Green Tea said, “I move that we take immediate action before her stupidity gives us away entirely.”

Tea Leaves looked shocked but Early Bird rubbed his chin, contemplating.

“Can we move forward without her at this point?” Early Bird asked.

“I believe we can,” Green Tea said.

“But,” said Tea Leaves, “She's not meaning to put us at risk.”

“That is what makes her all the more dangerous to us,” Green Tea said impatiently, “She is careless, bringing us to a place where she is well known, where people would know that we are not her usual company, to risk raising unnecessary curiosity,” Green Tea paused, glancing at his reflection in the mirror briefly, giving his plain clothes a disgusted look.

Tea Leaves took advantage of Green Tea's momentary lapse in concentration. “We've all had our turns to pick where we meet,” he said, “It was her turn and, well I won't deny she chose poorly but—

“No,” Green Tea interrupted, “To her our work is like a fad, one that she believes in,” he added quickly when Tea Leaves looked like he was about to object, “But a fad nonetheless and that is not enough,” Green Tea turned to Early Bird. “Can she be excluded from now on without further risk to ourselves?”

The hand dryers stopped and Green Tea pressed their buttons once again to keep their conversation masked from any listening ears.

“She may take offense,” Early Bird said.

“Yes,” Tea Leaves agreed quickly, “And you know what they say about a woman scorned.”

Green Tea and Early Bird gave Tea Leaves puzzled looks.

“You can't trust them,” Tea Leaves explained, “Yes, I quite see what you're saying Green Tea, she can't be left to put us at risk. Shall I take care of it?”

The other two men appraised Tea Leaves, considering his sudden change on the subject.

“Do you believe you can?” Green Tea asked.

“What do you mean? Of course I can.”

“You do seem to be fond of her,” Early Bird stated, “Only Feather Weight seems to be more taken with her than you.”

“Oh please,” Tea Leaves scoffed, “She's nothing but a piece of meat attracting dogs.”

Green Tea and Early Bird still looked unconvinced.

“Perhaps I should take care of her,” Early Bird said and a fire burned in his eyes that neither of the other men had seen before.

“No, no, I'll do it,” Tea Leaves assured the others, “I'll take her out for drinks, pretend to have a question or something about physics. I'll slip her a little something into her drink. She won't even feel it's affects until we're back in the car and she'll be dead before afternoon tea.”

The hand dryers continued to buzz in the otherwise empty bathroom.

After a few moments, Green Tea nodded. “Just don't fall back into the habit of slipping young women drugged drinks.”

Tea Leaves nodded soberly. “Not to worry,” he said, “I've learned my lesson.”

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.

IMMOLATION: Chapter 7

Ring...

         ...Ring...

                     ...Ring...

“Hello?” Joan's voice came over the receiver.

“Hi, Joan,” Matt began excitedly, she hadn't answered his last few calls and he was beginning to think that she was avoiding him. “How are—

“Just kidding,” Joan's voice interrupted. “I'm not able to come to the phone right now so please leave me a message. Thanks, bye.”

Matt hung up and ran a hand through his hair. Greasy. He hadn't showered in a few days and it was beginning to take its toll. Old habits died hard, and besides, it wasn't as if he had any reason to clean himself up. The Bleeding Edge had been less than impressed with his last couple of entries and they failed to send him a new assignment to work on after he finished the last one.

Matt eyed the filing cabinet beside his desk where he sat. Countless papers stacked on top of it were covered in a fine layer of dust; he hadn't touched it since his college days. Inside lay every note he'd ever taken, every piece of homework he'd ever turned in and every test he'd ever taken. And at the very back of the bottom drawer, beneath a stack of photographs, Matt had hidden away the small, carefully bound pages that had ruined his life, the pages that could change the world. Matt had stopped going through the filing cabinet years ago but he couldn't bring himself to throw it out. Everything that his studies meant to him, everything he still dreamed of accomplishing, held him back.

Matt ran a finger over the piece of paper on the top of the stack. The contrast between the dust and the clean stripe stood out beneath the lamplight. His desk was slightly better but only because of the frequent work he did at his computer. He swiveled around in his chair and looked around. His one room apartment was cluttered with dirty laundry, cast off food wrappers and remnants of partially eaten food in varying degrees of molding. The smell, though he was immune from exposure, he was sure would stagger anyone else. Even the rats seemed to have left out of disgust, that or the filth was so deep now that they were simply burrowing beneath and out of sight. Small trails lead through the mess where his walking had packed down the debris.

“I'm a mess” Matt said aloud to the empty apartment and he leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. Cobwebs. Matt cringed and looked down to his feet. A cockroach, ignoring the light from his lamp, was crawling over his bare foot.

Matt jumped to his feet and put an end to the brazen roach with his eager stamping. Matt's face contorted as the goo between his toes squelched unpleasantly and he marched awkwardly over to his sink. Ignoring the dishes, he lifted his foot into the basin and rinsed off the bits that didn't come off during the walk over.

Matt tried to tell himself that it was because he didn't have time to clean, that his work and his research prevented him from doing more. Perhaps it started out that way, while he was still in college. But now, if Matt was perfectly honest with himself, he had no excuses.

Matt put his clean, if not wet, foot back down on the floor where it immediately gathered a new layer of filth. He let out a sigh that sounded more like a grunt. The depression that had been threatening to strike for the last several days seemed to rise up before him out of the piles of garbage. The frustration and self-loathing that so often accompany depression weren't far behind and he thought he could just make out the shady form of paranoia taking up the rear.

Matt shut his eyes. He unclenched his fists that he hadn't realized were clenched and steadied his breathing. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and his head throbbed with each pulse. The pressure mounted and Matt turned back to the sink. A drink of water always did wonders to calm the nerves. He grabbed the first glass he could find in the sink and filled it with water. As he brought it to his lips he saw the crushed back half of the cockroach from before, still twitching, floating in the glass.

The glass shattered against the wall feet from where Matt stood, spraying his face with chunks of glass and littering the floor with near impossible to find shards.

Silence, for a moment, as the shock and the sadness turned to rage. Matt swept the counter clean with one fluid motion, scattering dishes across his apartment. He grabbed piles of junk and threw them at other piles as if that would somehow punish them for existing. Sharp pain erupted in his left foot as one of the pieces of glass pierced it. Matt swore, trying to shift his weight to the right, overcompensated, and fell. The disturbed piles of trash tumbled down over his face as he hit the floor and he distinctly felt the scratching of tiny, clawed feet scurrying across his body as a family of rats sought refuge from the terror. Matt twitched but knew the rats had already left him for some other hidden burrowing spot.

Blood ran down his left foot and tickled slightly. It helped distract from everything else. Minutes passed and still he lied there, feeling the warm trickle along the sole of his foot, listening as the garbage settled around him.

Ring...

         ...Ring...

                     ...Ring...

Matt fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone and drew it out right before the call went to voice mail.

“Hello?” The utter defeat in his voice seemed to carry loud and clear through the phone and it was a few seconds before the person on the other side answered.

“Is Matt there?” a female voice asked.

“This is Matt,” he droned, “Who is this?”

“This is Joan Darcy.”

Matt sat up, sending the trash that had fallen on top of him flying. Excitement surged through him where despair had been before.

“Joan, hi. How are you? Thanks for returning my call,” Matt spoke at double speed, unable to control himself. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding my calls, silly really, I know but that's what—

“Tomorrow,” Joan interjected before Matt could go any further.

“I, what?” Matt asked as he'd been too distracted by being interrupted to actually be able to tell what the interruption was.

“Tomorrow,” Joan repeated, “Tomorrow, for an interview, if that works for you.”

Matt scrambled to his feet, still limping on his injured foot and having to stifle several grunts and groans on his way to his desk.

“Okay,” he said as he pulled out his planner and flicked it open to the following day: blank. “I've got a spot in the afternoon and one in the evening.”

“I was actually hoping for a morning slot,” Joan said.

“Umm,” Matt feigned looking up and down his planner even though Joan couldn't see him.

“It's just that tomorrow's my burn day and I thought you'd like to come and, I don't know, take some readings, and then afterwords we could have the interview.”

Matt blinked. Sure he'd been upset about not getting an interview with Joan, but neither had anyone else and now she was handing herself over to him on a silver platter. Regardless of how he felt about working for The Bleeding Edge, he needed the job and an interview with Joan Darcy would surely make up for his recent, less than exemplary pieces.

“Hello?” Joan asked through the silence.

“Oh, sorry, I was shuffling some other appointments,” Matt lied, “Morning would be fine. What time and where?”

“Meet me at nine in front of those steps I pushed you down before,” Joan said with a hint of a laugh.

Matt hesitated. “You're not going to push me down them again, I hope.”

Joan laughed in earnest and said, “You'll just have to risk it if you want that interview, bye,” and she hung up.

“Bye,” Matt said to the cell phone and pocketed it once again.

He sat, silent again and staring down at where he'd written down his appointment with Joan in his planner. The reality of it finally settled on him and he leaped up from his chair, “Yes!” he cried out and then immediately winced and fell back onto the chair as the piece of glass in his foot reminded him that it was still there.