Free Burn Patterns by Ron Elliott Page A

other prisoners who had access to cigarette lighting items. By all accounts, he probably should not be given knives either.
    Iris elected to see him in a secure interview room. He was escorted by a psych nurse into the room where Iris sat at a fixed table.
    He brightened when he saw her.
    â€˜Jodie Foster.’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜It was a joke, Iris Foster. Not a mad thing.’ He grinned, slightly apologetic.
    The psych nurse handcuffed him to an eyelet set in the table. He was compliant. Said, ‘Thanks, Brad.’
    Brad retreated to the corner of the room, but stayed standing.
    â€˜Yet, here you are, James.’
    She indicated the room. His handcuffs.
    He seemed pained, not so much at the predicament, but at her lack of tact.
    Iris said, ‘Why do you think that is, James? Why do you suppose people think you are mad?’
    â€˜I thought it was still under investigation. Dr Silverberg and you and the psychiatrists here. You’re trying to work that out, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Do you think people are taken randomly off the streets?’
    â€˜I’m not sure. It’s possible. An awful lot of sick people are walking the streets, mumbling on buses. It’s a conspiracy theory worth exploring. At least worth a TV series. I’ll share the writing credits with you, Iris.’
    â€˜Can you think of nothing which might have led to your current … predicament?’
    â€˜Ah. Yes. The fires.’
    â€˜Yes?’
    He allowed himself to remember the fires, to look at them again. His lips moved as though he were praying or searching for words. He blinked rapidly, shook his head, to finally look up at Iris, as though by surprise. ‘Maybe Earth people do this to all the Martians they find.’
    â€˜Tell me about being a Martian, James.’
    â€˜Tell me about being a human, Iris.’
    â€˜Sure. I live on Earth. You might call me an Earthling. My planet has large amounts of water. We humans live on land. There are fish in the sea and birds in the air and lots of plants which produce oxygen. Humans breathe oxygen with our lungs. We have gravity. We walk on two legs. We have opposable thumbs, which means we can hold things. Important for juggling, I’d imagine.’
    â€˜Not really. Not as important as you might think.’
    â€˜For picking pockets?’
    â€˜Again, not like you’d think. These two fingers are longer and together.’ He waggled his free hand. ‘That’s more misdirection.’
    â€˜Can you see Earth from Mars?’
    â€˜Yes. We have telescopes, antennas. We can watch your television.’
    â€˜How convenient.’
    â€˜Well, a poisoned chalice, surely.’
    Iris smiled.
    He laughed.
    Iris brought herself back to task. ‘Why haven’t we seen you?’
    â€˜We live underground, Iris.’
    Iris scowled.
    â€˜It’s bloody hot, Iris. The red planet.’
    â€˜It’s not red.’
    â€˜Ha. Good. No, it looks red because of the iron. It’s not very hot. It’s very cold because we are further away from the sun than you. Did you know Mars only gets forty-three per cent of the sunlight Earth gets?’
    â€˜I didn’t know. I imagine I could google it though.’
    He was disappointed in her again. Perhaps for not playing. ‘I’m sure you could.’
    â€˜So, why do you live underground?’
    â€˜Well, it’s cold, but mostly because the atmosphere is thinning. We get pounded by asteroids, the surface water has gone, the dust storms are pretty bad. A great place for an adventure holiday.’
    Iris made notes. She suspected they could bat around Mars facts all day. Of more importance was the coherence of his fantasy buttressed by these external facts. It appeared well practised. Maybe he’d been making his way with this act for quite some time – a good gypsy trick. A bit of juggling. A tale told. A pocket picked.
    â€˜You can put down that the surface