One Rule - No Rules

by Lawrence Ambrose

  Thalma dropped to her feet, gravity suddenly restored. She caught his arm as he reached for the door. He turned to her, his face and beard glowing with supernatural red and golden light.

  "No," she said. "We're staying inside."

  With a mischievous smile, Louis leaned in and kissed her. Their lips seem to fuse. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him and was bathed in a buzzing, hissing electrical light that filled her brain and blasted down through her groin to the tips of her toes. His lips retreated, but the connection seemed to remain. She opened her eyes. His eyes were inches from hers.

  "You taste like music," he said.

  "You look like a god."

  "Ha! Which one?"

  "Bacchus?"

  "Hey, I always wanted to be a sex god!"

  He caressed her face. His hand sent shivers through her. She thought it was the most touching, tender gesture anyone had ever made toward her. He leaned in, his lips brushing the lobe of her ear.

  "Let's go upstairs," he murmured. "To your bedroom."

  "It's too soon."

  "Why?" He kissed her neck. Ecstasy blossomed from where his mouth touched. "You feel so fantastic. You don't feel it?"

  "I feel too much," she moaned. "That's dangerous for you."

  "You'd crush me in your powerful arms?"

  She shook her head in helpless resistance. Every second in his arms stripped away more of her willpower. The longing to have him...to be had by him – in every possible way – rose in her like a fire that could not be quenched. The layers of self-protection, built up over years of being alone, were peeling away, and she was afraid of what might be exposed.

  "Okay," Louis sighed, loosening his grip. "It's just so beautiful. You're so beautiful."

  "It's just the drug, Louis."

  "No, it's what I felt...what I've wanted...from the beginning."

  "Be careful what you wish for."

  Thalma closed her eyes, her thoughts and feelings spinning. She felt as if she had been swept up in a whirlpool and was being dragged to the bottom of the fucking ocean. She vaguely registered that as Louis was releasing her, she was tightening her arms around him. I can't let him go, she thought. And then: Don't hurt him.

  They lifted off the floor and shot upward like a NASA rocket lifting off. The spiral staircase whizzed by. They landed in the upstairs hallway and glided into Thalma's bedroom. She tossed him on the bed. For the first time, Louis's eyes showed concern.

  "Dude," he said. "Like be gentle, okay?"

  "Too late," she said.

  LOUIS STIRRED awake with a groan.

  Timpani beat in his head in rhythm to his thumping heart. His body was sore, inside and out, in places and ways he hadn't thought possible. It was as if he'd run a marathon and then fallen down a rocky cliff and landed on something sharp.

  He remembered the afternoon and night as a kaleidoscope of images and sensations – moments of mind-blowing pleasure mixed with moments of shocking pain, events obviously real joined with events which were surely not real. At least he hoped they weren't.

  Thalma was right about being dangerous, that much he recalled clearly. Whoever wrote "love hurts" could've been describing Thalma. When she pulled you to her, he thought, you got whiplash. Bumping into her body was like bumping into a steel statue. But God, when you got past all the hardness and reached her soft, molten core...

  All the hardness, he thought, clapping a hand to his forehead. That was the part he must've imagined. That part where they were spooning, and then – Whoa! Burning, stretching, ripping as a fireball of pain thrust into him. At the time, he remembered crying out, but Thalma had him in a body lock and was grinding against him so urgently that struggle wasn't an option. He figured his cool trip had taken a turn for the nightmarish. A brief turn, because minutes later they were kissing and swimming in ecstasy again.

  Louis slid one wary hand around his rump, grimacing. His asshole felt like the recipient of the proverbial hot poker. There had to be a sane explanation for it. Well, maybe not entirely sane, but reasonable. Was she into some kinky domination thing involving a dildo?

  He rolled out of Thalma's bed, muscles and thoughts creaking, and pulled on his clothes. He smelled scrambled eggs and sausage halfway down the steps.

  "Morning," Thalma greeted him as he limped into the kitchen.

  "Uh, good morning."

  Louis hesitated, wondering if he should go over and kiss or hug her. She stood with her back to him at the stove, flashing him an awkward smile, but giving him no encouragement. He lowered himself gingerly into a chair at the table.

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  "A bit sore, but yeah. You?"

  "Aside from feeling like I have cotton in my brain." She turned off the stove and dumped the pan of eggs onto two plates. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

  "I think every molecule in my body is crying out for food."

  "Mine, too. Something to drink?"

  "Water, I think."

  She brought over the plates and water, not quite meeting his gaze.

  "Man," he groaned, "that was one wild trip. I've done LSD, DMT, and salvia, and this dwarfed all those in weirdness." He frowned at her as she pulled up a chair. "That flying was completely realistic. It didn't seem like a hallucination at all."

  "It wasn't."

  Louis choked on his eggs. He grabbed his glass and guzzled half of its water before coming up for air. He wiped his face with a paper towel, not taking his eyes off her.

  "No way," he said.

  "I watched the video this morning. Unless someone inserted special effects during the night..." She shrugged.

  "You don't even seem that shocked. Do you know what that means, Thalma? That's not just a hallucinogen – that shit can make someone into a freaking superhero."

  "I don't remember you being able to levitate."

  "True." He released some of the pent-up air in his lungs and sagged onto his elbows. "But if it had that effect on you, why not others?"

  "Maybe I'm not like other people."

  "You're human aren't you?"

  "As far as I know."

  Louis raised an eyebrow. "Then?"

  "I'm just saying that I am significantly different physically from most people. We can't assume that drug would have the same effects on someone else."

  "I know you're different," said Louis. "But something about the way you said that makes me think you're even more different than I'm thinking."

  "I guess that depends what you're thinking." Thalma smiled, but he wasn't smiling back. Had the time finally come – the time she'd been dreading – for her 'big reveal'?

  "I was thinking about last night." He drank some water, avoiding her eyes. "I assumed it was part of the hallucination, but since you apparently really did fly, and my ass feels like it got stuck with a cattle prod..."

  "It wasn't a cattle prod."

  "Then what was it?" His face was coloring. "A dildo?"

  "It was me."

  Louis raised his eyes to meet hers. He didn't see a hint of humor in her expression.

  "You're telling me..." He cleared his throat – once, then twice. "You're a...transsexual?"

  She shook her head. "Hermaphrodite – though that's not quite right, either. I'm mostly female – that's my dominant or default identity – but I also contain within me a male. I can even change my form completely to male. I did that a few days ago, when I left here."

  Louis's mouth was hanging open. After a moment, he closed it and covered it with his paper towel napkin. He wiped his face slowly, his hand shaking.

  "You're not fucking with me, are you?"

  "No." She forced a smile. "Though I did last night."

  "Not funny." He smacked the paper towel on the table. "I am not gay."

  "Neither am I."

  "You just said you fucked me."

  Thalma shrugged.

  "All right." His dark brown eyes were as hard as agates. "What else are you not telling me about yourself? Might as
well get it all out."

  "So you can judge me?"

  "So I can finally know who you are. All of you."

  "I have some telekinetic ability."

  "Really? Prove it."

  Thalma grunted out a hiss, thrusting her hand toward the end of the table. Louis gave a jerk as a salt shaker jumped off the table and bounced on the floor.

  "No freaking way," he whispered.

  "And there's this."

  Thalma got up and grabbed a steak knife, drawing it across the back of her hand, slicing deeply. From where he sat, Louis could see muscle bared nearly to the bone.

  "Jesus! Are you crazy?"

  She just stared at him as she held her dripping hand over the sink. In a few seconds, the dripping stopped. Another few seconds, and she washed the blood off her hand. She walked back over and presented it to him. He bent his head for a closer inspection. The flesh that had been gaping a few seconds before had now come together in a thin line. Louis touched the vanishing wound.

  "I have no scars on my body," she said. "No moles, no birthmarks, not even a patch of dried skin. No blemishes of any kind."

  Louis jerked his fingers back from her hand as if from a fire. "Then what are you? Some kind of mutation?"

  "I don't know."

  Thalma stood with her head hung, feeling in ineffable sadness. Before she knew it, a single tear spilled from her eye and struck the table by Louis's right hand.

  "You're crying?" His voice rose in disbelief.

  Thalma turned away. She moved to the kitchen window, and gazed out on the backyard. Socrates perched on the back porch, a stoic statue, his eyes riveted to the small rabbit nibbling grass at the far edge of the lawn. When it came closer, perhaps he would bother to take action. She felt a strong urge to rush out there and wrap her arms around him – to bury her face in his short, dense fur.

  She shivered as Louis walked up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to judge you. It's just a lot to take in, you know?"

  "I know."

  "Have you ever seen a doctor? Had someone check you out?"

  "A couple of times when I was a kid. A doctor told me I had two hearts when I was four."

  "Two hearts? Wow. Maybe that explains some of your strength. Have you ever considered, like, contacting a lab, having them do some tests on you?"

  "I don't need lab tests to know I'm a freak."

  Louis squeezed her shoulders. He felt daring enough to ease and rest his chin on the back of her neck. What was the worst she could do – snap his neck like a twig? He grimaced.

  "Everyone's a freak," he said.

  Thalma smiled. She longed to reach up and hold his hands, but didn't want to press her luck.

  "I'm sorry about last night," she said. "I wouldn't have done that under normal circumstances. The drug screwed up my judgment."

  "Yeah." Louis backed away, returning to his scrambled eggs at the table. "That stuff is incredibly powerful. I wonder what it's worth?"

  "Even if it were only standard LSD, it might be worth a few million wholesale. Retail, maybe a hundred times that. But I'm sure this is something special. It's wilder than my Purple Haze." She turned to Louis with a smile. "None of my stuff has ever made me fly."

  "You know, people always say that some drugs can let you experience another reality. I was one of them for a short while, and then decided it was wishful thinking bullshit. But last night was real, wasn't it? We flew up to the bedroom?"

  "Yup."

  "I'd like to see the video."

  Thalma's smile was thin. "You won't take my word?"

  "I think it's just one of those things I need to see for myself."

  "It's on my upstairs computer, in the file Housewife. The password is Socrates 2012. Enjoy it, because I'll be transferring it to a more secure computer tomorrow."

  She stepped aside as he brought over his plate and washed it out in the sink. "All the advanced technology in the world around us, but no dishwasher," he said.

  "I guess I like a few things 'old school.'"

  "Yeah." He faced her. "So is that it? No other secrets?"

  "Do you think you have the right to know everything about me?"

  Louis would normally have shrunk before her cool-eyed stare, but this time he held his ground and stared right back into her hard blue eyes.

  "That depends," he said. "If you want to just be business associates or if you want something more."

  "Do you still want something more, after last night?"

  "I don't know. Maybe." His attempt at a smile faltered. "That depends on what you want, I guess, and how willing you are to be totally up front with me."

  "I was just more upfront with you than with anyone else."

  "Also, sorry, but I'm not a backdoor man, you know? My derriere is off-limits."

  "Not a problem. Unless you're telling me I can't pinch it."

  "That's negotiable, I guess."

  They both ventured smiles. Louis stepped closer, resting his hands on her granite shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his slim waist and pulled him gently in, nestling her cheek against his. A highlight reel from last night started playing in Louis's mind – the contrast of her hardness and strength with her incredible softness as he entered her again and again – and his body started to respond. Thalma's grip around his waist tightened.

  "Um." He cleared his throat. "I probably should get to work."

  "Yes. Me, too. I have a pile of paperwork to sort through. And I want to save a sample of the powder."

  "Not a bad idea." He smiled. "You never know when you might want to fly again."

  After she'd sealed away a couple of ounces worth of the powder – a tiny percentage of which she'd send to her chemist - Thalma jogged out through the backdoor, waving Socrates along for their usual morning run. Though he'd chase the occasional squirrel, he wasn't inclined to venture far from the house or do much by way of exercise. She believed their daily runs and "wrestling matches" were critical to keeping him young and strong for as long as possible.

  She jogged out a half-mile to a private patch of soft grass ringed by trees. Loose and limber, Soc was now at his peak strength. Thalma smiled and parted her hands – their private signal to commence mayhem.

  Socrates charged without ado, leaping for her throat. She caught him with both hands in the chest, driving him back to the ground. He snapped at her hands, but she danced away, out of reach. He charged again, snarling with mock fury, and this time she allowed him to knock her to the ground. Pinning her on her back, Socrates lunged again for her throat. She stopped him inches from her face, her hands clamped on his shoulders as he pushed forward, slathering, with every muscle in his body, his toenails digging into her legs and chest. She surged upward and twisted, flipping him on his back. He struggled and snapped and clawed like a whirling dervish. She got her hands around his throat and forced him down.

  "You're mine, bitch," she laughed.

  Those words always triggered a renewed ferocity – as if he understood the taunt – and this time was no exception. He exploded into a fury of fangs and squirming muscle, and she allowed herself to be thrown on her back. This time, however, she locked her legs around his body and twisted sideways, slowly forcing him onto his side. She wrapped him up from behind, her face close to his head.

  "Still mine, creampuff," she breathed into his ear.

  Now Socrates was truly pissed off. He writhed so hard that Thalma wondered if he'd squirm out of his skin. I really shouldn't torment him like that. As strong as Socrates was, she still had to hold back to avoid breaking his legs or some other body part. She'd learned that the hard way when she'd tossed him through the air in one of their first sessions, and he'd landed wrong. He wasn't some damn cat. Maybe I should adopt a leopard, she thought with a smile.

  Socrates seemed to notice her smile, and got even angrier. He thrashed and snarled as though his very life depended on escaping her clutches. His snapping, frothing jaws ca
me within inches of her grinning face.

  Then they both froze as the sheriff department cruiser skidded to a halt at the grass's edge, and Sheriff Martson scrambled out, reaching for his gun.

  "Stop!" Thalma shouted, and tightened her grip around Socrates to prevent him from leaping up to confront the threat. "We're just playing!"

  "Playing? He looked like he was trying to kill you." The Sheriff's taut expression loosened a notch. He let his hand fall from his pistol.

  Thalma rolled to her feet and dusted herself off, her face a cold mask as she eyed the sheriff. "I thought we were finished."

  "With the evasion charge, yes," he said. "This is something else." He fished an envelope from his back pocket. "I have a summons for Louis Maxwell. He's moved out of his apartment without any forwarding address, so I thought you might know where I can find him."

  "Why would you think that?"

  "Call it a hunch. And looking down your driveway, I believe I can see his car parked in front of your house."

  "You must have very good eyes."

  "I own binoculars." He raised his palms to her. "Look, Miss Engstrom, I don't know what's going on between you and Mr. Maxwell, and at this point I don't care. That ship sailed when he signed off on the county prosecutor deal. This summons is about financial matters."

  Thalma placed a calming hand on Socrates' head. She could feel his aggressive energy feeding on the sheriff's authoritarian stance. He was obedient to her will under almost all circumstances, but still, he was Socrates – with his own ideas about things – and there was always the chance that he might override her commands in the heat of the moment.

  "I realize you could tell me that you know nothing and ask me to leave," said Sheriff Martson, "but that would just mean we'd keep looking around for him, wasting taxpayer money and bothering people, until we find him. Eventually, he'll be served. So if that's his car in front of your house, which I'm sure it is, and if you're a friend of his, which I'm sure you are, then what's the point in delaying the inevitable?"

  "Whose 'financial matters' are involved?" Thalma asked.

  "I can't tell you that. But I'm sure he will."