Chet's May Newsletter

Short Story-LOSING CONTROL

Hi, happy readers in the merry, merry month of May. Hope you’re outdoor plans are heating up for a great Summer.

I’ve been cooking something up.

Something better than this yummy frittata with sausage, green chili, cheese and potatoes I made. Yep.. sumthin’ better

It’s a new flash fiction piece about a university professor who’s wife is away for a weekend. A former student knocks on his door. A deadly game of manipulation begins that shatters his life. Who's really pulling the strings?"

LOSING CONTROL is a fast-paced exploration of themes: control, obsession, and self-deception. In only two thousand words (about a ten-minute read) nothing is as it seems in this psychological thriller with a killer twist.

Enjoy!

LOSING CONTROL

Friday, Michelle left me standing at the front door on my birthday. On her way out, she planted a kiss on my cheek and apologized for missing my fiftieth. She sort of half-chuckled and was off with her three girlfriends to a weekend conference in Denver.

Sunday.

I’ve had no wake-up alarm to contend for two whole days. It's been nonstop football on TV, burgers, chips n' dip, and beer. It’s been great. But I still think Michelle has some birthday gift up her sleeve for me.

Occasionally, a little time away is a good thing for a marriage. Especially a marriage on the mend after going through a rough patch like ours last year. I’m a University Professor who had an affair with a student. One of mine. I lost control with her. All behind me now. I'm in solid control of my life again. The only indiscretion I may still have is that I admire young ladies on campus from afar. But that’s it.

So, Michelle’s due back today, but she forgot her keys. I'll have to pick her up at the airport.

I’ve cleaned the house, changed the sheets, and vacuumed. Everything ready for her return.

The doorbell rings.

"Hello, professor."

I'm shocked to see who it is. "Ruby! My gosh. What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

I step back. "Of course. What can I do for you?"

With arms folded, she tells me, in a sultry Bette Davis voice, "I'm here about my standing in your class."

Ruby Aldana. The magnetic personality brainbox from my Comparative Lit Class last year and now in my Drama and Theatre class. She may be the most aggressive, intelligent, young academic student I've ever had in all my years of lecturing. But there's also a dangerous side to her—she demands male attention. She's sexy, knows it, and uses it. She's a provocateur who gets off on infuriating female classmates. The discord she causes in class delights her. Ruby was the one I lost control over. We, or I should say I, escaped my wife’s wrath somehow with little to no damage to our marriage.

Phew.

I lick my lips. "Ruby, you're making an A. What's your concern?"

"Oh, professor. You know it's not about my grade. It's about you and me."

My jaw drops.

"You never notice me anymore. What’s up?"

My brow furrows. "Ruby." I sigh. "You shouldn't be here."

"But I'm the best student in your class, professor. Right? But it doesn’t seem like I’m your pet anymore? I know you still want me."

I run fingers through my hair and purse my lips. "I thought we had an understanding, Ruby. What we did last year was wrong. And it's over."

"Wrong? How so?"

"How so?" I swallow hard and change the subject. "You're getting a good grade. Isn't that enough?"

"No. No, it's not." She throws her arms around my neck; we stumble backward, pinning me against the wall.

"Do you have clean sheets on the bed, professor?"

"Yes," I blush. "Yes, I do, but..."

She interrupts, "But not for long. Right?" She grabs my hand.

But my phone buzzes and vibrates. "It's Michelle. She's due home anytime. You gotta go, Ruby."

"Oh, no. I need to talk with your wife." She knocks the phone out of my hand; it bounces on the hardwood floor.

"What is wrong with you, girl? Are you trying to get me thrown out of my home and lose my family?"

"We're meant to be together, professor. I learned that with you last year."

The phone buzzes and vibrates, oscillating on the floor.

"I really need to take that call, Ruby."

"No," she says, leaning into me, full breasts pressed to my chest. She smells like eucalyptus. "Come on, let's go upstairs, professor."

I playfully push her away to end the madness and tweak her nose. "Ruby, Ruby, come on, Rube. I'm happily married. You know that."

"Liar."

I scratch at my chin, deliberating how to go about this, considering she might be crazy enough to recant the story she gave to Michelle last year, absolving me of any wrongdoing.

"You shouldn't be here, Ruby."

"Why?"

"You know why. So now, please leave."

She glances around and then runs a finger down my cheek. "Your house is nice, comfortable, and expensive. We can have the same."

"Ruby, this is not funny."

With a slight smirk, she turns coy, brushing a finger across my chin. “Once we get your wife out of the picture, we can create great programs with my smarts and your scholarly intellectual talents."

This is getting out of hand.

"You need to stop this right now. This isn't funny anymore. Now go. Get out. I don't want you here when Michelle gets home."

Her face turns severe. She's off in a huff, running upstairs without a word.

"Ruby, where are you going?” I follow, telling her to stop this charade."

On the landing, she turns to tell me she knows my fire still burns for her. "I'm here to help you with your research."

"Help me how?"

"I'll be available to satisfy you any time, day or night. It’ll free you up to concentrate on your research."

"You're not serious."

"Serious as a heart attack, buster.” She walks away, finds the bedroom, and flops on the bed.

I hear my phone downstairs buzzing again. It’s Michelle. She leaves a message. "Call me ASAP, John."

I glare at Ruby. Explaining that Michelle needs a ride from the airport.

"She's a big girl, professor. She'll find her way home. Are you going to explain about us when she gets here?"

Stunned, I scratch my scalp and watch her walk into our closet and yank Michelle's dresses off hangers for a look. Then mumbles as she drops them on the floor. "If you won't tell her about us then I will, baby."

"Ruby, you're not going to be here when she arrives. You're leaving right now."

"Hey." She finds a box and comes out, opening it. "Is this yours?"

"No, give me that."

She yanks it back and lifts out a handgun. "So, this is hers? Why does she need a gun?"

I snatch it away.

"Man. I don't like the way you're treating me, professor. You're not the same sweet, charming lover I got to know when you were helping me refine my dramatic acting career. What's gotten into you?"

I toss the gun on the bed and grab her arm in frustration. "Let's go."

She jerks free and goes to opening jars and bottles on Michelle's cosmetic vanity.

I slap her hand away. "Would you quit that!"

She cuffs me across the face. I instinctively respond with an open fist, knocking her to the floor.

"Oh, God, Ruby. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that."

She's up, grabs the gun, and slams it into my head. I stumble back and fall, bleeding from a gash in the hairline. She stands over me with the gun pointed at my face. "It wasn't supposed to be like this, professor.

"Are you gonna shoot me, Ruby?"

"What? Are you crazy? Why would I do that? I’m not like Beth in Fatal Attraction wanting to kill her lover. How does the saying go in performing good dramatic roles? Hold back nothing, act with truth, go for it. Embrace the full range of emotions and physicality of a character. Well, how am I doin’, professor?" She throws the gun at me, then kicks me in the side as she heads to the bathroom mirror. "I think I've got a bruise where you hit me. Oh, jeez, professor, look. I do. Look what you did."

I hear the phone downstairs buzzing again. Michelle. She sounds hysterical. "Call me, John. Call me right now. I don't have my keys. I need you to pick me up."

But I can't. Fear and anger have captured me mentally and physically. I’m furious, breathing deep and fast. I stare at the girl who's about to ruin my life. Nothing else matters except my family, my marriage. Fuck... my entire life will be gone because of this girl. I grab the gun and stick it in her face. "Sorry, Ruby."

"You gonna shoot me, professor?"

Downstairs, Michelle is leaving another message. "John, for God's sake, call me. Where are you?"

Her voice and my gut tell me to stop. As I zone out, lost in the likelihood that I'll go to prison for life if I pull the trigger, Ruby gets up.

But what other options do you have?

I look up too late to see her letting loose with a snow globe taken from Michelle's vanity. I'm not fast enough to dodge it from slamming into my collarbone. A cracking noise, terrific pain. The gun bucks accidentally, a blast. I blink in time to see Ruby Aldana, my star pupil, dropping like a broken marionette in a jerky mechanical fall. A gushing hole above her right eye.

Oh, shit. Oh, no. Oh my God, what have you done?

Frozen in disbelief with the smell of burning gunpowder, I stare down at her. But she isn't a 'her' anymore. Ruby is a body, dead, a corpse, a mess on the bathroom floor.

My first thought is to run. Get rid of the body. Clean up the mess. Mexico? Canada? Costa Rica?

I lean back against the wall and slide down to the floor.

Get hold of yourself, man. Running isn’t the answer. You’re fucked.

I don't know how long I've been sitting in a daze, wondering what to do. The afternoon is darkening. I hear the doorbell.

Ding dong.

“Oh, Lord.” From the window, I see a cab pulling away. Michelle's fussing with her luggage on the doorstep. Another car pulls up in the driveway. Three of her girlfriends get out. I pull my hair, heart racing, holding back vomit.

The doorbell again- Ding dong. Ding dong.

"Oh, God."

Ding dong.

I stare at the gun on the floor. There’s your answer.

Michelle texts. John, where are you?

I consider the gun option again.

Ding dong.

She bangs on the door shouting, "John, let me in, I have to pee."

I reluctantly stagger down the stairs and open the door.

"Where have you been, John? I've been calling you." She frowns at the blood on my face. "What happened? Some kind of accident?"

"Something like that."

One of her girlfriends, Ginger, an obnoxious redhead bitch, sticks her head in the door, in front of Michell and asks bluntly, "Is Ruby still here?"

I almost swallow my tongue in panic. “What?”

Ginger pushes past Michelle, into the hall, looking up at me. "How'd she do? Was it worth it?

I want to bite her head off.

She continues, “Bet it was a surprise, huh? Ruby’s such a good actor. Everything she’s learned, she learned from you. Michelle thought how good an idea it would be to pull off a dramatic performance for your birthday. Let you see how convincing one of your students learned to act."

I glare at the little pinhead. Then over at my wife. “You did this, Michelle?”

Ginger answers for her. "Yeah, she did. Was she convincing enough for you?"

I feel my face blanch. “So, you’re saying that was all an act.”

Michelle cowers, lowers her head, and pushes past me. "I gotta pee." On her way up the stairs, she shouts at Ginger, “Time to go home. Bye-bye.” She looks down at me for a curious second, then continues up and disappears down the hall towards the bedroom.

I push Ginger out and close the door. Then wait for Michelle’s scream. It never comes. Instead, she casually returns to the landing and leans over the railing with hands clasped. “I had no idea it would go this far. Oh, well. Better get your ass up here and let’s clean up this mess.”

My jaw drops.

Climbing the stairs, I realize Michelle had planned the confrontation between Ruby and me to see who would lose control. Turns out both of us did.

Michelle’s ploy was beautiful. Except for the death. My wife is in control of this family. Always has and always will be.

The horror of what I did washes over me like ice water.

---

There you have it. Did you figure it out early? Was it a twist? I’d like to know.

Or maybe just a cup of coffee?

THANK YOU!

Also, check out my weekly Substack posts and my website, chetbakerauthor.com for my books, on Amazon. A new one is on the way.