𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘
"My History Teacher is more than a Teacher"
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Mr. Anderson clenched his jaw as he grunted, reaching down to pick up the towel that had dropped on the ground. His movements were firm and purposeful.

Mr. Anderson retrieved his weapon from me, his gaze never Leaving my face. He walked calmly back to his desk, placing the weapon down on the surface before dusting off his hands. "Now," he said, his voice firm and commanding.

As he finished dusting off his hands, Mr. Anderson spoke again, his tone measured. "I'm sure that you have some questions," he said, acknowledging the curiosity that must be swirling within me.

I couldn't help but stare in confusion, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I responded, "You think?"

"Why do you have that?" I raised my eyebrow.

Mr. Anderson shifted his gaze, his eyes roaming over my towel-clad figure. He let out a sigh before stating, "Let's talk once you're dressed, shall we?"

Mr. Anderson held out a pair of his wife's clothes that she couldn't fit anymore, offering them to me. I ignored his offer and reached into his closet instead, pulling out one of his t-shirts. The entire time, my gaze was fixated on him, daring him to protest or comment.

There was a noticeable pause as Mr. Anderson observed me, his head slightly tilting as a slight smirk curled at the corners of his mouth. In response, I scowled, my annoyance evident at his amused expression.

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Mr. Anderson sat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot beside him with his other hand, a gesture for me to join him. I stood my ground, refusing his offer. "I'm fine standing," I replied, my voice laced with annoyance.

Mr. Anderson's tone was firm as he asserted, "I'm not asking you." His gaze held mine steadily, leaving no room for further argument.
Reluctantly, I let out an exasperated breath before finally complying and sitting down next to him.

"Enough of this, where were you? Why do you have a weapon and blood on your shirt?" I glared at him.

Mr. Anderson sighed, his expression growing more serious as he spoke. "Kali, I'm not just a teacher," he started, his voice measured and controlled.

Mr. Anderson's declaration hung in the air. "I work in the mafia," he admitted, his words ringing with a cold conviction.

I couldn't help but speechless, taking a moment to process his revelation.

"Oh, so you're a criminal ... and also my history teacher?" I finally managed to say.

Mr. Anderson paused, correcting my assumption. "No, Kali," he began. "I don't do criminal stuff. I help by killing criminals." His words were matter-of-fact, his gaze unwavering as he held my gaze.

I held his gaze, my expression unflinching as I questioned him. "You kill people?"
Mr. Anderson's reply was concise and resolute. "Only the bad," he replied, his voice holding a hint of a deeper truth that was yet to be revealed.

"How do you do this and be a teacher at the same time?" I asked, trying to make sense of his double life.

"I only do it on certain days, Kali."

Mr. Anderson's tone grew more serious as he brought up a grim subject. "I don't know if you've heard," he began, "but there are two murderers out there, possibly three, who are killing randoms. Someone even died in his own shop." The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, the gravity of the danger clear.

I couldn't help but gulp nervously as I listened, aware that Mr. Anderson was referring to Jae and Dylan. I looked away, my eyes focusing on the wall instead. Mr. Anderson's gaze never left me, his eyes studying my reaction intently.

Mr. Anderson had been about to ask me something, but I responded hastily, cutting him off. "No," I said abruptly, my tone firm.
He regarded me with a quizzical expression, surprised by my vehement response. I realized the tension in my voice and took a deep breath before answering again, more calmly this time. "No," I repeated, my voice steadier now.

"Alright then!" Mr. Anderson rose from the bed, dusting off his pants as he stood.

It was a habit he seemed to have, constantly brushing off any slight impurities in his attire.

"So, Miranda is cooking dinner tonight when she gets off at work."

I couldn't help but scoff.

Mr. Anderson towered over me, his tall stature emphasizing the physical power he held.
"Is there a problem, Torres?" His voice held a hint of challenge, daring me to respond.

"Actually, Yes there is."

"Hm?"

"Earlier when you weren't home, your wife tried to Drug me with her eggs and bacon." I stated Bluntly.

Mr. Anderson's tone was laced with disbelief as he asked, "Are you lying to me, Torres?"
I shook my head firmly, replying, "I'm not. But I have a feeling your wife might not tell you the truth."

"But anyways, thank you for the shirt!" I said exiting the bedroom door.

Mr. Anderson stood in silent contemplation, his jaw clenching tightly. His gaze lingered on the spot where I had been standing, his mind swirling with thoughts.

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Mr. Anderson and I sat at opposite ends of the dining table, silently observing as Miranda brought the food and placed the plates in front of us. The sound of dishes clattering echoed throughout the room.

"This one is for you honey." Miranda kissed Mr. Anderson's Cheek. 

Mr. Anderson sat stoically at the table, he didn't accept Miranda's affectionate kiss, clearing his throat instead. His response was short and devoid of warmth. "Thanks," he replied curtly.

I carefully sniffed the contents of my cup, cautiously checking for any signs of tampering after the previous incident. Satisfied, I took a small sip, my gaze shifting between Mr. Anderson and Miranda, observing their awkward displays of affection.

Miranda finally took her seat, picking up her fork as she spoke. "I made lamb chops, macaroni and cheese, and asparagus," she announced, her voice cheerful as if trying to mask the underlying tension in the room.

I made an exaggerated sniffing noise as I brought my plate closer, drawing the attention of Miranda and Mr. Anderson.

Miranda knew all too well why I was doing it, and judging by the look in his eye, so did Mr. Anderson.

Mr. Anderson mouthed a command, "Eat." His eyes focused intently on me, daring me to refuse.

Reluctantly, I picked up my fork and began to eat, my movements deliberate and slow.

The sound of utensils clinking against plates was the only thing that broke through the awkward silence.

"So honey, how was work?" she said sipping her drink.

I couldn't resist the urge to echo her question, my gaze fixed on Mr. Anderson as I added my own comment, "Yeah, how was work?" My tone was laced with a hint of challenge, pushing him to respond.

Mr. Anderson placed his fork down on the table with a deliberate pause, his eyes locked on mine. There was a flicker of irritation in his gaze, but he managed to maintain a veneer of politeness before responding to Miranda's question.

"Work was fine," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin politely.

"Where is the salt and pepper in this Macaroni," I said

"Excuse me?" Miranda glared

I took a bite of the food and made a point of grimacing slightly, feigning disappointment. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said, my voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm, "it just taste plain." My comment was directed specifically at the blandness of the food, but my eyes remained fixed on Mr. Anderson.

Across the table, Mr. Anderson's lips silently formed the words, "Stop."

"It doesn't need any Seasonings, it's Macaroni and cheese." She replied with an attitude.

Bullshit.

Mr. Anderson turned his attention from me to Miranda, his tone forcibly affectionate as he spoke. "The food is nice... dear," he said, the words coming out through clenched teeth.

"Oh please, you didn't even touch your Macaroni!" 

Miranda stood up abruptly, her anger directed at me. "Would you like it if I poured salt all over?" she shot back snidely.
Not backing down, I stood up in response, my own anger rising to meet hers. "Is that a threat?" I retorted, meeting her glare with a defiant one of my own.

Mr. Anderson's voice cut through the tension, his tone firm and authoritative. "Enough." With a decisive thud, he dropped his fork onto his glass plate.
He then turned his attention to Miranda, his gaze piercing. "Miranda," he said, his voice unwavering. "Did you try to drug Torres? And don't even think about lying to me; you know how much I loathe liars."

"I—

Miranda's gaze fixated on me as the realization set in that I had told on her.

"Don't look at her, look at me."
Mr. Anderson's commanding tone echoed through the room.

"Y—yes." she said

Mr. Anderson let out a deep sigh, his gaze unwavering as he asked, "Where did you get the powder from?"

"From A person."

"Obviously! But Who!?" I interfered

"Shh." He said

Mr. Anderson furrowed his brow, deep in thought. "I don't know. They were wearing a black hoodie," Miranda responded, her voice wavering slightly. "They told me to not say anything. They didn't give me a name. They just came up to me and ask if I would like to buy it."

"I thought about Kali," Miranda admitted, her voice laced with a mixture of unease and guilt. "And bought it."

Miranda's voice took on a more fearful tone as she spoke. "They said... if I say something—," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "They'll kill me." The threat hanging over her became tangible, her fear palpable in the room.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, a text message notification catching my attention. I quickly fished it out, glancing at the new message displayed on the screen. The sender's number was unknown, and the message was sent anonymously, adding to the already strange circumstances.

The text message says:
"You know what happens when people talk."- A (Anonymous)

I glanced up from my phone, my gaze shifting between Miranda and Mr. Anderson. Miranda's fear was evident, her body language betraying her unease. Meanwhile, Mr. Anderson was deep in thought, his brows furrowed as he pondered over the situation.

Mr. Anderson's voice broke through the silence, calling out my name. I couldn't help but startle at the sudden sound, my body jumping in surprise.
He stared at me intently, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized my reaction, studying my face.

"Yes?" I said

he mouthed the words. "I got to go." Mr. Anderson rose from his seat, his movements swift and purposeful as he made his way toward the door. I quickly followed after him, reaching out and grabbing onto the fabric of his suit, pulling him back slightly.

"No, you already left though," I protested, my voice filled with frustration.
Mr. Anderson stared back at me, his gaze unwavering. "This is important business," he repeated firmly.

I raised an eyebrow, challenging his decision. "What about you teaching at school tomorrow?" I shot back, a hint of irritation in my tone.

Mr. Anderson's eyes flicked briefly down to my lips before locking onto my gaze again. "I'll see you there," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Have your notes ready, Torres, or I'll punish you."

Mr. Anderson exited the room, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing through the space.

Miranda's voice broke the silence, tinged with a hint of fear. "Where did he go?" she asked.
I turned to face her, my expression neutral as I replied simply,

"Work."