Hello Monday

Part 7; 3:25 pm

"Just so you know, when we hit the bad guys, we're not supposed to treat them afterwards, Linette," Anthony reminds me for the seventh time.

And I give him the same answer I gave him six questions ago, "It's not everyday we hit people on the head, Tony."

After successfully stopping the blood with a cloth, I dip a cotton ball into the saline solution and gently dab the wound on the man's forehead with it. It is times like this when I am grateful for the school's overpreperation. They had every single room equipped with a first aid box in case an accident occurs. What are the chances for an accident to happen in a school classroom? A papercut? But hey, I won't complain because it's proving its usefulness now.

"Leave her alone, Mr. Miles," Dr. Sanders comes to my rescue.

I see Anthony walking towards mystery man from the corner of my eye. He crouches in front of the man and looks him in the eyes, "Why have you come here, Monday?"

I stop what I'm doing and turn to look at Anthony. I raise an eyebrow at him, asking him a silent question. Anthony understands and shrugs his shoulders, "I heard the other guy tell a Monday to stay here. I assume this is him."

I snicker. Monday? What kind of name is that?

I continue to dab the wound, making sure I erase all traces of dried blood. Anthony continues his vain interrogation, "So... Monday. What did you come for? Was it money? That would explain why you need the gun, albeit fake."

Monday, who had been silent all this time, speaks up in a low voice. "You know what else is fake? Your sorry a–AH!" his sentence is cut off with a scream. I am to blame for that—I put sudden pressure on his wound without a second thought. First of all, no one talks to Tony that way, and second of all, there is no need to curse. So the fact that a curse word nearly spills out of his mouth the first time he opens it places him in my bad books.

"Damn it, that hurts," he winces.

"Don't speak to Tony that way," I say lowly, "You shouldn't even have gotten this treatment. Now talk."

I finish dabbing his wound with the saline solution and toss the cotton ball into the bin. Regardless of his hard stare that burns my skin, I continue to dress his wound. Despite the pain I've caused him (to the best of my abilities: pressing on his wound), he is still not talking. He just keeps giving me a cold look. His silence is starting to get on my nerves.

I finish up and close the first aid kit. Just as I stand up to put away the box, Dr. Sanders calls me aside. Pulling me away from everyone's ears, she confides her fears, "I am getting a bad feeling about this man, Linette. He knows my name."

"But who doesn't know your name, though, Doctor? You're a renowned scientist. It's more surprising if someone doesn't know your name."

She looks at me with the are you serious, please be serious kind of look. I offer her a sheepish smile, "It's true, though. Think of it this way: if they knew my name, it would be weird and worrisome; if they didn't know yours, it would also be weird and worrisome."

She shakes her head and I swear I see her lips tilt up a little bit. "You and your words, always so amusing," she laughs. I join her in laughter. I would have forgotten our little attack situation if it isn't for the stare I feel at the back of my head. True to my feeling, I am met with Monday's eyes when I turn to look at him. Creep.

Seeing what I saw, Dr. Sanders' smile falters, "What if... What if they are after me, Linette?"

It seems strange for a teacher to be stating her concerns to a student, but that's how we've been since our first encounter. It's because we have no one else we trust as much as we trust one another.