“What woman?” he asked. The scratch marks on his face looked as if they hadn’t started healing yet. “The woman who attacked you.” I gently put my hand on his injured cheek. “Chelsea, I wasn’t attacked by a woman,” he said, his tongue clicking against his teeth as he said it. I knew this meant he was confused, and possibly angry. “The one in the cottage. On Saturday.” I clarified, even though I thought it was ridiculous that I had to.
“That wasn’t a woman in the cottage on Saturday, Chelsea.” I took a step backwards. I had no idea where Ryan was going with this. It was clearly a woman who attacked him. Her skin was burned, her hair fell in wiry ringlets around her face, her wrinkled hands reached through the slit in the boards and scratched his face. I saw it. I was there. “It was an animal,” he said. “It had fur and horns, and it reached out and scratched me with its claws.” I walked past him and sat down on his couch. “You’re lying,” I said. “It was a woman. Her skin was burned and she had gray eyes.” “Its eyes were red.”
His mom returned back from speaking with Jolene, rolling her eyes playfully. “She’s a crazy woman. I’ll never understand her.” She walked up to Ryan and placed her hand on the nape of his neck. “Are you feeling better?” she asked and he nodded. I looked back at the Monarch butterfly, but it looked as if nothing had happened. “Your scratches look better,” she continued. “How did you say you got them, again?” Ryan shook his head and looked at me imploringly. I couldn’t read him like I normally could. “It’s not important,” he said. I could tell the worry lines on his mother’s face got a tad deeper. His mom walked away, clearly dissatisfied with his answer, but I knew she was not going to push it because I was there.
We sat in silence for a while, confused by our two very different accounts of what had happened that previous Saturday. I looked up at the monarch butterfly, but it was still normal. Ryan shuffled uncomfortably on the couch. “I should go,” I said, neglecting any notion of talking about the situation further. Ryan saw me out and closed the door behind me. I turned back around after he closed the door only to see the woman looking at me through the small stained glass window on his door.
Ryan called me a day later to tell me Jolene had died. His mother was completely distraught he said. She had been doing just fine the day before, and I refrained from commenting on how bad her eyes had looked. She may have acted fine, but she clearly was not doing so well. I knew Ryan and his family were close with her, and even though he didn’t admit it, I could tell he was hurting. I offered to come over to keep him company throughout all the chaos, but he declined. He claimed it was too much of a madhouse at his place, but he did not want to leave his mom alone, so he did not come to my house either. He also used the excuse that he was still sick, but I knew deep down that even though all of those things were true, he just didn’t want me to see him upset. He was the same way when his younger sister passed away a few years before. My mom knocked on my door and I told him I’d call him back.
She walked in with a solemn look on her face and sat next to me on my bed, grabbing my hand. Her hands were freezing, but I didn’t let go. “There was an accident today,” she began. She was always one to get straight to the point. “Your teacher, Mrs. Howard, passed away.” I sat back, my heart trumpeting in my chest. Mrs. Howard had called in sick that day, but I didn’t think too much of it. I thought it was just a cold or she had lied because she went to that huge concert the night before. She was so young. Then my mom’s words finally registered in my mind. “What kind of an accident?” I asked.