They called her the face in the window. Practically everybody in the neighborhood knew her-the woman who would sit in the upstairs window of her house, looking out into space, oblivious to the world. Some people said she had gone crazy after her husband had left her, others said that she had lost a son or a daughter. The truth was, nobody really knew for sure. She was just known as the Face Woman, because her expression was always blank, like a mask. Mark Green knew that she had a different name, one that she no longer used; one that had been lost to the world. He was the one who brought her food, and took care of the rent. Part of the money came from her social security; he assumed the rest came from an inheritance. She was always dressed in the same simple clothing, although not always the same clothes, so he knew that she did not spend all of her time in the wheelchair that she used to watch the world outside her window.

"So, how are you today?" Mark asked one Friday afternoon as he stopped by on another one of his monthly rounds. Looking at the window, he added, "The weather's nicer today, isn't it?" He knew better than to expect an answer- nobody ever did. Mark gathered up the envelopes on her kitchen table, carrying on a one-sided conversation. Her face was impassive as always, although he thought he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "Well, I'll just take care of these, then. See you next month, okay?" When he left, she continued to sit in her wheelchair, looking out her window, her face devoid of all emotion.

She knew there was a world out there that she was no longer a part of, a world of noise and people- people who brought danger, and did despicable things to each other. In her withdrawn silence, she had wanted no part of that world for years. She only wanted to sit and look at these godforsaken people as they led their meaningless, materialistic lives. Part of her hated them because of their foolishness and part of her despised them for their shallow selves. Surely, she thought, God will punish them soon, reprimand them for their actions and when he does- she'll be right there- watching out of her window. One cool, summer night when the moon was full and luminous, she could see the narrow street in its entirety. She saw two figures that she knew did not belong there following a woman as she headed up the street. The woman casting furtive glances at her back, picked up her pace- and so did the men. Something stirred inside of her as she watched. As the woman, turned into a deserted alley, out of her view- she saw one of the men reach inside their jacket pocket and take out something, only when she saw the moonlight reflect off its smooth, steel surface and glint into the night did she realize- it was a knife. As the men followed her into the alley, although she could see, she heard the unmistakable sounds of a losing scuffle, the falling of a garbage can, the shriek of a cat and lastly, a long, muffled scream. It was too late. They say that upon the emotionless face of the woman, there was a flicker of a smile, before it settled back into its blankness.