You cannot see her face.

She is a shape behind glass in an afternoon reflection and the only reason anybody can identify her at all is that she is wearing a rust-colored shirt that eleven people saw her in that day.

At second nine of sixteen, the curtain closes.

You can see the movement of her arm and then the panel crossing the glass, and then the window is a blank.

That is the thing my nine-year-old saw from a driveway.