"It is a lovely evening, isn't it," Amy says looking out from her balcony into the dark recesses of the courtyard below. "Perhaps we should go somewhere, John?" she speaks quietly into the phone. While John answers, Amy retreats into the comfort of her apartment. She quickly locks the sliding glass doors and draws the curtains over them to hide herself from the blinding darkness of the lovely evening. "John? What would you do if you saw someone murdered? Call the police? Of course. Yes, I'm fine. No, I'm not having flashbacks again so there's no reason to stay at your place. You think you're being smart making it look like you're worried about me, when the only thing you're worried about is satisfying that flaming libido of yours."

She laughs at his remarks and returns to the balcony. Drawing back the curtains, she stares out onto the yard three stories below. Amy tenses as she senses the presence of the woman waiting in the shadows, somewhere just out of sight, just beyond the dim focus of the lamps. "On second thought, I think I'll stay home tonight. I am a little tired. No, you didn't say anything to upset me. I just want to get some rest. Call me tomorrow."

Amy listens for a moment to the buzzing of the phone and then returns the receiver to its cradle. Silence crawls out from its lair and into the motionless room. Why does she choose to stay here and suffer? She goes to the television and searches the channels. Friday night in front of the TV, she thinks, how utterly wonderful. She gazes at the figures and bright backgrounds emanating from the set, but her mind is not on the trivial nonsense it has to offer. Not while there is outside to think about.

She gives in to her temptation and walks to the terrace. Once outside she finds a chair and sits and stares into the peaceful serenity. The breeze is cool for a summer evening, and the sky bright with barren stars and a full moon which fights a loosing battle with the shadows below. The apartments surrounding the courtyard are quiet and dark. There was a time when the sight would have brought her peace and solitude. An hour passes and Amy's eyes are strained after searching the corners and turns of the courtyard for the movement she knows is there. She must be patient. It will happen again tonight, she is sure.

There! By the gate. He is standing like a statue just behind the pillar, just out of sight... Of the girl walking slowly along the concrete path around the garden hedges. Amy wants to scream at her, but that won't help. Instead the neighbors would call the police and Amy would look foolish or insane. They could even have her arrested again. So Amy holds her breath and watches as the images unfold.

The woman's steps are slow but sure. Her white dress speaks silently of wealth and power. Her features are strong and appealing, her dark hair a striking contrast with her attire.

The man crouches like a cat. Amy can almost hear the sound in his ears as he listens for the woman's heels upon the concrete. There is a flash behind the pillar as the brilliant reflection of the knife sears Amy's eyes. The woman screams as the man leaps out to grab her. She doesn't appear capable, but manages to ward off the man's first assault and somehow escapes his blade. She runs away from the gate screaming for help as the man stands and regains his balance.

The woman runs to the section of the yard just beneath the balcony and looks up, staring into Amy's eyes. "Please help me," she screams. "You've got to help me." But Amy is stunned and continues to stare as the woman turns to see the assailant approaching. She turns to flee but catches her heeled shoe on the ground and stumbles. The man is on her in seconds, knife in hand. As he ravages her, Amy cannot stop staring, for the woman, already unconscious, continues to look at her with pleading eyes, and Amy can do nothing but search for her voice to scream. At last, the scene ends, the man running from the yard with the victim's purse swinging wildly in his fist. And still the woman gazes at Amy, who can only now turn away from the horror. Amy moves quietly to the living room and settles in with her chair and television. She ponders calling the police, but she can't do that again. They cannot rescue ghosts.

Should she call John and tell him she is sick and does need help, that she is again passing into insanity and flashing back to the incident of two years ago? But they are not flashbacks. The play she is seeing night after night is real, the ghost taking its revenge. Only evil eyes see evil, her father used to lecture her when she was a child. Is she evil? Amy is not the only one who panicked and did not call the police. Surely others must have seen and heard the murder.

Three hours, she had been told. Three hours the woman lay there bleeding to death while Amy sat in her apartment locked behind her bathroom door staring at her own reflection, combing her hair, applying make-up -- anything to take her mind away from what she had witnessed. She had waited for the sounds of sirens and police, but none came, and finally Amy gave in and alerted the authorities herself. The woman was still alive, but the paramedics were alerted too late. So Amy had lied and said she had only just spotted the body beneath her terrace, and no, she hadn't seen anything. It was so easy to lie to everyone, so easy to convince even herself that her words were truth. But then the visions came and the woman had her revenge. Night after night Amy was forced to witness the terror of the woman's stabbing. The psychiatrist helped for awhile, but now the visions returned with even more clarity. Amy struggles in vain to halt her thoughts of the past. She turns off the television, leans back onto the couch and tries to rest. If she is quiet and holds her breath, she can hear a woman's soft moans seeping in from the night and settling into the stale air around her. She must fight the urge to run to the balcony and stare into the dead, frozen eyes below.

She awakes in the dark room to the echoing sound of a ringing phone. "Hello, John? Why are you calling so late? Eight o'clock? You're kidding. I must have slept through a whole day. No, I think I'll stay home again tonight. I'm fine, really. I just had a rough week at work. I'm not trying to get rid of you, you're being ridiculous. We'll go out for dinner during the week, okay? You too."

After turning on some lights, Amy contemplates the silent room with eerie caution. While on the phone she fought the sensation that someone was there with her, and now, with the silence to confront her, the feeling is much stronger. Taking a deep breath, she stalks slowly through the apartment. She enters the bedroom, the kitchen, the dining room, but there is no one else with her. She contemplates looking in the bathroom, but her body shakes with the thought and her legs refuse to respond.

She pictures herself in the bathroom mirror combing her hair over and over, washing her face until it is too raw to touch, applying and reapplying make-up until she appears like an overworked whore. And all the while, outside, a woman in dying.

Amy's thought's are disturbed by a sudden darkness as all the lights in the apartment flicker and go out. The blackness is stunning and she turns her head toward the balcony. Through the curtains, the light of the lamps below seems much brighter than usual. Amy squints, and against the hazy silhouette of the drapes, there is a figure standing motionless, facing her, confronting her at last.

She's not yet ready to face the woman, and flees to the front door. Her breath comes in great gasps as she fumbles for the locks and throws open the door. The light of the hall attacks her senses and nearly throws her off balance as she leaps down the stairs. At the bottom of the steps, Amy stops to catch her breath, but she cannot rest, and is soon out in the courtyard shuffling toward the gate that leads to the parking lot. She does not look up, fearful of what might be watching from the terrace.

Amy relaxes slightly when she reaches the gate, but her heart once again races as she is greeted by a familiar face. The man's knife flashes out and begins it's downward arc, but Amy steps in and knees the killer in the groin, and his arm comes down harmlessly on her shoulder. She turns and runs back across the yard watching the ground carefully so that she doesn't trip. But hearing a sound above her, she is drawn to it and looks up. The woman is smiling, and Amy's fear of that face is greater even than that of the man with the knife. She runs again, but stumbles on what feel like an unseen foot placed in front of her. Screaming, she looks up at the man baring down on her. She becomes numb at the first piercing of the blade into her body. The life flows from her as she feels the man molesting her. Amy looks up to the balcony where the woman's eyes can be seen even in the dim light of the courtyard lamps. They stare at her accusingly, and the only emotion Amy can feel as the life drains from her body is an all-consuming guilt.

Amy awakes and it surprised to find herself on the living room sofa. There is light in the room as the television flickers its bright sparkling fuzz upon her face. She sits up and examines herself. Undamaged physically, the dread in her body is worse the wounds of any knife. But despite the horror within her, Amy is surprised by an intense feeling of calm.

She walks to the terrace and steps into the windy night. Below is the lovely shape of a beautiful woman, the brilliant essence of her white gown and pale skin shocked by the bright red stains spreading over them. But looking down upon the scene, Amy feels no remorse.

She turns away, confidently walking to the bathroom where she closes the door behind her, shutting herself in away from the outside world. A feeling of deep contentment wraps her in a cocoon of warmth. She stares into the mirror, where two years earlier she had stood idly looking and working on herself while a woman lie bleeding and crying. What could Amy have seen that enraptured her so?

Only evil eyes see evil.

"I will see no evil," she says out loud and giggles like a child. A woman. There is a woman in the mirror, so much unlike the person she thought she would be, so unhappy, so evil.

She tries to think back to when the change occurred, but the thoughts do not last long, for once again her reflection grasps at her attention. She slowly and carefully studies the subtle features of her face. She follows each crevice and bump, every slope and contour, until at last, Amy is staring into the dark essence of her own eyes. She reaches out toward the mirror, placing her fingers upon the small round reflection of her eyes, and the room darkens.

She prepares herself for the cold smooth surface of the glass mirror, but her fingers feel a soft warmth beneath their touch. She nearly pulls back in surprise, but is grimly determined to remove the evil from her body. So Amy pushes harder and harder as her screams fill the room and mix with the terrifying sound of the shattering glass.