News of my sister's death breaks quickly, and soon the inbox of my email is beeping as emails pour in. I don't need it for homework, so I can put it aside, but the beeping becomes more and more incessant and irritating. Nearly two hours after I started, I finally finish my homework.

I open my laptop, and squint at the pulsing number icon beside my email. It can't possibly be accurate. I can't really have more than five-hundred-fifty emails, can I?

Apparently I can, and I marvel at the inoriginality of the first lines. 'Sorry for your loss.' 'Just heard about your sister.' 'Sorry for your loss.' 'Sorry for your loss.' 'Missing her already.' 'Sorry for your loss.' The rich irony is many of the 'Missing her already' ones are from people neither of us have spoken to in years.

In fact, most of the emails are from people I haven't spoken to in years. I even find myself wondering if I know the people, and how they found Mill's page, and then mine, and my email. It reminds me of my other great aunt's funeral, where Dad saw family members who hadn't shown their faces at family gatherings for generations, never mind years or months, but were there, present that day. We learned afterwards that many had been banished by my great aunt, and were there to pay their respects. Deaths create congregations, I guess.

I should remove my email from my page, I think. Then I'll stop getting emails. So I open up my page, and I go to settings, and then I pause.

Deaths create congregations. People like to pay their respects to the dead person and the dead person's family. I should leave it. I sigh and message Dexter. He doesn't answer, which I take to mean they're attacking the Sheppard College base.

I click onto Milly's page, and scroll down through the messages with the exact same sentiment as on my page. I check my sister's uploads only- and get a shock. Under her death warrant is a message she uploaded, the afternoon of the night she died.

Going to the movies, in the Front Line Cinema! Going to that film that smashed the Grammys and nearly got an Oscar.

Where's the Front Line Cinema? I've never heard of it. I look it up, and discover it's about ten minutes walk away from the street Milly died on. So that's where she was going. She and the red-haired woman were going to see a film!

The website says the 47 bus stops right in front of it. The 47 also passes my school, and stops near the hospital where Milly was. Well, I suppose Milly was never there- her body made it, but she didn't.

The screen wobbles and I can't see any words anymore. I wipe my eyes angrily, and make a decision.

Did Milly make it and was returning, or was she still on the way? Back on her page, I find a nice picture of her, and check the time. My parents will be watching the news in the living room, so I send the picture to the printer in the office and sneak downstairs. I don't want my parents to hear. They'll want to know why I'm sneaking around, and what I'm doing, and how I'm coping, and in the hall, they'll hear the printer whirring. They'll want to know why I'm printing a picture of Milly, and call me selfish, but I want to solve this by myself. They never cared about what I was doing before Milly died, and I don't see why they should start caring now. They have their jobs and they were always enough for them before.

The living room door is shut and I hear them talking. I wonder if my mom is crying again, or if they're even discussing it. I doubt it will ever come up in conversation again.

The office is small and cosy, and I watch Milly's face appear from under the printer's jets. I hold her up to the last rays of sun through the window, and think, for the first time, how pretty she is. She was. I never told her. But then, I didn't need to. Milly was proud and self-confident, at school. At home, she became extremely introverted. I always found that odd.

I roll my sister up and push her up my jumper. The way back to my room is even more dangerous, as if I'm seen coming from the office, I have no alibi, as I have my own laptop. Past the kitchen, I could say I was going for a drink, but with no evidence, I'll be murdered for lying. My mother hates lying. I creep past the sitting room door, and suddenly realise I'm overhearing ads, not the news anchor. I hurry as quietly as I can, quick-stepping up the stairs and slipping into my bedroom just as my dad starts moving around.

With the door shut and my laptop beeping, I unroll my sister, and I go through my plan. I'll go to that cinema and ask to see the CCTV camera footage, or something, and see if my sister got to the cinema, with or without the red-haired woman. Maybe they argued. I roll my sister up again and hide her in my bag. I change into my bed clothes, leaving my laptop charging. It beeps as emails come in, lighting up my ceiling. I fall asleep to that sound.

~*~

Breakfast is a messy affair. The phone rings, and everyone freezes, laying down cutlery. I stare at my mom, who stares at the empty space next to her. 'I'll get it,' Dad murmurs. Mom and me listen in.

'Hello? Yes, this is Jack Reiner, father of Milly Reiner. Yes, I'll hold.

'Hello, Doctor Quinn. Yes, this is Jack Reiner.

'You want what?!' A long, tense pause follows, in which I'm not sure if I breathe. Finally, Dad replies heavily. 'I see. Please hold while I check with my wife.'

Dad pads heavily back to us. 'Chris... she wants us to come in.'

'Why?' Mom almost snaps.

'To ask us a question too sensitive to ask on the night and too heavy to ask over the phone, apparently. You're free around four, yes?'

Mom nods, and turns to me. 'What about you, Daniel? You're free at four, aren't you?'

This is the chance I need to go to that cinema. 'No. I'm sure you guys can handle whatever it is without me,' I invent, then speak the truth. 'Besides, I've seen her dead once. I don't plan on doing it again.'

Dad nods sagely, and Mom turns away. 'Alright, buddy. I'll inform her, Chris.'

Just as I'm leaving the house for the bus, Mom runs to the door and hugs me. Stunned, I awkwardly hug her back. 'You're the best son I could wish for, and I love you,' she whispers. She kisses my forehead and pushes me out. 'Run. The bus is coming.'

The entire bus quietens when I board.Eyes watch me as I pay the driver. Supposedly hidden fingers point me out of the other kids boarding. Voices hiss and whisper as I climb the stairs.

'Him, that's the one.'

'He's the one whose sister died.'

'She died two nights ago.'

'A car accident, I heard.'

'I bet she was drunk. '

Dexter stares at my confused face as I sink into the seat beside him. 'What's up, Dan? What's happened? Other than the major thing, of course.'

I stare back for a minute. 'My mom-'

'What?'

'Nothing.'

Just as my parents will never speak of the night in the hospital ever again, I never want to speak of my mother's embrace. What good will it do him to know? She's my mother, not his.

'Okay. How are you doing?'

'Okay. I guess. How's Elfin Runes?'

Dexter is gone, just as I knew he'd be. He blathers all the way to school.

Rebecca meets us at the doors to school. 'Daniel, I've got great news. I've got a cousin- haven't seen him in years, that's why I forgot about him- whose name is Dan Geraldson. It's not Dan Gerald, but I found his number in my mom's address book, and called him, and his lunch is at the same time as ours. I'm gonna call him again then, and we can ask him who he's been loving and if he knew Mill!'

A big stupid grin spreads across my face. A lead! 'Rebecca, you're the greatest! I'll meet you two at lunch in the library. Be there early. I want as much time as possible.' Two leads to follow in one day. This is great!

Classes can't past quickly enough, and at break I rush down to the canteen. Rebecca is waiting for me.

'Let's go to the library! Now, c'mon!'

'We can't. Lunch is the only break my cousin has. Besides, Dexter wants to talk to you about something.'

Jerks in Mill's class are loitering just inside the door. Usually they try to trip people up. Today they cross to me and stand in front of me.

'I just wanna say, D, that I'm sorry for your loss. Your sister was cool,' the leader says. 'I know how you're feeling. My gran died when I was your age.'

Dumbfounded, I stutter, 'Er, thanks, for your concern, I guess. I'm sorry about your gran.'

The leader pats my shoulder awkwardly and walks away. Deaths create congregations.

Dexter is waiting at our table, and turns to me when I sit down. 'I invite you and Rebecca back to my house after school, where we will eat pizza and watch a movie, or something. To distract you from all of this. I know you want to figure it out, but you need to take breaks too. And your parents don't come home until hours after you do, and frankly, I don't want you to be in your house, alone. What do you say?'

I stare at him for a minute. 'I'm sorry, I can't. I appreciate what you just said, but the doctor wants to ask me and my parents an important question. I need to know what it is. Em- are you free any other night?'

Dexter shakes his head, and Rebecca does too. 'Not until the weekend.'

'Then we'll do something then. Don't worry about me. I'll be with my parents today.'

Rebecca changes the subject, taking up her favourite one- Elfin Runes. Success has not smiled upon them- Shepard College got wise to their accumulated resources and attacked, depleting their demon and goblin stores.

The bell rings and we go our separate ways. In class, I can barely sit still. I doodle and jump and daydream and ignore my teachers. Finally lunch comes and I run to the library, where Dexter is already waiting. It takes Rebecca another five minutes to come, because she was held back by her teacher. As she explains, the librarian sweeps past us on his lunch break, and we slip in, moving right down to the corner where I revealed all.

Rebecca takes out her phone and calls her cousin. It rings twice, and when someone picks up, Rebecca whispers instantly, 'Hush, Dan, we're in a library!'

A high, masculine voice responds, 'Okay Bec, okay. Is the other Dan with you?'

'Hi Dan. I'm Dan,' I hiss. Soft laughter comes through the phone. 'I have a few questions for you, Dan.'

'Go ahead, Dan,' Dan Geraldson laughs gently. I swallow. Did he know my sister?

'They're a bit forward.'

'The questions? Okay. I'm curious now.' Did he love my sister?

'Have you been- are you in love with anyone at the moment? Are you in a relationship at the moment?'

'Oh. That kind of forward. Okay. No, I'm not in love with anyone at the moment- other than my mother. I'm afraid I haven't been in a relationship for a month now, when my long-term partner eloped.'

'Oh. I'm sorry.'

'I'm over it. Question two?'

'Do you know if anyone is in love with you?'

'Not that I know of. I hope not. I work on a farm in the middle of nowhere. The only person who works here who isn't a blood relation of mine is an elderly man, and I don't do age gaps!'

'Oh. Do you mind if I ask one more question? It's not forward?'

'Go on.'

'Do you know a Milly Reiner?'

Dan Geraldson pauses. 'No, I don't. I've never met a Milly, ever, or a Reiner, come to think of it. Sorry.'

'It's fine.'

'Who is Milly Reiner?'

'She was my sister.'

'Was?'

'She's dead.'

'Oh. Sorry.'

'It's fine.'

'Okay, Dan, thanks for the hel- call, I'll see you during the summer.' Rebecca says quickly into the phone.

'I expect a full explanation at some point. Say bye to Dan for me, will ya? Say it was nice to meet him.'

'Will do. See ya,' Rebecca hangs up and sighs. 'Sorry.'

I shrug and force a smile. 'It's fine. Let's go eat.'

I don't speak for the rest of lunch, and doodle and ignore my teachers in classes. I am aware of people turning away quickly from the dead-sister-guy when I look at them, so I won't see they've been looking at me. They were staring. Everyone stares at me in these classes. They must have stared all day. The teachers don't seem to notice. At the last bell I spend years packing my things into my bag, and Dexter and Rebecca are still waiting for me outside in the corridor.

'Are you sure you don't want to come with us? Pizza? A movie?' Dexter offers, tipping his head in the way he always does when he tries to convince someone of something- which happens more often than you might think.

For a second I'm tempted to abandon the entire scheme and go with them. But then I remember something Mill used to say. "Do you think Amelia Earhart got where she did by giving up?" And anyway, it's not their sister who's dead. It's not their dead sister who left them an encrypted message.

I shake my head a little. 'No, thanks, Dexter. I want to hear what the doctor has to ask.'

'Okay. I'm sorry about my cousin,' Rebecca apologises, watching me.

'It's fine,' I assure her, and smile, and they run for their bus, while I walk in the other direction, towards the hospital- and the bus that will take me to the cinema. I have never lied to my best friends before today, and I have lied twice now.

The bus comes ten minutes later than it should, and I board it with a little old man who is going to the hospital. I climb the stairs to the back of the one-storey bus and hide behind a rail. My parents will be in the hospital right now, and if they happen to look out the window- look closely at the passengers of a non-descript bus-

You're being paranoid, I tell myself. How many times have you glanced at a bus and seen the passengers inside? Only when it stopped right next to you. Not through a window from a building.

We pass the hospital without incident, and I realise we're getting close to the street Mill was hit on. I take a pen from my bag as we draw near, hold my breath and look away as the traffic lights turn green, writing Mill's message on my hand the same way she wrote it.

The bus passes the street, and no-one is dead. I look at the message. All the words are positioned over the back of joints, on folds of skin on my hand. Funny, that. Why didn't Mill just write the message out on her palm, instead of utilising the small patches of skin on her fingers? I look up and make a fist with that hand, then watch the street signs. I can't miss this.

The bus pulls up outside the cinema and I depart, holding Mill's face rolled up in my hand. There's no traffic on this road, but I cross carefully anyway. You never know when someone's about to come around a corner.

At the front of the cinema is a ticket booth, and a teen barely older than myself lounges in it. I approach him and he perks up, dusting imaginary dust from his shirt and straightening his straight bow tie. His face is pockmarked with psoriasis and I try to watch his eyes and not the red splotches.

'How can I help you, sir?' he asks.

'Sir. I'm barely older than you. Can I ask, were you on duty two nights ago, coming up to midnight?' I ask.

The teen is taken aback. He wasn't expecting that. 'Yes, I was. Why?'

I unfurl my poster. 'Did you happen to see this girl, or sell her tickets?'

He shakes his head. 'No, I didn't. Who is she, anyway? She looks like you.'

I laugh. 'She doesn't. Did you see anything unusual coming up to midnight?'

The teen answers immediately. 'Yeah, I did, actually. This red-haired girl, big bushy curls, ran past at midnight, just as the clock tolled. Nothing unusual about that, only she was wailing. Tears running down her face, snot everywhere, eyes red- the works. I called out to her, and would've followed her- found out what was wrong- only I had customers, and one ran after her for a while and then came back. Said she flipped him off and ran into an apartment complex about ten minutes' run down the road. See, we do a midweek shocker, a horror film at midnight, with atmospheric snacks and decorations, and we had loads of customers. I couldn't follow her.'

I nod, rolling my sister's face up again.

'Next morning I heard some poor girl had been run down on a street not far from here. That's sad, isn't it?'

I nod. 'Very. Thank you for your help. Have a good day.'

'You two, kid. You mind yourself, and don't forget, our midweek shocker is so cheap, it will make you scream.'

I walk away slowly. Jason, the driver, saw a red-haired woman running away. She ran past this cinema in tears. She and Mill were going to this midweek shocker thing. But who is she? I'm no closer to solving Mill's message by chasing some upset red-head.

I begin to clinch my hand into a fist- and freeze in my tracks. The hand I clinched is the hand with Mill's words, written at joints and folds of skin.

I stand still for so long that the teen comes out of the booth and touches my shoulder. 'Kid?'

I jump and stare at him. At his psoriasis. 'I'm perfect. Trust me. Thank you so much.'

I walk away quickly. I cracked Mill's code!