Her Brother's Final Message

That night, after my parents had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep,

I sat alone at the kitchen table with Michael's box of old things. Ruiz had brought

it by, the toothbrush and comb and T-shirt they'd used for testing carefully

resealed. On top of everything was his old MP3 player. I'd forgotten about

it. The battery was dead, but the charger was still in the

box. On a whim, I plugged it in. It powered up slowly, screen flickering

to life. The last played file wasn't music, it was labeled Note 11/3.

Curious, I hit play. Michael's voice filled the quiet kitchen,