“If you want to use the microfiche reader, I need you to tell me what you want to look at. Would you like to see the index of our archives?” he asked. It sounded like he had asked the question several times already.

“No, that’s all right, I just need to use the machine,” Jessica said. The librarian smiled tensely.

“The reader is for looking at microfilm; what microfilm do you want to look at?” he asked very slowly.

“I brought my own,” Jessica said breezily.

The librarian sighed. “Do you know how to use the machine?”

“No,” she said after a moment’s thought.

John stepped forward quickly. “I know how to use it; I’m with her. Can you just let us into the room?”

The librarian nodded wearily, and they followed him to a small back room, where the microfilm reader was set up. “You thread the film through here,” he said, “and turn the knobs to advance it.” He gave John a suspicious look. “Got it?”

“Yes, thank you for your help. We are very appreciative,” John said as he glared at Jessica.

As the door closed behind the librarian, Jessica pulled the film out of her pocket and handed it over. “Okay, what are we looking for?” she asked excitedly, clapping her hands with anxious energy.

“Slow down, okay?” John said wearily. “We almost got killed, we don’t even know what’s wrong with Charlie, and now you’re giddy like we’re looking for hidden treasure.”

“Sorry.” Jessica straightened her posture.

“I think these are the same pictures,” John said as he unwound the film and threaded it carefully through the machine. He flipped it on, and the first picture appeared: Jessica and Charlie, picking outfits in a clothing store. He clicked through the next few; they all matched what he remembered of the photos, though the order was different—chronological, he supposed.

“They’re the same, and they’re not any clearer, either,” Jessica said.

“What?” John went back, trying to see what Jessica had noticed that he hadn’t.

“They’re not any clearer. Charlie is still blurry,” Jessica pointed out.

“She’s just in motion,” John explained.

“In all of them?”

“The picture is clear,” he said again, growing agitated. “She’s just walking.” Despite his words, he stopped and began to go through the pictures more slowly, studying Charlie’s appearance in each one. Jessica was right: Charlie was blurry in all of the pictures, even some where she appeared to be standing still. John clicked through the photos fast, confirming it: there was Jessica and Charlie in a clothing store; Marla with them outside Jessica’s apartment; Charlie hugging herself as she spoke to John at the Burkes’ house that first night—Charlie was blurry in all of them. John flipped ahead quickly to the last set: himself with Charlie—the false Charlie—sitting in the restaurant where they’d had dinner.