“I don’t remember taking this one.” Megan turned the phone to Adam. “Did you take it?”

Adam craned his neck. The picture was of Megan, asleep on the couch; she looked rather washed out, and her head was partially snipped off by the cropping. “Very artsy,” he said. “Good filter use and creative bloom. But you forgot the rule of thirds, and you cut the top of your head off.”

“I didn’t take it,” said Megan. “How could I have? I’m asleep on the couch, and the camera’s not in the shot.”

“I guess you could have propped it up with the timer?” said Adam. “How should I know?”

“Because you took it?” said Megan. “Come on. It’s not creepy if your boyfriend does it.”

“I’m a professional, Meg,” Adam said, serious now. “If I’d taken it I’d have framed it better. I didn’t take it.”

Megan didn’t say anything, still looking at the image in all its ghostly pallor.

“Meg?” Adam said. “Come on now, one of us probably just forgot about taking it.” Seeing the look on her face, he was ready to take the blame for snapping the photo–hell, he’d forgotten more important things. When she still said nothing after another minute, he added in a low voice: “Is…everything okay, Meg?”

“My head,” she whispered. “I can’t feel my head.”

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