DROWNING
by Gregory L. Norris
SHE WAS different than the others, beautiful in a manner that defied the word’s conventional definition. From the instant Homer’s eyes locked with the specialized tank, and hands in heavy gloves peeled back the protective layers of sphagnum, and she was born back into this modern world after dying untold centuries in another, his heart reacted with powerful emotion. Homer Callison fell in love with the dead woman from the bog.
“Careful—careful,” he barked, his façade disguising the truth. “Exposed to air, these bodies absolutely fall apart.”
The museum’s Downshire liaison held up his gloved hand. “No worry, sir. She’s pickled properly in bog acid. We’ve seen to everything. She’ll be as lovely in New York as in the shadow of Drum Keenagh Mountain. And as in
