“Don’t move.” The note of fear in Clara’s voice shook Mark’s marrow. What could have gone wrong?

“Mark, take a step to the left. Slowly.” This time, it was Felicia’s soft tones. Mark thanked God she was there. His wife knew more about this…thing, than the whole staff.

Clara swore as he moved aside. “What?” This time, the fear was in his voice.

Felicia answered with a query. “How long was it under?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t do this roll. It could have been Phil, Jen, anyone with the lab key…”

He saw Clara gently prod the waterlogged cylinder. “How old did he say this was?”

“Had it since ‘66.” Mark thought he heard disgust perforating his wife’s words. “Why he waited till now to bring it in...”

Mark was raining sweat on the floor. “How bad is it, Clara?”

She let out a harsh laugh. “Bad? Oh, its perfect.”

Mark dared to look up, for an instant. It was all he needed to see: the blank, glossy square of graying paper, still wet, clutched in Clara’s small hands.

“Perfectly over-exposed, that is.”

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