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Authors: Ben Mezrich
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a few minutes. If you have any more questions, I’ll be in OR Four down the hall.
And if there are any breakthroughs in the case, please let me know. Teri Nestor was a personal friend—but Mr.
Stanton was my patient. I know it’s foolish, but I feel like I failed him somehow.”
He excused himself and exited the scrub room. When he was gone, Scully turned toward her partner. Though it was now well past one in the morning, she felt a new burst of energy. Based on what they had learned in the past few hours, she felt sure they were moving closer to solving the case. It was an intriguing difference in personality: Mulder grew electric when faced with a mystery—while Scully was excited by the prospect of a solution. “I think it’s pretty clear what we need to do next. While Barrett continues her manhunt, we have to track down the donor skin and find out if it was infected with anything that could have caused Stanton’s violence.
And we have to act quickly—we don’t want any more of that harvested skin ending up on other patients.” Mulder didn’t respond right away. Instead, he moved to the sink. Bernstein had left the faucet loose, and a 64
Skin
stream of drops spattered quietly against the basin.
Mulder reached forward and held his palm under the stream. “Scully, do you really think a virus can explain what happened in that recovery room?” Scully paused, staring at the back of his head. They had both seen the same evidence, participated in the same interviews—but it was obvious their thoughts were moving in two different directions. As always. “Absolutely. Dr. Bernstein corroborated my theory. It’s possible that Stanton caught something from the graft—something that could have affected his brain, and his personality. Once we track down the graft, we’ll be able to find out for sure. And then we’ll know how to deal with Stanton when we find him—and what precautions Barrett’s officers need to take in bringing him in.” Mulder shut off the sink and dried his hand against a towel from the rack. “A microbe, Scully? That’s how you want to explain this?”
“You have a better explanation?” Mulder shrugged. “Whenever doctors run into a mystery they can’t explain, they blame a microbe. Some sort of virus or bacteria, something you can see only through a microscope—or sometimes not at all. If you ask me, it’s a convenient way of thinking. It’s a scientist’s way of pretending to understand something completely beyond his grasp.”
“Mulder,” Scully interrupted, frustrated, “if you have a better plan of action, I’m listening.”
“Actually, I agree with you, Scully. We need to track 65
THE X-FILES
down that graft. We need to find out what changed Perry Stanton into a violent killer. But I’m not so sure we’re going to need a microscope to find what we’re looking for.”
Scully watched as he moved toward the door. “What do you mean?”
He glanced back at her. “It would take a pretty big microbe to crush a nurse’s skull.” As Scully followed Mulder out into the hallway, she failed to notice the tall, angled man watching from the now-deserted operating room on the other side of the viewing windows. The man was dressed in a blue orderly uniform, most of his young face obscured by a sterile white surgical mask. His skin was dark and vaguely Asiatic, his black hair cropped tight beneath a pink antiseptic cap.
His narrow eyes followed the two agents until they disappeared from view. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny cellular phone. He dialed quickly, his long fingers flickering over the numbered keys. A few seconds later, he began to speak in a low, nasal voice. The words were foreign, the tone rising and falling as the syllables chased one another through the thin material of the young man’s surgical mask. There was a brief pause, then a deep voice responded from somewhere far away.
The young man nodded, slipping the phone back into
And if there are any breakthroughs in the case, please let me know. Teri Nestor was a personal friend—but Mr.
Stanton was my patient. I know it’s foolish, but I feel like I failed him somehow.”
He excused himself and exited the scrub room. When he was gone, Scully turned toward her partner. Though it was now well past one in the morning, she felt a new burst of energy. Based on what they had learned in the past few hours, she felt sure they were moving closer to solving the case. It was an intriguing difference in personality: Mulder grew electric when faced with a mystery—while Scully was excited by the prospect of a solution. “I think it’s pretty clear what we need to do next. While Barrett continues her manhunt, we have to track down the donor skin and find out if it was infected with anything that could have caused Stanton’s violence.
And we have to act quickly—we don’t want any more of that harvested skin ending up on other patients.” Mulder didn’t respond right away. Instead, he moved to the sink. Bernstein had left the faucet loose, and a 64
Skin
stream of drops spattered quietly against the basin.
Mulder reached forward and held his palm under the stream. “Scully, do you really think a virus can explain what happened in that recovery room?” Scully paused, staring at the back of his head. They had both seen the same evidence, participated in the same interviews—but it was obvious their thoughts were moving in two different directions. As always. “Absolutely. Dr. Bernstein corroborated my theory. It’s possible that Stanton caught something from the graft—something that could have affected his brain, and his personality. Once we track down the graft, we’ll be able to find out for sure. And then we’ll know how to deal with Stanton when we find him—and what precautions Barrett’s officers need to take in bringing him in.” Mulder shut off the sink and dried his hand against a towel from the rack. “A microbe, Scully? That’s how you want to explain this?”
“You have a better explanation?” Mulder shrugged. “Whenever doctors run into a mystery they can’t explain, they blame a microbe. Some sort of virus or bacteria, something you can see only through a microscope—or sometimes not at all. If you ask me, it’s a convenient way of thinking. It’s a scientist’s way of pretending to understand something completely beyond his grasp.”
“Mulder,” Scully interrupted, frustrated, “if you have a better plan of action, I’m listening.”
“Actually, I agree with you, Scully. We need to track 65
THE X-FILES
down that graft. We need to find out what changed Perry Stanton into a violent killer. But I’m not so sure we’re going to need a microscope to find what we’re looking for.”
Scully watched as he moved toward the door. “What do you mean?”
He glanced back at her. “It would take a pretty big microbe to crush a nurse’s skull.” As Scully followed Mulder out into the hallway, she failed to notice the tall, angled man watching from the now-deserted operating room on the other side of the viewing windows. The man was dressed in a blue orderly uniform, most of his young face obscured by a sterile white surgical mask. His skin was dark and vaguely Asiatic, his black hair cropped tight beneath a pink antiseptic cap.
His narrow eyes followed the two agents until they disappeared from view. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny cellular phone. He dialed quickly, his long fingers flickering over the numbered keys. A few seconds later, he began to speak in a low, nasal voice. The words were foreign, the tone rising and falling as the syllables chased one another through the thin material of the young man’s surgical mask. There was a brief pause, then a deep voice responded from somewhere far away.
The young man nodded, slipping the phone back into
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