Skin : the X-files (6 page)

She moved next to Mulder and showed him the indication on the chart. “Stanton was given a fairly large dose of Solumedol, Mulder. It’s an extremely potent steroid. There have been numerous documented cases of patients reacting violently to steroids—sort of an allergic neurological response. Rare, but definitely not unique.” Mulder looked at the IV rack bisecting the air between them. “Steroidal rage? Scully, he was given the Solumedol before the transplant procedure—but didn’t explode until hours later.”

Scully shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be an immediate reaction. The neurotransmitters build up in the nervous system. The procedure itself could have aggravated his body’s reaction—and when the anesthesia from the operation wore off, his psychosis detonated.” 49

THE X-FILES

Mulder looked skeptical. “Wouldn’t Dr. Bernstein have mentioned the possibility to Detective Barrett?” Barrett was watching them from the window, her arms still crossed against her chest. She coughed, letting Scully and Mulder know she was still in the room. “I’m sure I would have remembered if he had. He’s performing a laser surgery at the moment—but you can interview him again when he’s finished.” Scully nodded. Mulder seemed dissatisfied with Scully’s quick answer to Stanton’s psychosis. As Scully watched, he pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his jacket pocket and slipped them over his fingers. Then he placed both hands gingerly against the IV rack. Barrett watched him with a smirk on her oversized lips.

“It’s in pretty good. I tried for twenty minutes. I doubt
you’ll
be able to do any better.” Mulder smiled at the challenge, then leaned back, using his weight against the rack. The muscles of his arms worked beneath his dark suit, and his face grew taut, sweat beading above his eyebrows. He tried for a full minute, then gasped, giving up. “I guess neither of us gets to be king.”

There was a brief pause, then Barrett laughed. The sound was somewhere between a diesel engine and a death rattle. Scully was glad that Mulder’s charm had broken through some of Barrett’s hostility. As long as they were going to have to work together, it would help if they could interact in a civil manner. Scully cleared her throat. “As long as we’re waiting for Dr. Bernstein—you 50

Skin

mentioned Stanton’s daughter? Perhaps she can bring us up to speed on Professor Stanton.” Barrett nodded. “Out in the hallway. The pretty thing with the finger paint all over her shirt. She’s been here since her father was brought into the ER yesterday morning. She won’t go home until Stanton is safely apprehended. Be careful with her; she breaks easily.” Scully inadvertently glanced at Barrett’s huge hands.

She wondered if Mulder was thinking the same thing.
In
hands like those—who didn’t break easily?

“This is all too much to take. You have to believe me, he could never have done this. Never.” Emily Kysdale stared into her cup of coffee as the cafeteria traffic buzzed behind her bowed shoulders. Mulder and Scully had chosen the relative anonymity of the cafeteria over the recovery ward, to give the young woman a chance to speak without the obvious presence of the uniformed police officers.

Emily was shaking horribly, and Scully could see the goose bumps rising on the bare skin of her arms. Scully felt the immediate urge to reach across the steel cafeteria table and touch her, to let her know that it would be all right—but she resisted. The truth was, it wasn’t going to be all right. Emily’s father had murdered a woman about the same age as she, a woman with a child and a husband. Even if the violence was caused by an allergic reaction, or a mental illness, or an uncontrollable fit—it was murder.

“Mrs. Kysdale,” Mulder said, his voice quiet as he 51

THE X-FILES

lowered himself into the seat next to Scully, “we need to ask you a few questions. I know this is hard for you, but we’re trying to help your father.” Scully could feel the emotion behind Mulder’s near monotone. She knew her partner better than anyone in the world, and she could guess at the thoughts running through his head. Emily was an attractive, fragile woman, with long, brownish-blond hair, a lanky figure, and watery green eyes. Her jeans and paint-splotched T-shirt were rumpled, and it was obvious she had not slept since the incident. Her agony was no doubt trigger-ing something deep inside Mulder—perhaps memories of his own sister. He carried Samantha Mulder like an internal scar, always just below the surface of his skin.

The unique circumstances of Samantha’s disappearance—and Mulder’s belief that she had actually been abducted by aliens—did not disrupt the prosaic and sincere nature of his pain. It was what drove his obsession with the unexplained, and Emily’s distress would only solidify his resolve to find the truth—however fantastic that truth turned out to be.

“My father is a gentle man,” Emily finally responded, looking directly into Mulder’s sympathetic eyes. “He lived for his work, his quiet research. He has never been in trouble before. And he has never complained, never gets angry. Even when my mother passed away.”

“Mrs. Kysdale,” Scully said, “did your father ever suffer any symptoms that may not have been in his medical chart? Any viral diseases—either recently, or in the past?” 52

Skin

Emily shrugged. “Nothing abnormal. He’s had the flu a few times this year. And a bout of pneumonia two years ago. He had his appendix out when I was younger—”

“What about allergies?” Scully was searching, but it was worth a shot. Anaphylactic shock involved the entire neurological system—very similar to a steroid reaction. If Stanton had a history of strong allergies, it might be more evidence for her Solumedol theory.

“Not that I know of,” Emily answered. “Dr. Bernstein asked me the same question when they first brought my father into the ER. I had arrived just as they were admin-istering something to help him breathe.” Scully perked up, glancing at Mulder. “The IV

steroids.”

Emily nodded. “I remembered he had been put on steroids during the bout with pneumonia. He hadn’t had a problem with it then, so Dr. Bernstein said it wouldn’t be a problem this time either.” Scully leaned back in her chair. She could hear Mulder’s shoes bouncing against the tiled floor beneath the table. The new information didn’t completely rule out the Solumedol—but it certainly made it less likely.

Bernstein probably hadn’t mentioned the Solumedol to Detective Barrett because Stanton had been put on it before, without adverse reaction. Still, Scully knew that people could develop sensitivities at any stage in life.

Insect bites, shellfish, peanuts—and steroids—had been known to kill people who had never had any problem 53

THE X-FILES

with these things before. The Solumedol, though more improbable, was still a possibility.

“When you saw your father in the ER,” Mulder asked, changing tack, “did anything strike you as abnormal—

either in his behavior, or his appearance?” Emily shrugged. “He had that awful burn on his leg.

And he was slipping in and out of consciousness. But when he was awake, he seemed normal.”

“And after the transplant procedure—”

“I never got a chance to see him after the procedure. I was in the waiting room when I heard what happened. I couldn’t believe it. I still don’t believe it.”

“Mrs. Kysdale,” Scully asked, “is there any history of mental disease in your father’s family?” Emily was momentarily taken aback by the question.

When she finally answered, she sounded cautious, as if she realized for the first time that she was talking to two FBI agents. “Not that I’m aware.” Scully paused; as helpful as the young woman was trying to be, Emily Kysdale wasn’t going to help them understand the cause of her father’s violence. It was obvious from Emily’s sudden change of tone: in Emily’s mind, Perry Stanton was a victim, not a murderer. Scully could tell from the way Mulder was looking at her that he agreed.

Whatever the reason for his explosion, Perry Stanton was a criminal. The cause of Stanton’s act was only important insofar as it established culpability. Even if the cause remained a mystery, it would not change the facts 54

Skin

of the case, or Scully and Mulder’s mission. Their job was to catch the perp who had killed Teri Nestor—and at the moment, the blame still lay solely on Perry Stanton.

“Mrs. Kysdale, do you have any idea where your father might be hiding? Anywhere the police may not know to look?”

Emily’s entire body trembled, and she clenched her hands around the foam cup of coffee in front of her. She lowered her head, then took a deep breath and seemed to regain some level of control. “They’ve been to his apartment, his office, all of his friends’ houses. They’ve scoured the university. They’ve looked everywhere he used to go—even the cemetery where my mother is buried. But I can’t help them find him—because the man who killed that nurse isn’t the man I know. My father isn’t the man they’re looking for.” Scully felt a weight inside her chest, as Emily’s grief finally broke through her veil of reserve. Mulder had his reasons for empathizing with the woman’s pain—and Scully had her own.
Her sister’s murder, her own father’s
death.
She knew what it was like to lose a family member—and that was exactly what had happened to Emily Kysdale. The Perry Stanton she knew was gone.

Scully reached across the table and touched the young woman’s hand. Then she rose, thanking her for her help. Mulder paused for a moment, watching the woman cry over her coffee. Then he followed Scully toward the elevator at the back of the cafeteria, which would take them up to the surgical ward—and Dr. Alec 55

THE X-FILES

Bernstein. After the double doors slid shut, Mulder spoke softly. “I believe her, Scully. Her father isn’t the man we’re looking for.”

“What do you mean?”

“You heard what she said—he was normal when he was wheeled into the ER. He was normal even after he was given the Solumedol. But he wasn’t normal when he woke up after the operation. He should have been vulnerable, groggy, in pain; instead, he was capable of unbelievable violence, of a physical act we can hardly describe, let alone understand.” Scully tried to see the expression on his face, but all she got was his profile. He finished his thought as the elevator slowed to a stop on the fourth floor—the surgical ward. “Scully, something happened during that transplant procedure to change Perry Stanton.” Scully wasn’t sure what he meant. “Mulder, the temporary grafting procedure is nearly as common—and certainly as safe—as an appendectomy. And it’s mainly localized to the area of the injury—Stanton’s right thigh.” But even as she said the words, a thought hit her. The transplant procedure involved Stanton’s thigh—but certainly, there was interaction with his bloodstream and his immune system. Perhaps Mulder had a point: It wasn’t impossible that Stanton had contracted something from the graft itself. She would have to review the literature—

but she was certain she had heard about certain viral diseases being transferred in just such a manner. She believed there had even been cases of cancer being 56

Skin

transmitted through grafts—specifically, lymphoma and Kaposi’s sarcoma. It was rare, but possible.
The question
was, what kind of disease could cause a psychotic episode?

“
Something like meningitis,” Scully murmured, as the elevator doors opened. “Or even syphilis. Something that causes the brain to swell and affects the neurological system.”

“Sorry?” Mulder said.

“If the temporary graft had been infected with a blood-borne virus,” Scully explained, “Stanton could have contracted the disease through the transplant.

There are many diseases that could lead to an explosion of violence.”

“Scully, that’s not what I meant. The violence was beyond the scale of any psychotic episode. Stanton didn’t just catch a disease—
he transformed.
Into something his own daughter wouldn’t recognize.” Scully knew that the words were more than hyper-bole; Mulder’s ideas were never limited by the laws of science. But Scully didn’t intend to let him lead her toward another of his wild fantasies. At the moment, this was a medical mystery—not a fantasy.
This investigation
was on her turf.

She stepped out into the surgical ward. “Sometimes, Mulder, transformation is the nature of disease.” Scully peered through the glass window with genuine interest as Dr. Bernstein carefully navigated the laser scalpel across the surface of the patient’s exposed lower 57

THE X-FILES

back. The tool was pen-shaped, attached to a long, articulated steel arm containing a series of specially made mirrors. The arm jutted out of a four-foot-tall cylindrical pedestal next to Bernstein. A pedal by his heel allowed him to control the strength and depth of the beam.

“Interesting juxtaposition,” Mulder said, his face also close to the window as he surveyed the small operating room. “A five-thousand-year-old art transcended by a five-year-old technology.”

Scully watched as the red guiding light traced the edges of the enormous tattoo in the center of the patient’s bared back. The red light shivered in the thin white smoke rising from the patient’s skin as the outer cells vaporized under the intense, pinpoint heat. The patient was awake, but felt no pain; a local anesthetic was enough to deaden the area of skin beneath the tattoo. In fact, the procedure could hardly be considered surgical.

Aside from Bernstein and the patient, there was only one nurse in the small operating room, monitoring the patient’s blood pressure.

“I guess nothing is truly permanent anymore,” Mulder continued. “Anything can be erased.”

“It’s a tattoo, Mulder. Hardly the raw material for a philosophical analogy.” Scully controlled a wince as the laser seared away a beautifully drawn lion’s head, then moved backward through a flowing brown mane. She thought about the image on her own lower back: a snake eating its own tail, the result of a moment of whimsy in a Philadelphia tattoo parlor during a solo field trip a little 58

Skin

over a year ago. Sometimes, she hardly even remembered the tattoo was there; other times, she found comfort in the idea that she had found the courage to do something so unlike her perceived exterior. She was a skeptic—but never a conformist.
That was another part of
what made her and Mulder work so well together.