Skin : the X-files Read Free Page A

his muscular chest. His eyes were closed, and his face was drawn, the skin tight against his cheekbones. Early rigor mortis had begun to set in, and his square jaw jutted stiffly forward, his neck arched back against the steel storage drawer. There were no obvious signs of injury, no 13

    THE X-FILES
    gaping wounds or visible bruises. The only distinguishing mark was a colorful tattoo high up on the man’s right arm.
    “Nice dragon,” Josh continued, pointing. “That’s about three hundred dollars of wasted skin.” Mike shivered at the macabre thought. He knew that the part-time job with the skin bank was a good way to make money—and great practice if he decided to go into surgery after med school—but he couldn’t help feeling ghoulish. His classmate’s attitude didn’t help matters. It was more than just cynicism bred by experience; Josh Kemper had been born without a deferential bone in his body. During his first year at Columbia Medical School, he had nearly gotten himself suspended for playing catch with a pancreas during anatomy section. No doubt, he was heading straight for a career in pathology.
    Mike had always been more sensitive than his classmate. His first day of anatomy, he had nearly fainted when his professor had made the first “Y” incision. And although he had grown stronger over the past three years, he still had a long way to go before he was ready to hold a surgeon’s scalpel.
    “Aside from the tattoo,” Josh continued, unzipping the bag the rest of the way, “he looks pretty good. Both arms, both legs. And the eye bank hasn’t gotten here yet.
    He’s still got both peepers.”
    Mike turned away from the corpse as he steadied his nerves. It’s necessary and important work, he reminded 14

    Skin
    himself. The human body was recyclable. And that meant someone had to do the recycling. Heart, liver, kidneys, eyes, skin—someone had to harvest the raw material.
    Still, the thought didn’t make it any easier. He bit down against his lower lip, trying not to count the steel drawers that lined three walls of the deserted storage room.
    “If you’re going to puke,” Josh interrupted, “do it now. Once we’re in the OR, we’ve got to keep things sterile.”
    “I’m not going to puke.”
    “Well, you look worse than our buddy here. Mike, you’ve got to get used to this sort of thing. It’s just a hunk of meat. And we’re the guys behind the deli counter.”
    “You’re disgusting.”
    “That’s why you love me. Check the toe tag.” Josh started across the storage room, toward a filing cabinet by the far wall. “I’ll get the chart.” Mike breathed through his mouth as he circled around the open drawer. Don’t overthink. Do your job. He reached the back end of the drawer and pulled the plastic bag down on either side. The dead man’s legs were long and muscular, covered with more downy blond hair. His feet were heavily callused, his toenails yellowed like an old man’s. Mike wondered if he had suffered from some sort of fungus.
    Now you’re thinking like a doctor. He smiled inwardly, 15

    THE X-FILES
    then searched the big toes for the tag. The skin above his eyes wrinkled as he realized it was missing. He searched the drawer beneath the man’s callused heels, but there was no sign of the plastic ID. “Hey, Josh. I don’t see the tag.”
    Josh returned from the other side of the room. He had a manila folder open in his gloved hands. “Sometimes it falls down below their feet.”
    “I’m looking everywhere. There’s no tag.” Josh stopped at his side, cursing. He held the manila folder under his arm and lifted the corpse’s feet with both hands. Working together, the two students searched the drawer, but came up empty.
    “Fuck,” Josh said. “This is just great. Eckleman is such a moron.”
    “Who’s Eckleman?”
    “The ME’s assistant. He runs the storage room. Tags the bodies, makes sure the files are coded correctly. He’s a big fat piece of shit, and