Shrink

12

The morning went by quickly, ending with Angela being able to ID the trash compactor guy from my skull reconstruction and the glass eye theory. Doctor Brennan and Booth were out again, investigating.
At the moment, nothing was progressing in any other cases, and the bodies that had seemed to flow endlessly into the Jeffersonian seemed to be stoppered, or at least at a lull, for the afternoon.
I sat with my feet hanging off the catwalk, nibbling on some tea cookies, when Doctor Saroyan walked by underneath.
"Anywhere you need to be right now, Ms Antoine?" she asked, the slight dimple in her cheek a sign of amusement among the severe features of her face.
I shook my head, finishing my third cookie.
"The Hawkins case is in the bag, the trash compactor guy is identified, and besides the compression fractures, there's no sign of any other trauma, previous or recent. Looks like any other evidence is going to be found in his liver and his life."
Her amusement seemed to intensify, and the dimple deepened.
"Your efficiency is welcome, Ms Antoine. I'm glad your work seems to bring you out of your shell."
I flushed slightly.
She tipped her head.
"If you're ever feeling you need some practice, there's all of the bone room to crack down on. Most of Brennan's interns clocked out after five attempted identifications."
She glanced at the plaque that hung like the staple that held the fabric of the lab together.
Doctor Saroyan jerked a thumb at the grinning bloke featured on its face.
"He solved eleven."
She walked away.
I frowned, feeling challenged.
I'd never been one to back down from a challenge, especially not one requiring such intellect, but the task was monumental. Attempting to identify remains in limbo was like trying to move a sand dune: no matter how hard you push at it, it always falls back, more sand replacing it, until you're buried.
I didn't want to be buried.
Heaving up the waistband of the sweatpants, I stood, dusted the crumbs off my lap, and briskly set off for the bone room.
The bone room was really most unfrequented place of the lab, as the despair of the thousands of unidentified bodies seemed to hang like a shroud, suffocating the living.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts, and attacked the first long row. I took out the first case on the bottom, resolving to work my way up.
The cubby basket seemed much too light to be carrying the remnants of a whole human, and I frowned when I saw why: the contents of the case included a long white femur, two ribs and a mandible...with all its teeth knocked out.
I sighed, and brought it to the singular table near the only monitor, feeling like the loneliest person in the world.
I began to do my mostly minimal preliminaries with the bones at hand, and began some measurements, then I lay out the bones anatomically, the two floating ribs like an equal sign between the jaw and the thigh bone.
From my measurements and the shape of the jaw, I'd managed to identify the sex, general age and height of the victim. Jane Doe, aged mid-fifties, African-American. Now for the stickier stuff.
I continued to pour over files on dirt samples, location of discoveries, witnesses, until I glanced at the clock on the wall. I'd been at this one case for four hours.
Rubbing my eyes and stretching my legs, I began to stand up, when something on the ribs caught my eye. The tiniest, most minuscule film of shimmery particle plastic glinted on the top of the bone, the one that hung over the heart. Snatching up the rib, I glanced at it under a microscope. Its shape was curved and then straightened out until it disappeared.
An ID card?
I rifled through the few things that had been found amongst the sad handful of bones, and found, tucked at the very bottom, her coat. Threadbare as it was, it was blue denim, and, feeling around on the inside, I felt a small, flat, sharp object in the inside pocket. It was so tiny, I had to use tweezers to get it, but lo and behold, it was the fragmented barcode of a credit card.
"Oh...my...God..," I breathed, holding it up to eye level.
Quickly scanning it, I sent a pic of it to Angela, hoping she could find the missing piece of my puzzle. Two hours later, she had.
Leah Verano.
Went missing in the summer of 1997, in Omaha. Roughly the same area.
One done.
I could do this.
***
"Ms Antoine."
I startled awake, and my head shot up, smacking into the lamp on the table. I cringed, holding my head.
When my vision realigned itself, I saw Doctor Saroyan standing in the doorway. I realized suddenly that I was in limbo.
"Yes?"
I realized she had her coat on and was carrying a purse.
"It's nearly midnight," she said, and I could almost hear the sigh in her voice.
"Oh my god," I sighed, my head in my hands.
There was a pause.
"How many?" asked Doctor Saroyan.
"Ten," I breathed, putting a hand on the pile of crates on the work table.
She nodded, and I felt so disappointed in myself.
"Go get some rest, Ms Antoine," she said, turning, and disappearing from view.