Free The Stars Shine Bright by Sibella Giorello

counter, pulling open a cabinet full of syringes.
    The horse’s eyes were rolling in their sockets. Ashley ran forward as the horse began rattling his chains. She placed her small chapped hands on his face, and when his lips pulled back, revealing long teeth, she pressed her face into his rippling neck muscles, whispering into his ear. The horse made a hollow sound, like wind blowing over an empty bottle. I glanced at the vet. He was holding a filled syringe, waiting, I supposed, for the horse to settle down. But I saw a bittersweet expression crossing his old face. Pity, appreciation. Bafflement. All of it tumbling together until he placed his thumb on the animal’s glistening neck and pricked the bulging vein with the needle. But before the syringe was empty, the horse slumped back into its sling.
    â€œPaddles!” The vet dropped the syringe to the floor.
    Brent wheeled a cart across the bare concrete floor, pushing it toward the vet. Doc Madison yanked two paddles from its side. A high whine filled the clinic as he grabbed a plastic bottle below and squirted clear gel onto one of the paddles, rubbing them together. The sound of the defibrillating electricity seemed to harmonize with the girl, suddenly crying.
    â€œHelp him,” she whispered. “Please help him.”
    Brent wheeled a second cart toward the table, with a machine shaped like a box. Several long, crimped tubes extended from its side. A warning label on its side read Flammable. Oxygen. As the assistant rushed past, I caught an acrid odor. Almost a stench.
    The vet pressed the paddles into SunTzu’s brown chest.
    â€œHit!”
    A burst of unsynchronized electricity slammed into the horse, quivering his body. The vet waited, watching as Brent pried open the animal’s long jaw and shoved a crimped plastic tube down its throat.
    â€œHit!”
    Brent stepped back. Another shock wave pounded the animal. The chains rattled again, only the horse didn’t wake up.
    â€œAgain!”
    The ionized air smelled like summer thunderstorms. And with each hit, the horse’s noble face seemed to grow longer. The black whiskers drooped toward the floor. The oxygen tube slipped to one side. Ashley backed up and reached for her own throat. Dirt was nestled in her fingernails and it spread across her chin as she covered her mouth. The vet gave one more hit. His own chest heaved again, but as he gazed at the horse, waiting, his old face collapsed into itself. Finally, he let go of the paddles, dropping them in a clatter of plastic and metal and defeat.
    â€œNo . . .” Ashley looked at the vet. “No. You can’t . . . He can’t be dead.”
    The vet continued to stare at the horse. His eyes had a distracted expression, like he was listening to his own thoughts, and when he stepped forward, he touched a gloved finger to SunTzu’s chest. He tapped the spot.
    Ashley said, “What’s wrong?”
    The vet touched the spot again. Right where the horse’s brown coat formed a cowlick, the hair on either side meeting in the middle of his chest.
    â€œSwabs,” the vet said quietly. “Please.”
    Brent was also staring at the dead horse. On his pale skin the acne looked like measles.
    â€œBrent!”
    He jumped.
    â€œSwabs!”
    Stumbling for the counter, he pulled several cotton swabs from a tall jar and handed them to Doc Madison. The vet touched one to SunTzu’s chest. When he pulled it away, the bleached cotton tip was pink.
    â€œIs that . . . blood?” Ashley said. “He’s bleeding? Why is he bleeding?”
    The vet didn’t answer.
    â€œYou did that,” she said. “With those paddles. You hurt him!”
    The vet shook his head and dabbed another swab, then dropped them both into a plastic bag, sealing the top.
    Evidence , I thought. He’s gathering evidence .
    Ashley’s voice quavered. “What happened to him?”
    Keeping his back to her, standing at