Read Online The Stars Shine Bright by Sibella Giorello - Free Book Online

rattling from side to side with the spasms in his neck. His Moorish skin was turning a sickly yellow.
    â€œSon.” The vet moved toward him carefully, like somebody approaching a land mine. “Just hold still. Help is coming. Ayuda . Coming.”
    The rain pinged the man’s dark eyes. But the jockey didn’t blink.
    â€œSon?”
    The lanky man resembling a rodeo clown rushed toward the vet. His emerald-green vest with the track’s gold emblem hung askew. “I don’t know what happened,” he said. “Everything looked normal. So I hit the buzzer. But the horses, the horses. They wouldn’t—I couldn’t—”
    The vet pushed him aside and began waving his arms. Four green trucks tore down the turf from the backstretch. The vet pointed at the white rail and the trucks swerved toward the infield, coming to a stop. A dozen men wearing maintenance coveralls jumped out, then pulled long PVC pipes from the truck beds, carrying them to the rail and stabbing the spiked ends into the soil. Another pipe was attached, and when they drew it away, a blue curtain unfurled, at least twelve feet high. The grandstands disappeared from view.
    Two men approached the vet, carrying a thick plank of plastic. It looked like a sled, with ropes on every side. The vet told them to place it in front of the horse. SunTzu’s legs twitched, as though running the race in midair. His long face lay on the turf, a puddle forming under his nose. Every breath blew ripples over the muddy water.
    â€œAyuda!” the vet called out to the jockey trying to restrain the bay horse. “Ayuda nessessito!”
    The jockey caught the leather straps and handed them to the man in the green vest. Then he ran to the vet.
    â€œI need you to talk to him,” the vet said. “Make him feel bueno .”
    The jockey kneeled beside the rider. He spoke soft words, but the pinned man didn’t respond. With one hand, the jockey made the sign of the cross. “Deo,” he pleaded. “Mi Deo.”
    The vet looked at me. “Go back to my van, open the hatch. Pull out the second drawer and bring it here.”
    â€œBring what?”
    â€œThe drawer!”
    I didn’t understand but followed his orders, walking back to the battered vehicle. Sand and silt from the turf were filling the footbed of my sandals, and when I lifted the tailgate door, I saw a wooden bureau. It was secured to the wall with two-by-fours and its six drawers had handles made of rope. I yanked the second ligature. The drawer contained several dozen unmarked white boxes and wasn’t heavy, but carrying it kicked another round of pain down my right side. I held my breath, and when I saw the jockey on the ground, I felt ashamed of complaining.
    Doc Madison tore open four boxes and removed six glass vials, each marked with pharmaceutical labels. Stabbing the vials’ rubber ends with needles, he filled two large syringes. As he was finishing the second, Brent Roth drove up in a truck and jumped out, running to the vet’s side.
    â€œI’m here,” he said.
    â€œMy grandmother could’ve walked here faster,” the vet said.
    â€œI was busy with—”
    The vet cut him off again. “Did you call for another ambulance?”
    Brent nodded. His acne seemed to weep in the rain. “I just—”
    â€œI don’t care. Go hold the head.” The vet placed one syringe in the chest pocket of his shirt. Turning to the jockey who kneeled beside the rider, he said, “Tell him just a few minutes more.”
    The jockey whispered in Spanish. The rider stared at the sky.
    Brent dropped on his knees beside SunTzu. The horse was breathing faster now, that same locomotive panic I heard in Solo two nights ago. When Brent leaned forward, I felt a wave of nausea washing up my throat. He slid his hands down the animal’s perspiring neck, wrapping his arms into an immobilizing hold that looked a lot