Nothing?

But—wasn’t it?!

Settled, she eyes the dog and notes a gash where white fluff struggles to break free. It must have been cut by the glass when it broke the lightbulb. Proof. She tries to push the white stuffing back inside but only makes the gash wider and causes a chunk more to fall out. She places the dog back down, afraid of gutting it any further.

It was.

She picks up the syringe and holds it to the light. The barrel shines bright, refracting and intensifying under the new glow. The glass absorbs the yellow shine and she thinks it almost matches the color of her hair.

She smiles, feeling light and fluttery, the sight of it injecting a more pleasant memory into her brain—one that she is certain, without a doubt, happened. She remembers when her daddy first let her have the syringe. It was the third and final toy she was allowed to keep. He had walked into her room, standing tall just before the metal door, and she saw it in his coat pocket, the plunger just peeking out.

“Daddy, what is that?” she asked.

“What, this little thing?” he responded, pressing his hand to his pocket. He pulled it out and showed it to her. She thought it was beautiful, the way the light shone through the glass like a vision into a brighter realm. “This is called a syringe. It’s a handy tool I use in the Outside.”

“The Outside?”

“Yes. The Outside beyond these walls. Don’t you remember, Vanilla? Where the creatures are.”

“Yes, Daddy. I do! The Outside is beyond these walls where the bad creatures are and I can’t go! But that’s not what I’m asking.” She stomped her foot after reciting the engrained information. He smiled at that, a deeply content smile. “I’m asking what do you use it for!”

“I will show you.” He took her stethoscope and placed the eartips in her ears. She shifted them properly into place. He picked up the dog and pressed the drum against it. “Do you hear anything?”

She fidgeted and shook her head. “No. I never do!”

He removed the plastic cover from the syringe, the needle new, still lubricated. She watched it gleam, enchanted by how it sparkled—and by how much she wanted to touch it. She followed it with her eyes, not realizing where it was being led. Then she saw the dog, saw the needle tap the dog’s neck, saw it sink inside.

She yelped as her daddy pressed the plunger down. “You’re hurting him! You’re hurting him!” She thought the whole scene looked so awful. Maybe the dog couldn’t express its pain, but she could tell. She could feel it.

“No, I am helping him.”

He removed the needle. She could almost hear the shing as it sliced out from the fabric.

“Now. Do you hear anything?”

She hesitated, then listened. At first, she heard nothing. But then there came a faint thump. And then . . . there it was again! Louder and louder, falling into a rhythm!