The ceiling tiles became Kyle's best friends during the next few hours. Thirty-two squares in total—he'd counted them twice—with one water stain in the corner that looked vaguely like a turtle. The beeping machines next to his bed provided the soundtrack to his misery, each ping reminding him he was still alive, despite feeling like death warmed over.
When the door finally creaked open, Kyleturned his head slightly, wincing at the pain that shot through his neck. A doctor strode in, clipboard in hand, looking tired but professional in her white coat. Her name tag read "Dr. Hailey," and she wore thin-rimmed glasses that caught the harsh hospital lights.
"Mr. Anders, yes?" she asked, glancing from her clipboard to his battered face. "How are we feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck. Then t
