There was little in my stomach and what was there was trying to come up. Warm hands grasped my shoulders.

"Deep breaths. You're okay," Brack said with quiet authority.

I tried to inhale. There was no air. And he lied. Nothing would ever be okay again.

Dead.

I struggled to get out of bed while mumbling, "Toilet, I- please."

An ugly plastic, curved, pink hospital bowl appeared under my chin as I heaved. It did little good; nothing came up and I ...