Sometimes Cully Frayne heard music inside his head, beautiful songs from his childhood days in Tennessee. The songs might be just about anything from top-forty radio that made him remember specific days of his youth to the sweet lullabies his grandmother sang to ease him off to sleep when he was just a babe. Lately, the music had fallen silent, and all he heard was the voice. On this cold night in Boston, Cully wanted nothing more than to hear the music again, to remember the warm summer days of his past. "Runaround Sue" would be nice, he thought, as he shuffled down Boylston Street, zipping the stained windbreaker he'd been given at the shelter up to protect his neck from the chill. He tried to remember the words to the song, muttering to himself, attempting to ignore the sharp bite of the cold, November wind. "Here's my story, sad but true. It's about a girl that I once knew. She took my love, then ran around, with every single guy in . . ." The voice made his brain bleed - at least that's what it felt like. Needles, hundreds of needles sticking into the soft, gray matter. Cully stopped, gasping. Leaning against the cold metal of a light post, he promised he'd be good, if only the voice would make his brain stop bleeding. The