Flashes! That’s what I call them. I’m Charley Shepard, the girl who can see things, the seventeen-year-old with an overactive imagination, the freak who can see lights like a thousand photographers crammed inside her head snapping away all at once! With one hand clasped to the side of my head, I staggered into the bathroom. If anyone had been looking, I wouldn’t have blamed them for thinking I was trying to hold my head together – like it might just explode at any moment. It was agony, like my brain was being rubbed against a cheese grater. I leant over the sink. Bile burnt the back of my throat. Then, as if slapped, my head rocked backwards and my neck made a cracking sound. Let go of me! I heard the voice say. Please, I just want to go home! I opened my eyes long enough to find the tap and turn it on. Water sloshed into the sink. I splashed some against my face. The flashes of light came again, jerking my head violently to the right. My knees buckled beneath me and I crashed to the bathroom floor.
