Why Me?

by Treva Harte

  Some people were rushing on the stage, she saw others running toward the balcony. Cassie somehow managed to hurtle forward and throw herself onto the stage.

  *Wynn!*

  And he still didn't answer her.

  In the balcony above her she could hear shouting. Men must be wrestling with Carter and Emmanuel. She didn't look. Cassie kept moving toward the group around Art and Wynn. Then on the stage she could hear something else.

  A voice. Wynn's voice, steady and insistent, in her head. But he wasn't talking to her.

  *Tell them. Tell them. Tell them they're wrong to hold you. Tell them you deserve to rule them. Tell them what you think. Tell them what scum they are. Tell. Tell.*

  Cassie looked up again, involuntarily. The guards had already wrestled Carter to the ground.

  Emmanuel was still standing. He might have gotten away but he'd stopped in the middle the uproar. She couldn't hear Emmanuel's voice but she saw his lips moving. She could tell he was screaming.

  She heard one of the Secret Service agents, listening in on his earphone, mutter just loud enough near her for anyone to hear, "Think we've got a St. Elizabeth's candidate."

  That was where the man who tried to shoot Reagan was. That was where they put people who were mentally incapacitated. Crazy.

  *Don't hold back now...Tell them. C'mon, Richie. *

  That was Wynn's voice in her head but it was beginning to waver in and out, blurring in her mind. Her ability to hear was getting bad? She didn't think so.

  Was his inner voice was getting weaker? Was he getting weaker?

  The image of blackness was rolling closer and closer in her mind. Something was going wrong. She tried to reach out mentally, to somehow grip onto Wynn before that blackness overtook him. But she couldn't feel anything happening between them.

  Desperate, Cassie changed tactics, used her lack of size to her advantage, and dove under some legs. She got close enough to touch Wynn before hands grabbed at her.

  "No, she's OK. She's mine."

  That was Wynn's voice, thready but still recognizable. The hands let go. Cassie would have been relieved, but then she touched his face and felt blood.

  "Wynn, how are you?"

  His eyes almost shut and then opened again, slowly. He made an effort and focused on her.

  "I've been better. Glad you made it, though."

  She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him. How could he have scared her that badly?

  *Why me? Why me? Don't you understand who you're dealing with? Don't touch me! Don't handcuff me!*

  Cassie blocked the screaming voice from her mind. She wanted to concentrate on Wynn. She needed to concentrate on him.

  Wynn kept looking at her as if he was making a huge effort just to do that. How badly was he hurt anyhow? She grabbed his hand.

  "Wynn? Wynn, damn it, tell me what's wrong! Damn, where's a doctor? Hey! He needs a doctor!"

  He smiled, crookedly. He opened his mouth and she thought he was going to make smart remark. And then, right in front of her, she saw him shut his eyes and lose consciousness.

  * * * * *

  "Why'd you call him Richie?"

  Those were the first words Wynn heard when he came back. He scowled, trying to think past the headache. That must be Cassie talking. Who else would ask a question like that?

  He could figure out where he was, too. He could feel something in his arm that he figured was an I.V. That must mean he was in a hospital. He didn't like hospitals.

  Wynn cautiously half-opened his eyes, but the light hurt and he shut them again. He could see Cassie was there, though. She looked a lot less calm than her voice sounded. He tried to gather strength. He knew he needed to talk to her, to reassure her.

  "His name."

  "Emmanuel was a Richie once?"

  "At the Institute."

  "That doesn't sound very God-like to me. I can see why he wanted to change his name."

  Wynn wanted to smile but he figured the twist of his lips would send more throbs of pain up to his temples. He hurt. He should be glad about feeling pain since he must still be alive. But mostly he just hurt.

  "Well, he's nicely shut up at St. Elizabeth's until they can determine his mental capacity to stand trial. But you made him really lose it, Wynn."

  He'd done what he set out to do. Even while Wynn could feel himself black out, he'd hung onto the idea that he had to get into Emmanuel's mind and make him spill his guts. If Emmanuel just said what was on his mind, no one would let him loose. If Emmanuel was declared mentally incapable, he'd be at Saint Elizabeth's longer than he'd stay in jail. No one would ever believe anything he would tell them after that.

  And while he was there, Cassie and Art would be safe.

  "Good." Wynn mouthed the word.

  Then Wynn waited. He heard nothing more. He felt Cassie squeeze his hand. He wanted to squeeze back but he felt tired. Tired and weak.

  "Wynn?" Cassie sounded worried. "Wynn, don't you?"

  *Don't I what?*

  "Wynn. Oh, damn. You're too tired. That must be why I can't hear you. I know you love me. I love you, too. And I am so glad you're all right."

  He felt her kiss him and he slid back into a voiceless, dreamless sleep.

  * * * * *

  He wasn't sure when he realized he wasn't all right. At first just having the headache fade was enough. Watching the I.V. come out was a good thing, too. Then came the attention. Cassie was always there, of course. Wynn realized he expected her to be there and she never failed him.

  But Art came to the hospital, too. This time the concern Art expressed felt real. The flowers he sent were real, too. Art promised to be back to visit him soon. Wynn thought that, campaign or no campaign, Art probably would visit again. But if he didn't, that was all right, too. Wynn knew the real man—or as real as any potential future president could be—had been in the hospital room with him. That was good enough for him.

  He'd had less welcome attention. The press had tried to visit him, too. Cassie and the nurses had been able to deal with that for now. From the coverage the news reports were giving Emmanuel and crew, Wynn could only be grateful they weren't able to scrutinize him. He'd always wanted to spend his life as low profile as he could.

  Eventually the concussion headache left completely. He'd gotten that after he pitched forward from the bullet wound in his shoulder. Both the bullet and the concussion seemed like nothing compared to what might have happened. No, they were nothing. He'd probably have been sent home immediately if not for the way he'd gotten hurt. The hospital didn't want to be accused of neglecting the man who rescued Art Hornsby. Unfortunately, except that being in the hospital made it easier to dodge the media, Wynn would have much preferred to leave. Staying in the hospital was much too much like the Institute. If he never entered another similar place in his life he'd be overjoyed.

  On the other hand he was also nervous about leaving. Once he was discharged he knew he was supposed to be fine. But he wasn't. As his thought processes got clearer he realized something besides the headache and the bullet had left, too, during his hospital stay. Something much more important to him. Something he was not going to talk to any of the hospital staff about.

  It had taken a while to him to understand what had happened. He first realized it when Cassie gave him odd looks now and then during her visits as if he was supposed to reply to something. He understood it even more when he would wake up, feeling oddly expectant, only to realize he felt and heard nothing.

  Wynn knew he had to accept that his mind wasn't functioning right.

  He'd stayed awake at night, his uninjured arm crossed under his head, listening to the sounds of the hospital and wondering what that would mean for his future. His thoughts made it a very long night.

  He finally decided to confront the problem the next day when Cassie was going to take him back to her place. He was officially healed—or at least as healed as much as anyone at the hospital was going to care about. Wynn knew that this was as go
od as he was going to get. There was no point avoiding the truth any more.

  It was only fair to tell Cassie. He was afraid. He had some faint hope Cassie could figure out the problem and fix it for him, but he kept that stupid hope firmly in its place. No one was going to be able to take care of this one.

  Not even Cassie.

  He watched silently as Cassie bustled in, kissed him, and then began efficiently throwing things in a suitcase to get him out. Cassie obviously didn't want to waste time. Well, he didn't either.

  "It's gone."

  "What is?" Cassie picked up his shaving cream and dumped it in the bag as he saw the nurses coming down the hall with a wheelchair for him. He didn't have a lot more time to tell her.

  "You know." Wynn saw he was clenching his hands.

  How could she not know?

  "What?" Cassie looked around as if she honestly meant to gather up the missing item and throw it in the bag with his socks and watch.

  He could have shaken her for missing what was so obvious.

  "My gift. I don't have my gift any more."

  Chapter Eighteen

  She didn't answer. She couldn't. The nurses came in at that point and hustled him down the hall in the wheelchair while Cassie went to get her car. They didn't leave where most patients did, in case the press was waiting to pounce.

  Wynn watched the car drive up, feeling like an idiot. His shoulder hurt, not his legs, but he had to wait in the wheelchair anyhow. The nurses deposited him onto the car seat, waved, and then he was no longer a patient. He was on his own...except for Cassie.

  He waited, but Cassie didn't say anything even then. She just started the BMW and drove them out of sight of the place.

  "Well?" Wynn couldn't outwait her any longer.

  "Well, what?"

  "I don't have my gift any more. You don't think that's worth even a little exclamation or a 'Too bad' or—"

  Cassie's voice sounded hesitant. "I had begun to wonder why we weren't talking any more the way we did. Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure."

  "Maybe you just—like, strained yourself when you forced Emmanuel to do what you wanted even though you were blacking out. Maybe you just need to rest."

  "I've never had to before."

  "All this never happened to you before. Why don't you just put it aside for now? You have enough to deal with."

  "The hell with that!" Wynn let his frustration roar out. "I don't have my gift any more. How do I put that aside?"

  "Fine. Sulk. What am I supposed to do about it?" Cassie snapped.

  Wynn didn't sulk. He was careful not to sulk.

  He fumed instead. He couldn't believe Cassie didn't say any more to him. She acted as if he didn't exist.

  She acted as if she didn't give a damn. She wasn't even yelling at him. Fuming stopped.

  A trickle of uneasiness set in.

  Had she figured out the problem before he told her? Was she thinking of a way to politely tell him that without his gift he wasn't welcome? He already felt isolated from her, from everyone.

  All these years he had wondered what it would be like to stop having his gift, and now he knew. He felt wrong. He was used to being the way he had been, blast it!

  And Cassie was used to him that way, too. She'd told him she loved him then.

  Wynn followed Cassie out of the car, careful not to jar his shoulder. The condo looked the same but he wasn't sure he was as welcome as he used to be. At least Pandora greeted him. She wound herself around his legs and demanded, with a regal yowl, to be picked up and petted.

  Cassie dumped his bag upstairs—in her bedroom—he noted with some relief. Then she came down and propped herself against the kitchen doorframe.

  "Well then?" she asked.

  "Well then what?" Wynn put Pandora down.

  "You looked ready to go a few rounds with me, Wynn. What about?"

  "No. If you want to, though, you can take me back to my place."

  "What? Why would I want to do that?"

  "I get the feeling I'm not wanted around here." Wynn didn't know what demon of perversity was making him say what he was saying, but he knew he couldn't stop.

  "There must be more than one piece missing out of your brain, Wynn."

  Wynn almost laughed from relief. That sounded like Cassie. The Cassie who would worry over him and snap at him at the same time.

  "Listen, I'm not the one who doesn't want to get married. I'm not the one who still has telepathy."

  "Yeah. Great. Anything I want to know I can tap into your mind and find out for myself but it wouldn't be fair to do that if you can't do the same to me. I also finally figured out that I can tap into Emmanuel's. I don't want to do that. So I guess having your gift gone cancels out mine, huh?" Cassie didn't sound overly concerned as she sat down.

  But she hadn't grown up with her gift, so maybe it wasn't as much a part of her. Wynn wanted to tell her how he felt but he wasn't sure he could.

  Reluctantly Wynn decided to follow her advice and put it aside. Besides, he now had another concern to gnaw over. It was the other thing that had kept him awake and staring up at the hospital ceiling for a long time.

  He had to find out. She had to find out too.

  Maybe he should use more finesse, but he wasn't ready for finesse right then. He pulled her up to her feet again. He could tell he had startled her.

  "What? What, Wynn?"

  She didn't know. She was playing fair. She wasn't checking into his brain. He was sure she would have to know if she did. It was all he could think about.

  He opened his mouth and the doorbell rang.

  "What?" Cassie asked again, definite irritation in her voice now.

  She marched grimly to the door and opened it up before Wynn could yell at her to check through the peephole.

  "Oh!" There was almost a note of terror in her voice.

  Then people burst through the door.

  Wynn tensed until he saw who they were. More importantly, he saw who several of them looked like.

  They had to be related to Cassie.

  "Darling, we couldn't wait for the telephone call I know you planned to give us any minute." Tash's cool tones cut through the stunned moment. "So your father and brother and I just ran over to see you two for ourselves."

  Wynn assessed the people in front of him. There was one grizzled large man, with the same color brown-green eyes as Cassie, one petite older woman holding a bouquet and looking fragile and feminine, and one younger guy who, though he looked like the woman, also had eyes like Cassie.

  "How're you feeling, Harmon?" Cassie's father walked over to Wynn, deliberately surveyed him and nodded. "Looks like you still feel like hell but you'll live."

  Wynn realized he didn't know what to say any more than Cassie did. He shook hands instead.

  "Uh. Right. I'm better."

  "I'm glad." Cassie's brother Hank told him, still staying back. "The news reports didn't sound too good. I saw Cassie was there and that's why I wanted us to—"

  He stopped and didn't finish his sentence. The silence didn't last long.

  "We were terribly worried, of course, and we didn't hear anything from either of you." Tash didn't sound worried. She sounded accusing. "We brought flowers."

  Wynn tried not to look as baffled as he felt while Cassie began to fuss with them. Flowers? He'd never had anyone give him flowers before this week. Now he was being flooded with them. What were you supposed to say about them?

  What were you supposed to say, period, when you were half-ready to fight with a woman and half-ready to make love with her and then her family burst in?

  "Nice flowers, Tash. You have a good eye." Cassie put the last of them in a vase she'd produced from somewhere in her cluttered cabinet.

  "Thanks." Wynn finally produced something he knew he should say.

  "Those aren't nearly as magnificent as the ones I could get for the ceremony." Tash pushed Cassie aside to fuss with the flowers herself.

  "What c
eremony?"

  "Your wedding, of course." Tash smiled, sweetly. "I'm sure you have something to tell us, Cassie. I saw on the news how you rushed to Wynn's side after the shooting. A woman doesn't do that unless—"

  "Unless she's worried about someone." Cassie's lower lip was almost at full pout when she said that. "I can worry about people without marrying them."

  What was that supposed to mean? Wynn wondered if he should start pouting himself. Cassie cared a hell of a lot more for him than she was saying.

  "Mom, Wynn's had a bad day. We probably ought to go," Hank pointed out.

  Cassie almost hugged her brother. Hank might not be a sparkling conversationalist, but he had some good points. Besides, Tash adored him.

  She actually thought over what Hank had suggested.

  "I suppose so. Glad to see you have recovered, Mr. Harmon." Tasha nodded graciously.

  "Oh yes, he's never been better. Sorry you have to leave and all," Cassie said. "Bye!"

  She didn't care if she was ordering Tash and Tash didn't take orders.

  * * * * *

  "God, I'm sorry about that, Wynn," Cassie told him.

  "I'll live. I have something else to talk to you about, if you recall."

  "Oh. Right. Your bad mood. That's OK, a visit from Tash puts me in a bad one, too. So we're even. Let's not push at each other any more, please. I'll snap at you and this time it'll be Tash's fault, not yours."

  "No." He paused, tried to figure out the best way to approach it, to explain—

  There were no words. So he reached for her the way he'd wanted to before.

  "I'd love to carry you upstairs to bed."

  "Listen, Rhett Butler—" Cassie began.

  "But my shoulder is injured." He hesitated. "The hell with it. Hang onto my other shoulder, Cassie."

  It wasn't graceful but he managed to get Cassie onto the bed.

  She smiled.

  "Oh well, ravish me if you must, Rhett," she replied in a rather good imitation of a southern belle's drawl.

  She could make a joke of it, but he planned to do just exactly that. He hoped.

  He fumbled a little with the clothes. God, he didn't want to fumble, but this was important. Vitally important. He couldn't help feeling nerves prickling. In the back of his mind the words I have to know kept echoing.