The Purple Heart

by Christie Gucker

  The Purple Heart

  Christie A.C. Gucker

  _

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012, Christie A.C. Gucker

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Pagan Writers Press

  Houston, Texas

  ISBN: 978-1-938397-43-1

  Edited by Toni Rakestraw

  Cover by Chuck Baum

  http://paganwriterspress.com

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to every man and woman who has served as a

  soldier to defend freedom for all. You are heroes. It is also dedicated to the families of those soldiers, who give up their fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, children and friends so that we can have those freedoms.

  Your sacrifices do not go unnoticed. Thank you all.

  Special dedication to the soldiers in my family, my father John P. Choida,

  grandfather Stephen P. Gaida, brother-in-law Darren Dreher,

  my father-in-law Donald Gucker, and my grand uncles,

  who have served or continue to do so for our country.

  Battling BARE, Inc.

  The mission of Battling BARE, Inc. is to provide a network of support for the spouses, children and family members who silently struggle to carry the burden of PTSD with their beloved Service Members. By creating a safe place to band together and share our stories, we will raise awareness about PTSD and create positive programs of true healing for families affected.

  Please join this great organization to help our soldiers and their families deal with PTSD.

  Battling BARE Pledge

  Broken by battle...

  Wounded by war...

  My love is FOREVER—to you this I SWORE.

  I WILL:

  Quiet your silent screams...

  Help heal your shattered soul...

  Until once again, my love—YOU ARE WHOLE!

  Battle bare.

  Contact Information

  Website: www.battlingbare.org

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/BattlingBare

  Twitter: @BattlingBARE

  Photo Submissions: photos@battlingbare.org

  Writing Submissions: submissions@battlingbare.org

  Getting Help: advocacy@battlingbare.org

  Volunteering: volunteer@battlingbare.org

  Office: 931.542.3393

  Fort Campbell, Kentucky

  Acknowledgements

  God, thank you for everything you give to me. I know I am blessed. And I appreciate it all.

  Of course I want to take this time to thank my family for their never-ending support for my never-ending endeavors. Chris, Sam and Sydney, you really have no idea how much it means to know that you are there for me all the time.

  Thanks to my mom Kathleen Choida, for always being there for me and reading all my books and being my biggest fan.

  Thank you to all my friends and family for your love and support.

  Now…I have to stop for a moment and give a VERY VERY special thanks to two very important people in my life, which brought two of the characters in this book to life. Well, maybe I should say, the characters are based on them and their awesome personalities! Gina Bennett and Cheryl Chere —you two ladies have brought so much laughter to my life over the past few years and heck, we’ve never even met in person. SO…if this book ever goes to film? We have a date on the red carpet! Wishful thinking but you never know. Thank you for always being there and being my friend. I love you so much!

  Special shout out to my goddaughter/niece Chelsie Dreher—love you so much, babe.

  I want to thank all my very wonderful twitter gals who fangirl with me all the time. You ladies are the BEST and thanks for everything you do for me! You KNOW who you all are! Dee (Love you oodles), Kim (SPITTENS RULE), Angela, Jen (although you only stalk my twitter! LOL <3s), Bearly (you are important!), Nena, Michaela (LOVE YOU SO MUCH BABE), Marilyn (we forge on together), Bobbie, LYCUM (always in my heart and DM!), Karen, EYE …GOD the list could go on forever!!! Sorry if I didn’t mention you by name, but I LOVE YOU ALL! You know that.

  I would also like to thank these GREAT military organizations: Battling BARE, Battle Buddy, Stop Soldier Suicide, Honor and Respect our Troops, Wounded Warrior Project, One Warrior Won, Lost Heroes, Hero To Hero, and Letters of Thanks.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One: Sydney

  Chapter Two: Aiden

  Chapter Three: Cheryl

  Chapter Four: Aiden

  Chapter Five: Cheryl

  Chapter Six: Aiden

  Chapter Seven: Cheryl

  Chapter Eight: Aiden

  Chapter Nine: Cheryl

  Chapter Ten: Aiden

  Chapter Eleven: Cheryl

  Chapter Twelve: Aiden

  Chapter Thirteen: Sydney

  Chapter Fourteen: Cheryl

  Chapter Fifteen: Aiden

  Chapter Sixteen: Sydney

  Chapter Seventeen: Gina

  Chapter Eighteen: Aiden

  Chapter Nineteen: Cheryl

  Chapter Twenty: Aiden

  Chapter Twenty-One: Cheryl

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Aiden

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Cheryl

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Aiden

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Sydney

  About the Author

  Prologue

  When they brought him to me, I knew he wasn’t going to make it through the night. I had the ominous feeling he wouldn’t even make it through the next few hours. The damage to his body was well beyond anything that could be repaired. He seemed to be quite aware of it, too. My heart sank in my chest, as I would be the only one to help him now. I watched as everyone moved on to other soldiers and sat down beside him.

  “My name is Sydney. Hang in there with me, okay? I’m going to stay with you. I’ll be right here for whatever you need.”

  I held his hand in mine and stared into his eyes; they showed me how truly frightened he was. His hands were so cold, and growing increasingly colder. I tried to give him all my strength. It was all I could offer him.

  “I’m dying, aren’t I? I can’t believe this is how my life ends. I don’t want to die,” he confessed in a shallow-breathed whisper. He was so young, probably only in his early twenties, with so much life yet to live ahead of him. Now he would never have that chance.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of—I promise. It’ll be beautiful on the other side. I just know it. This life is only a stepping stone,” I tried to reassure him.

  “How do you know? How?” he pleaded softly, needing to hear my response.

  I didn’t have much of a response to offer him. I didn’t know. To be honest, I was afraid to die, too. What if there really was nothing more after this life? Is this really how I chose to spend mine? In the grand scheme of the universe, each person’s life is just a quick blip on the radar. It wasn’t much time at all, if you thought about it that way. However, there was also a big part of me that wanted to believe there’s something more waiting for us after this little blip disappears.

  I’d love to come back, reincarnated into another person, to live every step of life. There were so many things I would love to do all over again, like being a baby in a father’s comforting arms, having that very first kiss, or maybe falling in love. Falling in love; it was somethin
g I hadn’t done yet in this life. Not true love, at least.

  I wondered if I’d remember anything from my previous life. I believed some people might. Old souls, you know the ones I’m talking about. A child who says something so profound, you can only stand there dumbfounded, and be sure to spend too much time pondering it. I once heard a three-year-old say ‘It’s never too late for now.’ I’d thought about that one for an entire month. In fact, I always would. I’d made it my life’s mantra.

  “I’ve held the hands of dying men before, too many of them. They’ve never looked frightened when they passed. They’ve always looked—at peace,” I told him, as he squeezed my hand with what little strength he had left.

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore, you know? I can’t feel the pain.... Wait. Wait. Is that my father? Yes, it is. I see my father. He’s calling for me.... He’s smiling. He’s so young. I think I should go to him. I want to go to him.”

  “Then go to him. It’s where you’re supposed to be, that’s why he’s here. He came for you. Don’t be afraid. It’s okay to go.” Those would be the last words he would hear.

  He smiled, and then his gaze shifted past me. He looked happy and at peace. Then he was gone. I felt my eyes well up with tears. No matter how many times I’d watched someone die, the emotions I felt were so strong. I never got used to it.

  I waited until his hands went completely cold, while cradling them in my own. I covered his body with a white sheet, said a quick prayer for him, and left the room.

  Chapter One: Sydney

  When I woke up that morning, I felt like something was slightly off balance. I wasn’t exactly sure why. After coming straight home from work the night before, I had only made myself dinner and watched a movie. Maybe I was forgetting something? I just couldn’t put my finger on it so checking my planner to make sure would be one of the first things on my list. I got up slowly and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My reflection looked healthy and refreshed, but I certainly didn’t feel it. My long hair was matted to my head with sweat, making a faux turban. I ran my fingers through it to try to pry it loose. The nightmare had disrupted my sleep again. As hard as I tried, I just couldn’t remember this one. I often didn’t remember them at all, but knew this one was about the war. I could remember hearing gunfire and panic, but that was it. There had been a lot of similar dreams lately, and they felt more like recurring distant memories. I guessed it was a bit of my very own Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There was no way you could enter war and not be affected by it somehow. Every soldier had some form.

  I had been working with soldiers returning from war for about three years now. Some of their stories had repercussions on my vivid imagination. But I had my own stories, having originally been an army nurse during the war on the front lines; you could say. I had watched many of the soldiers in my care die from traumatic wounds. It was what I did when there was nothing we could do to save them. I helped them accept their fate the best I could in the short time we had, in order for them to move on in peace. These men didn’t have to die if it weren’t for the greed and selfishness of power-hungry tyrants. It all seemed so tragic and unnecessary. It proved to actuate my perspective on life, enough to bend my career in a different direction. I wanted to work with the living once my tour was up because I could no longer care for the dying. It was too final for me. I had considered becoming an OB nurse, helping to bring life into this world rather than watch it leave, but that just didn’t feel right. I wasn’t quite sure why. Instead, I returned to school and received my degree in Psychology, so that I could continue working with the military, but this time as a civilian. Now, I help the soldiers return to life outside of the military instead of guiding them to their end. I help them find their way again. I help them find their life.

  I had just seen so much of their suffering, and I really wanted to help them when they returned home, maybe help myself a bit, too. These soldiers had seen and done so much more than I had. Some of them were so young. They needed my help to acclimate back into a peacetime world. They needed help to forget. I hoped it would help me forget also, but some things were just embedded too deep within our soul to be forgotten. So I helped in any way I could.

  I headed downstairs to put a pot of coffee on; it’d be ready once I’d showered. My footsteps echoed as I climbed the stairs. This house was too big for me. I had inherited it from my parents. It wasn’t a mansion by any means, just too much for one person. The house itself was beautiful though, and I loved it. It was a two story with cathedral ceilings and hardwood floors throughout. The entire house was very open and you could see every room from, well, every room. Even the second floor had a landing overlooking the bottom floor. I kind of liked that aspect of the house. I was nervous being alone all the time, and it was comforting to be able to see there was no one lurking in the corners. Even though I was in a development, my house sat back from all the others, in a secluded wooded area via a long gravel driveway. I had my privacy, but sometimes I longed for the company of my neighbors. I had no idea who any of them were by name. I never even saw them except when driving down the street, offering a casual but friendly wave out of simple politeness.

  My house was warm and cozy, even though it had a ton of open space. My earth-tone couches were big and cushy, with patterned throw pillows galore. I had pictures of my parents and much of my childhood, scattered amongst candles, which were everywhere. But these candles were the battery-operated kind, the ones on timers. This way, there was always some sort of light in the house when I got home, and it made me feel like someone was there, waiting to welcome me. I had toyed with the idea of getting a pet for company, maybe a cat, but didn’t want a cat to feel lonely while I was at work. I actually hated being alone.

  I showered quickly and began getting ready for work. Working was pretty much all I seemed to do these days. I was a solitary person, but truly not by choice. Work was the only place I actually had any type of social life, except for any time I got to spend with my best friend Cheryl, and her wife Gina. Cheryl and I worked together, as it were, anyway.

  I knew I didn’t have any appointments today, so I considered dressing casually. I’m not sure why I even bothered because I struggled with this decision every morning, but could never bring myself to do it. My mother’s words would ring in my head, as she always told me how I would be respected more at work if I dressed the part of a professional. I’d always given in. I opted for a black blouse and an ecru skirt with matching pumps. The golden highlights in my dark brown hair seemed to sparkle in the sunlight that was streaming through my bedroom window. It hung in natural loose waves over my shoulders. I applied light make-up, as was my usual routine. My eyes were a very light hue of greenish-blue, so if I globbed on makeup, it looked as though I was heading out for a photo shoot at some swanky magazine. I was more the surfer-girl-next-door-type. I was pretty down-to-earth, yet classy, which was a statement unto itself.

  I grabbed a travel mug of coffee, light and sweet, and headed out the door for my semi-short commute. I emerged from my house and the sunlight blinded me. I wasn’t sure why. This time of year, the leaves usually blocked the direct sun in the front of my house. It was a pure bright white light and everything erased from my vision for a short time. I quickly covered my eyes, which then caused complete darkness. I wondered if I was having a stroke, because the extremes were so blatant. I tried my best to shake it off. The one thing I always seemed to be able to do was “shake it off.” It was an expression my father always used with me when I was young and not feeling well. My dad had been such a huge influence in my life. I missed him terribly. I wished he was still around to continue giving me his words of wisdom and needed advice. He just had a way of making everything seem easy to handle.

  When my eyes had completely recovered, I headed for my car. I drove one of those cute mini-coupes and absolutely loved my little black car. It was probably not the safest car due to its size; it sure didn’t feel safe when a tractor-trailer was driving next to me
on the highway, but I loved it just the same. It was zippy. I parked in my usual spot, and headed into the building while fumbling to get my ID clipped onto the waist of my skirt.

  “Good morning, Ms. Porter,” the guard said, tipping his hat to me, as I walked through the metal detector.

  “Harry, haven’t I told you a hundred times at least, to call me Sydney?” I kidded with him.

  “Yes, Ma’am, but you won’t stop and talk to me if I do that.” He smiled, and handed back my purse from the x-ray belt.

  “I’d talk to you anyway. You’re my morning sunshine and one of the only people I know who smiles around here.”

  “Well, seeing your beautiful face every morning, how could I not smile?” Harry was old enough to be my grandfather, but he was still a huge flirt. He was probably in his mid-seventies. He had gray-peppered hair, and his uniform was always perfectly pressed. His wife must iron it every night. I smiled and shook my head as I aimed toward the elevator.

  When I arrived at my office, there was a case file already sitting on my desk waiting for me. Interesting. They normally came through via an email alert first. I picked up the file to peruse it while I sipped on my coffee.

  Attn: Sydney Porter

  New Case Management File

  Security Clearance: Highly Classified

  Highly Decorated Officer

  Included was a hand scribbled note:

  This case is to take highest priority.

  All of your other cases have been moved to other case managers.

  No additional cases will be sent to you.