Purple Hearts
by Michael C. Keith
Genre: Crime/Mystery
Swearwords: None.
Description: A love that transcends menace.
_____________________________________________________________________
In love there is peculiar magic – Lord Byron
Barry Reardon was a short timer. In fourteen days he would be shipped home from Afghanistan and reunited with his wife of just two years. He had never looked forward to anything so much in his life. As he put on his combat gear for his team’s daily IED sweep in Now Zad, he placed an X over the current date on the calendar hanging from his locker.
“Two weeks!” he shouted to his fellow soldiers. “Won’t have to look at you dogfaces any more.”
“Yeah, if you don’t get your ass blown off by the towel heads,” responded Sergeant Neil, his squad leader.
“No way. I got a beautiful lady waiting for me, so not gonna let any Tally-Ban get my butt before she does.”
“Okay, you grunts, let’s head out,” ordered Billings.
Less than an hour into the patrol, Reardon stepped on a land mine and died instantly.
When the Casualty Notification Officers rang Linda Reardon’s doorbell in Roanoke, Virginia, she was buttering her English muffin.
“Coming!” she shouted, throwing on her robe.
The two uniformed men at the door caught her off guard momentarily, but then the reality of the situation became all too evident.
“Oh my, God!!” she wailed, leaning against the doorframe.
“Ma’am, we regret to inform you that your husband, Specialist Barry Reardon, has lost his life in service to his country.”
Linda did not have to hear the soldier’s words to know that what she feared most had happened.
* * *
A month after her husband’s funeral, Linda’s deep grief had been partially replaced by anger over the violent manner in which her loved one had perished. So young . . . just starting out. We were just starting out. She had returned to work but still could not join any social gatherings without feeling a wrenching absence for the first and only man she had ever loved. A tribute at the local Marine base honoring her fallen husband was the first time she readily agreed to be with a group since his funeral. It was the one public occasion she would not miss. She had also promised Barry’s parents that she would represent them at the event. They did not have the financial wherewithal to return to California from Ohio to witness their son being awarded the Purple Heart posthumously.
The day of the event, Linda pulled herself together and arrived at the base minutes before the medal presentation was scheduled to get underway. She had been told to bring a brief message for her deceased husband, as it was a tradition to attach one to a heart-shaped purple balloon for launching at the conclusion of the tribute. She had thought long and hard about what to say, but in the end all she could write was “I will love you forever, darling. Linda.” She placed the small slip of paper from her memo pad into her purse, but took it out several times to look at it. Each time she read the message her throat tightened and she fought back tears. You’re such a wreck. You’ll never get through this. When she noticed her address on the note, she considered rewriting it on a blank piece of paper. What does it matter? she told herself, glancing at her watch. Late . . . damn it!
An officer greeted Linda at the base’s entrance and escorted her to a small landscaped common in which stood a small platform with a lectern and two chairs. A contingent of Marines in their dress blues comprised the whole audience. Linda had resisted the idea of inviting friends and coworkers to the event, because she expected to be too emotionally distraught to deal with them.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Reardon. I hope this recognition of your husband’s courage and dedication gives you some peace,” said the officer, pointing her to a seat on the stage.
He then tapped on the microphone to see if it was working and proceeded to speak.
“There is a verse in the Bible which reads: ‘Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.’ On that same note, the brave men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice to preserve liberty for all Americans must never be forgotten...”
The soldiers in attendance stood at parade rest during the officer’s short speech, and when he presented Linda with the box containing the Purple Heart, they snapped to attention and saluted.
“On behalf of the country and the United States Marines, we thank you and your family for your patriotism, commitment, and sacrifice.”
Linda stared at the ribbon and felt an instant and profound connection with it. My brave, dear husband, she thought on the verge of sobbing. She closed the case and held it to her chest.
“Mrs. Reardon, your message?” asked the presiding officer, reaching in back of the platform where a helium balloon had been tied.
Linda was surprised that she had not noticed it until the officer held it before her.
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry,”
She removed the note from her purse and handed it to the officer, who tied it to the balloon’s string. He then handed it to her.
“Please release it when you feel you want to.”
Thoughts of her husband rushed through her mind as she held the balloon, She could feel it pull upward. Is it you, Barry? I am with you always, she whispered, and let it go. The balloon soon drifted out of sight, eventually deflating and landing two miles away in a yard not far from Linda’s house.
That night she placed her husband’s Purple Heart on the pillow next to hers. For the first time since she’d been informed of his death, Linda was able to sleep as deeply as she had when Barry was in bed with her.
* * *
The urge to do harm again was consuming Liam Poem. It had been almost six months since he had tortured and killed, and he longed for the thrill and satisfaction it gave him. His victims were all women, mostly young, and thus far there had been three of them. He hungered for a fourth, and the message attached to the withered balloon he’d found on his lawn seemed like a gift from the gods––signed, sealed, and delivered. Who was this Linda, Was she pretty . . . young? he wondered. He would find out. The address on the note revealed that she lived nearby.
The next morning, Liam drove to 21 Chesterton Street and parked. He waited patiently as a predator does its unsuspecting prey. Eventually, his persistence paid off. She is pretty... and young, reveled Liam, watching Linda as she placed a trash barrel at the curb. Yummy, you’re going to be so much fun. After he saw her, he began planning how he would draw her into his web. Wait in the bushes next to her door after dark. She has to come out eventually. When she does, grab her and put her out with the ether, like you’ve done before. It will work again.
Liam decided to initiate his attack sooner than later. He usually took his time before he launched into action, but his desire to sate his appetite for violence had become more urgent since seeing Linda. To him she was by far the most attractive of the women he had raped and murdered, and his fantasies about doing the same to her filled every moment of his waking hours as well as his dreams. He would not take her life as quickly as he had the others. He would savor every act of penetration, every cut of her flesh with his surgical instruments. He would rejoice in her every cry for mercy.
Just as the fates had delivered the name and address of Liam’s next victim, they had also accommodated him by quickly availing him of his object of desire. Linda had decided to make a quick trip to the local variety store to pick up a few necessities. Two steps outside of her door, she felt someone grab her and cover her face with a cloth. When she regained consciousness, she found herself bound and blindfolded. She tried to scream but the gag in her mouth prevented anything beyond a muffled shriek.
Liam was sitting not three feet in front of Linda with his genitals exposed. Every sound and move his prisoner made aroused him further.
“Hello, Linda. We’re going to have a little party,” he said, removing the gag from her mouth.
“Who are you? What are you doing? Untie me!”
“No, I don’t think that’s possible. But I will remove your clothes so we can get really friendly.”
“Don’t touch me. My husband . . .”
“Will do what? He’s dead, isn’t he . . . your little war hero? You think he’ll mind if I have some naughty fun with you? No, I doubt he will given where he is.”
“Please let me go. Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I need to. It won’t be too bad . . . at first. We’ll start off slowly and then get more serious as we go along.”
Liam reached for the hem of her skirt and began raising it.
“Such sweet legs. Bet they lead to something even sweeter.”
Linda attempted to squirm, but she was firmly anchored to the cold surface she’d been placed on. As her assailant’s hand began to drift up the inside of her thigh, she heard a loud grunt followed by a resounding crash. Immediately after it, she discovered that her body was no longer shackled.
“What . . . who’s there?”
Though it was deadly still, Linda felt she could detect a familiar presence. With trepidation, she removed the blindfold. The room was dimly lit, but she could discern a man’s body heaped against the wall. She surveyed her surroundings, fearing that at any moment someone or something would leap out of the shadows at her. Then she saw stairs leading up from what was apparently a basement. She made her way to them and climbed to the top, her legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. The door to the basement was slightly ajar, and she carefully peeked out. A hallway led to a front door, and Linda decided to make a run for it despite her trembling limbs.
I made it . . . I’m okay, she thought, as she reached outside.
“Help! Please . . . help me!” she cried out.
A woman across the street from where Linda had finally collapsed began running to her aid. As the responder approached, Linda noticed that she had been clutching an object. When she opened her hand, she let out a gasp of recognition.
“Barry . . . Barry!” she repeated, staring at his Purple Heart.
Swearwords: None.
Description: A love that transcends menace.
_____________________________________________________________________
In love there is peculiar magic – Lord Byron
Barry Reardon was a short timer. In fourteen days he would be shipped home from Afghanistan and reunited with his wife of just two years. He had never looked forward to anything so much in his life. As he put on his combat gear for his team’s daily IED sweep in Now Zad, he placed an X over the current date on the calendar hanging from his locker.
“Two weeks!” he shouted to his fellow soldiers. “Won’t have to look at you dogfaces any more.”
“Yeah, if you don’t get your ass blown off by the towel heads,” responded Sergeant Neil, his squad leader.
“No way. I got a beautiful lady waiting for me, so not gonna let any Tally-Ban get my butt before she does.”
“Okay, you grunts, let’s head out,” ordered Billings.
Less than an hour into the patrol, Reardon stepped on a land mine and died instantly.
When the Casualty Notification Officers rang Linda Reardon’s doorbell in Roanoke, Virginia, she was buttering her English muffin.
“Coming!” she shouted, throwing on her robe.
The two uniformed men at the door caught her off guard momentarily, but then the reality of the situation became all too evident.
“Oh my, God!!” she wailed, leaning against the doorframe.
“Ma’am, we regret to inform you that your husband, Specialist Barry Reardon, has lost his life in service to his country.”
Linda did not have to hear the soldier’s words to know that what she feared most had happened.
* * *
A month after her husband’s funeral, Linda’s deep grief had been partially replaced by anger over the violent manner in which her loved one had perished. So young . . . just starting out. We were just starting out. She had returned to work but still could not join any social gatherings without feeling a wrenching absence for the first and only man she had ever loved. A tribute at the local Marine base honoring her fallen husband was the first time she readily agreed to be with a group since his funeral. It was the one public occasion she would not miss. She had also promised Barry’s parents that she would represent them at the event. They did not have the financial wherewithal to return to California from Ohio to witness their son being awarded the Purple Heart posthumously.
The day of the event, Linda pulled herself together and arrived at the base minutes before the medal presentation was scheduled to get underway. She had been told to bring a brief message for her deceased husband, as it was a tradition to attach one to a heart-shaped purple balloon for launching at the conclusion of the tribute. She had thought long and hard about what to say, but in the end all she could write was “I will love you forever, darling. Linda.” She placed the small slip of paper from her memo pad into her purse, but took it out several times to look at it. Each time she read the message her throat tightened and she fought back tears. You’re such a wreck. You’ll never get through this. When she noticed her address on the note, she considered rewriting it on a blank piece of paper. What does it matter? she told herself, glancing at her watch. Late . . . damn it!
An officer greeted Linda at the base’s entrance and escorted her to a small landscaped common in which stood a small platform with a lectern and two chairs. A contingent of Marines in their dress blues comprised the whole audience. Linda had resisted the idea of inviting friends and coworkers to the event, because she expected to be too emotionally distraught to deal with them.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Reardon. I hope this recognition of your husband’s courage and dedication gives you some peace,” said the officer, pointing her to a seat on the stage.
He then tapped on the microphone to see if it was working and proceeded to speak.
“There is a verse in the Bible which reads: ‘Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.’ On that same note, the brave men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice to preserve liberty for all Americans must never be forgotten...”
The soldiers in attendance stood at parade rest during the officer’s short speech, and when he presented Linda with the box containing the Purple Heart, they snapped to attention and saluted.
“On behalf of the country and the United States Marines, we thank you and your family for your patriotism, commitment, and sacrifice.”
Linda stared at the ribbon and felt an instant and profound connection with it. My brave, dear husband, she thought on the verge of sobbing. She closed the case and held it to her chest.
“Mrs. Reardon, your message?” asked the presiding officer, reaching in back of the platform where a helium balloon had been tied.
Linda was surprised that she had not noticed it until the officer held it before her.
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry,”
She removed the note from her purse and handed it to the officer, who tied it to the balloon’s string. He then handed it to her.
“Please release it when you feel you want to.”
Thoughts of her husband rushed through her mind as she held the balloon, She could feel it pull upward. Is it you, Barry? I am with you always, she whispered, and let it go. The balloon soon drifted out of sight, eventually deflating and landing two miles away in a yard not far from Linda’s house.
That night she placed her husband’s Purple Heart on the pillow next to hers. For the first time since she’d been informed of his death, Linda was able to sleep as deeply as she had when Barry was in bed with her.
* * *
The urge to do harm again was consuming Liam Poem. It had been almost six months since he had tortured and killed, and he longed for the thrill and satisfaction it gave him. His victims were all women, mostly young, and thus far there had been three of them. He hungered for a fourth, and the message attached to the withered balloon he’d found on his lawn seemed like a gift from the gods––signed, sealed, and delivered. Who was this Linda, Was she pretty . . . young? he wondered. He would find out. The address on the note revealed that she lived nearby.
The next morning, Liam drove to 21 Chesterton Street and parked. He waited patiently as a predator does its unsuspecting prey. Eventually, his persistence paid off. She is pretty... and young, reveled Liam, watching Linda as she placed a trash barrel at the curb. Yummy, you’re going to be so much fun. After he saw her, he began planning how he would draw her into his web. Wait in the bushes next to her door after dark. She has to come out eventually. When she does, grab her and put her out with the ether, like you’ve done before. It will work again.
Liam decided to initiate his attack sooner than later. He usually took his time before he launched into action, but his desire to sate his appetite for violence had become more urgent since seeing Linda. To him she was by far the most attractive of the women he had raped and murdered, and his fantasies about doing the same to her filled every moment of his waking hours as well as his dreams. He would not take her life as quickly as he had the others. He would savor every act of penetration, every cut of her flesh with his surgical instruments. He would rejoice in her every cry for mercy.
Just as the fates had delivered the name and address of Liam’s next victim, they had also accommodated him by quickly availing him of his object of desire. Linda had decided to make a quick trip to the local variety store to pick up a few necessities. Two steps outside of her door, she felt someone grab her and cover her face with a cloth. When she regained consciousness, she found herself bound and blindfolded. She tried to scream but the gag in her mouth prevented anything beyond a muffled shriek.
Liam was sitting not three feet in front of Linda with his genitals exposed. Every sound and move his prisoner made aroused him further.
“Hello, Linda. We’re going to have a little party,” he said, removing the gag from her mouth.
“Who are you? What are you doing? Untie me!”
“No, I don’t think that’s possible. But I will remove your clothes so we can get really friendly.”
“Don’t touch me. My husband . . .”
“Will do what? He’s dead, isn’t he . . . your little war hero? You think he’ll mind if I have some naughty fun with you? No, I doubt he will given where he is.”
“Please let me go. Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I need to. It won’t be too bad . . . at first. We’ll start off slowly and then get more serious as we go along.”
Liam reached for the hem of her skirt and began raising it.
“Such sweet legs. Bet they lead to something even sweeter.”
Linda attempted to squirm, but she was firmly anchored to the cold surface she’d been placed on. As her assailant’s hand began to drift up the inside of her thigh, she heard a loud grunt followed by a resounding crash. Immediately after it, she discovered that her body was no longer shackled.
“What . . . who’s there?”
Though it was deadly still, Linda felt she could detect a familiar presence. With trepidation, she removed the blindfold. The room was dimly lit, but she could discern a man’s body heaped against the wall. She surveyed her surroundings, fearing that at any moment someone or something would leap out of the shadows at her. Then she saw stairs leading up from what was apparently a basement. She made her way to them and climbed to the top, her legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. The door to the basement was slightly ajar, and she carefully peeked out. A hallway led to a front door, and Linda decided to make a run for it despite her trembling limbs.
I made it . . . I’m okay, she thought, as she reached outside.
“Help! Please . . . help me!” she cried out.
A woman across the street from where Linda had finally collapsed began running to her aid. As the responder approached, Linda noticed that she had been clutching an object. When she opened her hand, she let out a gasp of recognition.
“Barry . . . Barry!” she repeated, staring at his Purple Heart.
About the Author
Originally from Albany, New York, Michael C. Keith has paternal family roots stretching back to Clan Keith of Caithness and Aberdeenshire. A leading scholar in electronic media in the United States, he is the author of over 20 books on electronic media, as well as a memoir and three books of fiction. Much more about Michael and his publications can be found on his website: http://www.michaelckeith.com