Richard's Relics: A Military Romance

Book 5: Acorn Hills Series

by Grace Augustine

Synopsis

Richard Dempsey grew up in Acorn Hills. He was a star athlete and his prowess put many trophies in the cases that lined the halls of AHHS. Upon graduation, Richard and a classmate enlist in the Navy and are shipped to Vietnam.

War and its remnants are cruel, as he finds out. One of the lucky ones that survived, his turn in Vietnam changed him. He followed the suggestions of his commanders and tried counseling, but it didn't work. His nightmares continued. Richard met with a couple friends for a few beers. The conversation turned to suggestions of flying across the world to modern day Saigon. He agreed, hoping to slay the dragons that continue haunting him.

Richard's Relics, Book 5 of the Acorn Hills series, details the uglyness of PTSD, is filled with history of the Vietnam war, and a few surprises that emotionally engage you in this epic story.

Release date: November 1, 2015

Print pages: 267

Content advisory: Triggers for PTSD For Mature readers over 18 yrs of age

Sample

Chapter 1

“Johnny! Goddamn it! Get down!” Richard yelled from his belly, the brush barely hiding him and the other four men on this clusterfuck of a mission. Just as the sound of gunfire erupted, Johnny hit the ground, not even a twitch from his body as bullets whizzed by like a thousand angry, deadly bees. Richard kept his stomach French-kissing the ground as he crawled over to the young man who was in his charge. Blood covered Johnny’s chest and head. “Sonofabitch! Johnny, don’t you dare die on me! Do you hear me? Johnny!” Richard sprang to a sitting position and looked at the clock. 3 am. He ran a shaky hand through the small stubble of hair on his head. Like so many other mornings he woke up drenched in sweat from undying memories: memories of gunfire, yelling, children crying. Memories of clear unblinking eyes and permanent looks of fear frozen into faces as still as marble. The stench of death. Vietnam. This lack of sleep was becoming a ritual. It robbed Richard of energy that could be used at work. The only way he got through his days was to nap in his chair when he got home. Richard slid to the side of the bed, not even bothering to put on his slippers. Feeling the cool hardwood floor on his bare feet always helped center him back in the real world, which was why he always made his way out to the kitchen after these dreams. Over the years the memories came and went in waves, but this last wave had gone on so long. The lack of sleep was becoming a ritual. The only way he got through his days was to nap in his chair after dinner. A lone coffee filter fell from its container. Richard moved to the sink and fixed to brew a pot. Hell, since he was wide awake, he may as well eat, too. His stomach growled in approval at that decision. Reaching into the freezer, he pulled out a cinnamon roll and tossed it in the microwave. Ginger is such a genius! Richard chuckled. He usually purchased Mystic Capers pastries in bulk. When he got home from shopping trips, he’d individually wrap and freeze them for times such as this. There was no question for Richard that it had been a horrible few months: not just for him, but for so many others he cared about. First there was Jake’s death, Jillian’s meltdowns, things at work demanding so much more attention than normal, and now the damn dreams again, appearing when he had the least energy or mental will to deal with them. Richard poured a cup of the freshly brewed dark liquid and took a sip. Closing his eyes, he took the time to savor the flavor and breathe in the aroma. The microwave beeped, and Richard grabbed the warm plate and took a napkin from the holder that sat on the familiar old oak kitchen table. He ran a hand across the table top. He’d sat at this table the majority of his life. Why, after all these years, am I still being haunted by thirty year old memories? Why won’t those memories fade like so many others? Richard took a sip of the freshly brewed dark liquid, closed his eyes, and savored its flavor and aroma. Richard had been hospitalized as soon as he arrived back in the states for what was called psychological evaluation. In his way of thinking it wasn’t much more than a two week debriefing session that offered little if no, a thinly veiled “man up” from men who hadn’t had the guts to fight their own war before brushing him aside to fend for himself. Because of the reality of the depression and anger, the doctors urged Richard to continue counseling after his hospital release. Someone had recommended a psych who was an expert in dealing with war veterans. Richard had wanted the help and realized how fortunate he was to be one of the few returning veterans taken seriously when he knew he needed help. He wanted to deal with it all and move forward. He wanted the memories to be just that, memories, not the fire breathing dragon that haunted him. The counseling did help for a while. Richard let go of some of what he’d experienced, some of what tore him up emotionally, but there were other things he knew he would simply have to take to his grave…things he couldn’t tell anyone. Those memories were the ones that haunted him the most, the ones no one else knew. Again, Richard found himself trying to put a box around all of that and shove it to the darkest corner of his soul so he didn’t have to deal with it. Put up a brick wall and don’t even make a door so there’s no key to throw away. Richard forced his thoughts elsewhere. They immediately turned to Jillian, Jake’s memorial service, and all of the legal crap that followed. Richard remembered the conversation in the garden at Evans Enterprises following the reading of Jake Evans’ will. He remembered how good Jillian’s head felt on his shoulder, and how his arm instinctively drew her closer, sheltering her, protecting her. Richard wasn’t sure when his true feelings for Jillian hit him. They’d always been best friends. They’d had picnics in the backyard and played HORSE in the driveways of both houses as kids. Jillian bugged the hell out of him over the fence that separated the properties. He could still see this twelve year old girl with long chocolate brown pigtails, black plastic cat eye shaped glasses, and braces on her teeth grinning as she tossed water balloons over the fence, hitting him with perfect accuracy. Jillian was six years younger than Richard and her brother, Chris. While the boys had had some classes together, they were not what you’d call close friends. Chris was too geeky for Richard’s sports-minded persona back then. Richard shook his head. The only thing he’d like to do now is kick Chris’ ass for making Jillian deal with her parents’ death by herself and for not being there for her when Brett died. More so now, after Jake’s death. It’s as though Chris wasn’t a part of the Stevens’ family. Chris marched to his own drummer, that’s for sure, and not to a beat that Richard, or many others, particularly cared for. Life didn’t seem fair. There was an all too familiar thud at the door and Richard got up to retrieve the morning paper. He noticed the lights were already on in Jillian’s kitchen, and he wondered if he should offer her coffee and a roll. He chuckled at that thought. Cinnamon roll, Richard, cinnamon roll. Lately the case of loneliness seemed worse than normal. Sure, Richard loved his independence and being able to come and go as he pleased, yet something was missing. If he was being completely honest, a lot of things were missing: human contact, the voice that said good morning, arms that willingly gave hugs, lips that seared passionate kisses or even just loving kisses, a heart that reassured and loved you even if you made a crappy decision. In his mind he wove a fantasy around Jillian. Should I even attempt to explore my real feelings for her? What if Jillian turns me down, laughs in my face? What scares the hell out of me is after all these years, what if she feels the same way I do? Richard finished the sports section of the paper and his second cup of coffee at the same time. He grabbed his black cell phone that was on the table by his napkin just as it rang. He looked at the time, 5:15 am. Caller ID…Jilly. “Well, good morning to you, Pretty Lady. What has you awake so early?” Richard tried not to be overly excited, but he could actually feel the smile spreading on his face and spilling over onto his voice. “Richard, you sure know how to sweet talk the ladies, don’t you?” “Just trying to be cheerful, I guess,” he replied, noticing the pleased but tired tone of her voice. “I couldn’t sleep and saw your kitchen lights. Hope you don’t mind I’m calling so early “No need to apologize. You know you can call me anytime. What’s up?” “I guess…I mean…I just needed to hear another person’s voice. What little sleep I had was filled with memories of Jake. There are times, I swear, he haunts me, Richard. I feel him…around me…in my house. I smell him.” There was true fear in her voice. “Honey, do I need to come over?” Hearing her sigh, made up his mind. “Let me get dressed. I’ll be right there.” Richard pressed the end call button and ran to his room. Something was going on. He knew something wasn’t right, and he wanted to be there to find out what and be there for her. The hesitation and fear in Jillian’s voice alarmed him. Richard thought about the night he found her sitting on the floor of the upstairs apartment at the flower shop, grief-stricken and sobbing. After tying the laces of his shoes, Richard grabbed a jacket and headed out the door. Deja vu scrambled his brain. How many times had he crossed that lawn only to have Mr. Stevens yell at him to use the sidewalk? Richard laughed out loud. Bob Stevens was a good man. Richard wished Bob was still alive to comfort his daughter or at least to guide him in how to comfort his best friend. Before Richard could knock, Jillian held open the screen door to the porch entrance. Her eyes were red and puffy and there were tissues in each hand. “Richard,” Jillian sighed and put her arms around him. “Is the heartache ever going to go away?” The intensity of her sobbing shook her whole body. “Honey, come on, let’s go inside.” Richard guided her into the kitchen and closed the door behind them, still keeping an arm around her shoulders. Richard seemed to always know what Jillian needed and when. This was like all the other times he’d comforted her and dried her tears. He turned to face her then just gathered her back into his arms as her tears stained his shirt once again. “Jilly, it’s okay, I’m here. You can unload, you know that.” “Richard, I don’t know what’s worse, not being able to process all of this or not having closure because there was no body to see, ya know? I didn’t know I could hurt this much.” Jillian wiped her nose with the tissues Richard put in her hand before continuing. “When Brett died, I died, too. I never thought I’d love again. Then Jake…then Jake came into my life and warmed that part of my heart, ya know? Then in an instant he was gone, too.” Richard went to the coffee maker and poured them each a cup, grabbing the creamer on the counter, and made his way to the table. Richard placed her mug on the table before sitting down in the chair closest to her. He wrapped his hands around his own mug. As much as he wanted to comfort her, Richard thought his hands were better there than on Jillian right now. The last thing she needed in this state of grieving was him showing his unrequited love. Richard took a small sip of coffee, detecting the hazelnut aroma. He hated flavored coffee, but managed a sip anyway. Jillian looked at the mug then at Richard and grinned. “You don’t have to drink it. I know you hate my coffee,” her comment and smirk lightened the conversation for only a moment. “How is it that you know me so well?” Richard smiled back and shook his head. “Oh gosh, Richard, we’ve known each other most of our lives. How could I not know you?” “I guess you’re right,” he went to take a sip of the coffee again, stopping in mid-air and putting the cup down. Vile crap! “Honey,” Richard began, “I really don’t know how to answer your question other than to tell you that with time it’ll be okay. Letting go of those we love is not an easy task, regardless of the situation.” Richard’s thoughts momentarily travelled back to the dream that woke him, back to the senseless death of one of his men. No, it was never easy. Jillian rattled on and on about things that had nothing to do with the real reason she’d called Richard. She talked about work and cookies, the boys and wedding plans. Most of what she said made little sense. The chit-chatty small talk was driving Richard crazy. He finished his coffee and took both mugs to the sink. He came back to where Jillian was sitting and grabbed her hand, pulling her to a standing position. “C’mon. I’m putting you back to bed. Do you have any muscle relaxers or pain killers in the house?” “Top shelf in the bathroom cabinet.” Richard led Jillian to her room, went into the attached bathroom, grabbed a couple of the bottles and brought them to her. He wasn’t an advocate of popping pills, but in this instance, something needed to calm her down. Since he couldn’t sexually ravage her, although he wanted to, the drugs would have to do. Jillian chose the muscle relaxer and knew she was safe with two of the pills. She swallowed them with the cup of water Richard offered her. Richard shoved the pill bottles in his pocket. He wasn’t taking any chances of an overdose. He knew Jillian was level headed, but he was always a little paranoid after those flashback dreams and he’d rather be safe than not. As soon as Jillian was under the covers, Richard pulled them up to her chin and dragged the antique rocker over so it was next to the bed. Fortunately today was Sunday. Richard had no schedule to follow, no work to do. He could be here without guilt. He wanted to be here. He needed to be here. “Honey, close your eyes. I’m not leaving. I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.” Richard kissed Jillian’s forehead and could tell the drugs were already taking effect. Jillian drifted into a peaceful sleep, her breathing nice and slow. Richard sat down in the rocker and propped up his feet on the corner of her bed. He grabbed the afghan on the back of the chair and covered up. This is how it should be. If truth be told, though, Richard wanted to be under those covers with his arms surrounding this beautiful lady. God, why do things have to be so fucking complicated? Richard couldn’t handle a relationship at this point. Hell, he couldn’t even handle his own life, let alone adding anyone to it. As long as he was having these living nightmares about his past, there was no way he could face having Jillian in his life. She deserved someone who could love her completely with no baggage and at this point he just couldn’t offer to do that. Richard closed his eyes and tried to relax as he sat there, but more and more thoughts ran through his head. He saw the faces of the little Vietnamese children, so innocent. Some had tears because they couldn’t find their parents, some begging for money or food. Richard’s expression softened as he remembered the toothless smile from the woman who sheltered them one night from the opposing factions. Even though some of them were her relatives, she took pity on the group of Americans. She had a sadness that Richard felt like he understood as he got older—the folly of hate and war repeated again and again and again. What a group they were: Juan, whom Richard called Johnny, was a Hispanic who barely weighed 130 pounds dripping wet, but could lift triple his weight. Max, the African-American who was built like the incredible hulk with keen hearing and sharp senses. Ken, the young smart ass New Yorker who knew it all. Toby, the cowboy Texan. David, the long-haired pothead, and him…the fearless leader of the pack who learned half the time leadership was keeping a straight face and firm tone of voice while you still didn’t have any idea just what you were doing. Scenes kept flashing like a cheap movie. Richard opened his eyes several times, checking on Jillian and solidifying in his mind he wasn’t in Nam. What’s it gonna take for this bullshit to stop? Richard closed his eyes again. The warmth and comfort of where he was allowed him to sink into a peaceful sleep, something that hadn’t happened in a very long time.