Finals (28 page)

Regardless of my Catholic upbringing, Father O’Connor was the lone source of spiritual contemplation in my life. I had never really given much thought to how God felt about my dark deeds. I know He certainly wasn’t the one deviously whispering that I was in the right in terms of bringing several lives to an abrupt end. Yet here I sat, not in police custody, free to carry on with my life. God couldn’t be cool with anything that transpired this school year, right? Was this actually my path that I was meant to be on or had I deviated from my course?

“
I don’t know, Father. Maybe it’s because I’m young, but it seems like every decision I make can have life-altering ramifications. For example, do I want to switch majors? Do I want to transfer schools? How do you know if it’s really life changing or if it’s God’s will or my choice? Things like that confuse me.”

“
Those are questions students have asked me for years and many of these decisions will have a resounding impact on your life. You might meet your mate in college or discover a passion for a certain field. In these years you will have experiences you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life. These years are not insignificant by any means, my boy. It is often at college that individuals’ paths can be shaped.”

“
So when you were talking about the moments in your life that define you, do you think many of these decisions happen in college?”

“
In many respects, yes, but do you feel as though your life would have been dramatically altered had you selected, say, a different school?” the priest inquired.

Yeah, four people would still be walking around, but I couldn’t tell the priest that information. “Of course, I wouldn’t have met you or my other friends and had a lot of great experiences, but I mean I probably would have developed close friendships with different people had I gone to another school.”

“
I would completely agree with that statement. Then to answer your previous question, I think an individual has but one or two key moments when their life can be defined. For example, I know that day I described to you in Vietnam was a day that changed my life. Instances like those can shape a man and cause him to be who he is today.”

Taking another meager swallow of scotch, I wondered if one of those moments had occurred yet in my life. Slitting Brent’s throat and watching him die was probably one. That moment changed me, and if I wouldn’t have killed Brent that day I know Harvey, as well as Quinn and Rogers, would be alive. Then again, my first assault on Taylor did guide me down this path too. It was that moment in junior high when I first learned I had the darkness in me, and the smarts to get away with such an act. If I had just let bygones be bygones and worried about Anna less, I highly doubt my future transgressions would have taken place.

On the other hand, maybe that life defining moment had yet to occur. I wasn’t totally in the clear. If the cops dragged me away, that experience would be life changing. The transition from a carefree existence to one with no control whatsoever would be gigantic since I’d basically be trapped in a cell with no luxuries. That was assuming I wasn’t going to get the death penalty, and if that was my fate then my moment of capture would be a life ending event.

Thinking about the major events from my twenty-two years on the planet, made me speculate as to whether or not Father O’Connor had experienced more than one of these instances or if I simply had to worry about the one.

“
So to the best of your knowledge, was that moment in Vietnam the only thing that made you the man you are today or was there something else as well?”

The priest gave me a weak smile before reaching back towards the scotch. It seemed whatever he was about to tell me was significant enough that it required another drink.

“
Well, that’s yet to be determined. How about I tell you my problem and then you can throw in your two cents. Sound good, eh?”

“
Sure,” I replied curiously.

“
A few days a week I sit in the confessional at the Chapel of Christ the Teacher waiting to see if any students arrive while I reminisce about my own sins during the past week. I’m fully aware that the information I’m about to tell you is not something a member of the Holy Cross should disclose, but for the sake of understanding I must tell you that during Dead Week and the week of finals priests at St. Elizabeth hear more confessions than any other time during the semester. In many instances, students come to discuss grades. A rare few confess to cheating but most come to confess little minuet transgressions in order to hear one of us say that everything will be okay and so on and so forth.”

I nodded knowing full well several hardcore studious Catholics needed that sort of reassurance. It made perfect sense.

“
There is also one other common confession I hear often,” Father O’Connor continued. “And it usually has to do with relationships. Many students, especially seniors, tend to break up during these final weeks because their lives are leading them apart. In these circumstances, the wrongdoings are also fairly trivial but in order to grieve, the individual often times must purge and get everything off their chest. I might ask a question here or there but what I’m doing is listening, as I provide support in their time of heartache.

“
I’m telling you all of this, my boy, because this last Monday a girl entered the confessional and as she began saying, ‘Bless me father for I have sinned…’ her voice continually cracked and I could hear her sniffling as if she had a runny nose, but I knew that wasn’t it. The girl had either been crying or was on the verge of crying, either way I thought this poor young woman must have recently gotten her heart broken. I started the procedure off in my usual fashion, asking if the girl had any sins she wished to confess. The girl’s sniffles continued and she began stammering almost incomprehensibly. Due to the barrier, I couldn’t tell if now she was actually crying, but I told her to take a few deep breaths and start from the beginning.

“
After a minute or so of exhaling deeply, the girl seemed to have collected herself as she began telling me about this boy. She said they had a rocky on-again, off-again relationship but that she was in love with him. She said that recently she learned he had done something rather awful, and wasn’t sure what to with the information or who she should talk to.

“
I asked her politely if she wouldn’t mind sharing this information with me so I could provide her with suitable advice. I assumed I was going to hear something along the lines of cheating on a test or fooling around with another broad, but what I certainly didn’t expect to hear was that this distressed girl believed her boyfriend to be a murderer.”

At this point in the priest’s anecdote, I couldn’t help but pick up my scotch. Father O’Connor had given no indication that I was the boy in this tale, and by his relaxed demeanor it was tricky to tell if the connections were a coincidence or not. Either way, my heart began to palpitate as though I was running up a flight of stairs. I took a big swallow, trying to calm my nerves. He hadn’t mentioned me to this point. “No need to be alarmed,” I said to myself.

“
I asked her how she knew this and she said she didn’t have any hard evidence but she knew in her heart it was true. The girl took another deep breath before stating she had been reporting on Harvey Cho’s death and found two items on the scene that her boyfriend usually had in his room: FIJI water and Tic-Tacs. The real clue she said, was an email her boyfriend had forgotten to delete. Evidently, the boy had posed as this girl to get an interview with Professor Quinn. The apparent interview took place only an hour before Quinn’s death. At this point, the girl broke down once again, as she muttered through tears that she thought he had even killed Brent Crane because of his jealousy towards a study abroad fling. I have to tell you, my boy, the girl was an utter mess.”

I had the inclination to play dumb and go with a “Oh, you don’t say, Father?” but I knew the wily old preacher was smarter than the average bear. We both were aware I was the boy. O’Connor had to know I had a fondness for FIJI water and orange Tic-Tacs, plus it was clear the girl was a reporter and this boy was in all likelihood a reporter for
The Gazette
too. That limited the identities down to a handful of students, and I definitely had the probability of being one of the bunch.

Taking a bigger sip of my drink, I sat in anticipation. It was strange how unnerved the priest sat, almost as if he were bored. He sat causally slumped back in the cushy black leather, staring blankly back at me like I was one of his struggling students coming back to his office to ask the same dimwitted question. My head might have been throbbing now thanks to the scotch, but I had a feeling it wasn’t merely due to the alcohol. I had finally been figured out, and with my cards face up on the table everything was out in the open, well except for the verbal acknowledgement of my guilt. I still didn’t want to admit it.

I don’t know how long we sat there drinking our scotch waiting for the other one to make the first move as if we were two old cowboys in an intense showdown waiting for the other man to grab his pistol. After what seemed like a decade, the priest coughed to clear his throat and leaned forward in his chair.

“
I never told you this, Wayne but I was in my office in the Buckley Center when I heard Professor Quinn yell after you once you left her office. I couldn’t help but think to myself, what was that all about? Wayne isn’t one of those types of students.”

Father O’Connor finished the last drops of scotch in his glass, before rubbing his eyes. “I know the girl in the confessional was Hayley, and I know the person she was referring to was you, Wayne. The last two nights I’ve tossed and turned thinking about what to do. I suppose I have but one question, did you commit any of the acts Hayley described to me that night?”

I had always been a decent liar but over the past two semesters, I had perfected my craft. Lying to Dunn, my fellow classmates and those I had killed was all but second nature to me. However, lying to Father O’Connor wasn’t like lying to the police. Being dishonest with the cops was definitely a crime, but being untruthful to someone I viewed almost as family would destroy this meaningful rapport I had built over the years.

With Hayley’s evidence, although not overwhelming, it was enough to keep me in the crosshairs. Now it was only a matter of time. Before my dark voices were given a chance to muck up the thoughts of confession racing in my head, a sudden “Yes” burst from my mouth before I had the chance to think of any alternatives.

I’ve never seen this occur in real life, but in the movies occasionally you’ll see an instance when some poor schmuck or an innocently young girl gets their heartbroken by the ice queen or massive prick that person was dating. Right after the person gets rejected, the dumpee stands there with a look of dejection trying not to break down and look like a hot mess in front of their past lover.

Father O’Connor wasn’t giving me quite the same expression, but it was oddly similar. A gaping mouth accompanied with an empty stare was enough to know how devastated the priest was at this moment. I never thought I had the capability of breaking a man’s heart, but as I looked upon the priest’s face, I could see I had done just that.

He looked down, fixated on his empty glass for several seconds, until the shock of my admission sunk in. Lifting his head, the priest’s lifeless eyes beamed into mine. “Why would you do something like that, my boy? Why did you do it?”

With one gulp, I downed the rest of my drink, and before I could rationalize what I wanted to say the scotch did the talking for me. I began blabbing about why I thought Brent deserved to die because of what he’d done to that freshman girl and to Gavin. I said similar things about Harvey and how I thought he deserved to die because of the rape and the women he had taken advantage of throughout our college years. I even admitted to stealing the priest’s heart medication that helped put Harvey in the ground.

As I began talking about Quinn and my discovery of her bias (after telling about how I had snuck into her office) the crushing Catholic guilt hit me as though I was being flogged with my father’s belt. As I spoke, Father O’Connor continued to frown; his speechless disappointment was more disheartening than any angry words. This must be how impregnated teenage girls felt speaking to their fathers about their recent fertilization because I felt like a piece of shit. An individual can try to make murder sound like it was a decent decision, but no matter the persuasiveness of the speaker, to a normal people the answer can never be justified.

My eyes became moist and my words less and less coherent as I continued to speak. Babbling now, I grabbed the bottle of scotch pouring myself another drink.

“
I don’t know why I did it, okay? I’m a fucking moron!” I burst out, as tears trickled down my cheeks.

Setting the bottle back on the desk, I grabbed my glass and jerked myself forward out of my seat. I clumsily moved in the direction of the USE painting, brushing the salty tears away as I tried to get a grip on the situation.