Finals

by Alan Weisz

  Despite this realization, I had no idea why I was sitting here answering ridiculous questions when I should have been halfway to a prison by now. The priest must have confessed to the crimes or Hayley accused him and he elected not to refute her accusation. No, that didn’t make sense; Father O’Connor must have admitted he was the killer, but why…because of Finch? By taking the blame for my actions, was this his attempt at correcting the past?

  I had no intention of getting caught, let alone confessing to my crimes, but with one of my closest friends on campus sliding into take my place in the electric chair, I couldn’t help but feel obligated to tell the truth.

  “He didn’t do it.”

  Grinning, somewhat demonically, Dunn grabbed a folder on O’Connor’s desk and walked over to my chair. “Oh, I’ll show you what your beloved priest did,” Dunn said, as he opened the folder.

  “You remember your old buddy, Brent Crane,” he said, putting an 8x10 picture in front of my face. The picture was of Brent face down in a pool of blood. His blood covered the entire tile floor, with streaks near the urinal and stall where I slit his throat.

  In the heat of the moment, I had never felt better. I wasn’t grossed out by the massive amounts of blood, or the fact that my friend was dying in front of my eyes. In my mind, he deserved to die. Justice had finally been served, but as I looked at this picture and the carnage I had created, I couldn’t help but feel sick to my stomach.

  “This murder would have been perfect had it not been for the shoe print left behind. Do you see the tread mark in the bottom left corner of the picture?”

  I nodded.

  “Size nine. Guess what size of shoe your priest had?” Dunn asked.

  “I don’t know,” I mumbled.

  “Size nine.” Dunn answered.

  “Lots of people have size nine feet,” I said bluntly, hoping I could find a dent somewhere in Dunn’s logical conclusions.

  “You’re right, but not many people have heart medication, orange Tic-Tacs and FIJI water in their apartment do they?” Dunn said, replacing Brent’s photo with another 8x10. Unlike Brent’s demise, I wasn’t able to see Harvey’s life slip slowly away. I imagined his death was pretty amusing; one hand down his pants while he sat moaning my name like a bitch until the lethal drug combination gave him sweet salvation.

  Dunn’s photo of Harvey was anything but comical. Harvey’s face was ghostly pale with an expression on his face that was indicative of the horrendous pain he must have endured moments before his heart burst. I couldn’t help but look away.

  “Since you wrote Harvey’s obituary, I’m sure you were aware of the lethal combination of heart medicine and Viagra that killed him, but did you know your little girlfriend also found orange Tic-Tacs and FIJI water at the scene of the crime?” Dunn asked, still waving around the unsettling photo of Harvey in front of my face.

  “I didn’t, but good for her. She’s always been the Nancy Drew sort.”

  “Both of which were found at the residence of your favorite Catholic priest along with a prescription for Nitrostat, a nitroglycerin tablet used to treat chest pain, and if taken with a drug such as Viagra, it has the capability of causing a lethal reaction.

  “Aside from the pills all that other stuff can be found at the campus bookstore but I’m assuming you’re telling me this to suggest that this all can’t be a mere coincidence,” I answered.

  “The man had the same size feet as Crane’s murder, all of the evidence in his apartment directly links him to Cho’s death, and his feud with Quinn is well-documented,” Matthews said, as he left this chair to join Dunn alongside O’Connor’s desk.

  “The man wrote a confession note and has an open Bible on a passage that reads, ‘But now being made free from sin, and become servants to God, ye have your fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life.’ Tell me you can’t find this to be chance, son? The man was guilty, plain and simple,” Matthews said.

  I sat staring at my hands, letting Captain Matthews’s words stink in. Of the three men in the room, I was the sole keeper of the truth, but here I sat learning of O’Connor’s horrendous crimes. The whole situation seemed so strange and so wrong.

  Thinking back to O’Connor’s speech last night, I couldn’t help but think that this was one of those instances in life where one course of action leads to monumental changes. Most choices are ones every individual faces, what college should I attend? Is this the right job for me? Do I really want to spend the rest of my life with this woman? Can I be a good father? Often times your fate is not solely in your hands, or even in your perception. Often times the situation just happens. No recourse, no objective analysis, no real thought process. The action transpires without a second thought, and with that decision, the future is determined. I was well aware of my life-changing predicament. The police, as well as Hayley and Father O’Connor, had thrust a “Get Out of Jail Free” card into my hand and now it was up to me to decide if I wanted to use it. I was guiltier than O.J. and yet O’Connor had in noble fashion, fallen upon the sword meant for me, as if this action could redeem his conscious for Finch’s death in Vietnam.

  Regardless of the priest’s extraordinary act of self-sacrifice, I couldn’t let the man take the wrath for my misdoings. As much as I wanted to get out of this room free of handcuffs, I knew it was no longer a possibility. It was time to take responsibility for my actions.

  The dark voices in my head were pleading for me to reconsider. I didn’t have to do this. I could get off scot-free and no one would know any better. Impossible feats had been achieved and evil milestones reached. I could continue my reign of terror; even become the sociopath of century.

  Despite the internal turmoil for once, my good-natured Catholic persona was ruling out. I had to confess so a good man wouldn’t suffer due to my sins. I wasn’t going to let O’Connor become a martyr. Still, even though I knew what had to be done, I was having trouble mustering up the words to say, the words that would finally bring about my much overdue fate.

  With the eyes of Dunn and Matthews focused attentively on yours truly, the words, “He didn’t do it, I did,” slowly escaped my lips.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A calming sense of bliss washed over me as I heard the words slip out of my mouth. The crushing weight of the Catholic guilt was gone and revealing this secret, I had hidden for so long, felt truly incredible.

  Yes, I was going to jail, and yes, a grueling future awaited me, but I had at last spoken my peace. I could have taken the free handout given to me, but I didn’t have it in me to let Father O’Connor take the fall. I had done enough rotten things this year and for once, I needed to do the right thing, even if that meant my life would soon end.

  I sensed my darkness was disappointed in my decision, and frustrated by the fact my Catholic upbringing had won out. It was a difficult choice, but it was the right one, and with my mask now removed, all that remained was a conquered killer grinning from ear to ear, basking in the glorious realization that the final chapter had arrived.

  Neither Dunn nor Captain Matthews looked so reassured. Dunn’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened as he grabbed the empty chair across from me and sat down, arching his torso forward until his face and mine were mere inches apart.

  “Now you listen to me, son,” began Dunn, his tone as serious as a heart attack. “We can get you for aiding and abetting if you want to go down this path. In case you weren’t listening, you don’t have size nine shoes and your girl Hayley told us this morning you helped her find the empty water bottle and Tic-Tacs. All that aside, you’re a rich white boy from suburbia living off your folks. You haven’t the nerve, let alone the guts, to do something like that. So if I were you, I’d stop bullshitting and fucking tell me where O’Connor is.”

  Upset that this pissed off cop in front of me didn’t believe a word I was saying, I began considering my options. I couldn’t decide whether to give the gruesome details of my murders or simply come out swinging like a desperate figh
ter. The latter was the manly move, but after getting in a few punches, I’d be face down on the carpet in seconds, broken and beaten.

  With one last tale of confession, I had the ability to introduce my inner demons as I described the malicious acts that caused me to be in this predicament. My monster could at last be discernible.

  As I sat thinking of how best to break the news of my crimes to Matthews and Dunn, a growing commotion in the hallway was making it more difficult to concentrate on what I would say. I heard various shuffling of feet and a few pleads of “Miss, you need to stop,” but I wasn’t convinced of my guardian angel’s presence until I heard, “Listen up snowflake, Investigator Dunn specifically requested my presence because I have information regarding the O’Connor case so I suggest if you don’t want your ass served up on a platter you let me through.”

  A second later, Victoria entered the room in her customary resounding manner; however, this morning she didn’t look as well put together as usual. She was wearing her fashionable Aeropostale jeans and a light purple cardigan that covered her Beatles tee, but her hair was in an atrocious bun with rebellious strands poking out from every direction. If that wasn’t shocking enough, Vickie had not one trace of makeup on. Not even a touch of lip gloss. This occurrence so was unnatural I could barely believe it.

  “Is there something we can do for you?” Captain Matthews asked, slightly perturbed that this girl had managed to elude all of his foot soldiers without much of an effort.

  “I’m just here to collect Wayne,” Vickie said sweetly. “And provide Investigator Dunn here with a little insight as to this whole Father O’Connor situation.”

  “I appreciate your help Miss Veers,” Dunn answered, trying to be polite. “But I’m not sure how much you can assist us, and as for our buddy, Wayne, he’s got a few more questions to answer.”

  “I can save you quite a bit of time, gentleman, by informing you that my friend here knows little to nothing about the O’Connor murders. In fact he hasn’t even read the email that was sent out this morning,” Vickie said bluntly.

  Staring dumbfounded at Vickie, I had no clue what her angle was, or where she was going with this string of bullshit. Yet with her sudden appearance and her vigorous attempt at saving my miserable excuse for a life, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a sign. My favorite priest was still out on the lamb; maybe he could elude the police. Maybe I was throwing in the towel too early.

  “Is that true?” Matthews asked me as I continued to try and make sense of the situation.

  “Captain, don’t listen to this shit. The girl is bluffing,” Dunn bellowed, before I could give an answer.

  “Oh yeah,” Vickie said defensively. “When I called him a few minutes before he got in here, he didn’t know about the email and he still doesn’t.”

  I felt like a child listening to a bunch of adults take about me as if I wasn’t present, but it was true. I have no clue what email they were referencing.

  “Wayne, if you had to guess who wrote the email, who would you say?” Vickie said, looking over at me as she approached my chair.

  Dunn started to speak but Matthews raised his hand to silence him.

  “I don’t even know what email you’re referring to, but I’d say probably Hayley or maybe Father sent the piece to her. I don’t know,” I said, staring at the two policemen then back to Vickie who was wearing the “Bitch, I told you so,” look I had received numerous times throughout our tenure at The Gazette.

  “You see that!” Vickie said arrogantly as she waved an arm in my direction. “As I’m sure you both know, it was Sister Robinson who informed the students of this news with a campus wide email, not Hayley. O’Connor probably confessed to her right before he left.”

  “Big deal, that doesn’t prove anything, and even if he didn’t read the email, he was with O’Connor last night so he knows something. He probably knows where he went. Also, if you don’t get out of here in the next minute I’m going to find you an escort that will kindly show you to an exit,” Dunn said, pointing candidly at Vickie.

  “There will be no need for that,” Vickie said, reverting back to her sweet alter ego. “I apologize if I’ve upset you but I can promise you, Wayne was clueless about the murders. As someone who sees Wayne every day, I can tell you he usually doesn’t look this pale.”

  Walking over behind my chair, she continued her assault on my appearance.

  “God, look at him,” she said, ruffling my already horrid hairdo. “His hair is all over the place, his eyes are bloodshot, and he smells like cranberry. I can tell you he was out partying at The Village last night, he passed out, and you snatched him dazed and hung over.”

  She finished by patting my arm lovingly, but I was mildly confused as to what on Earth she was talking about. Maybe I was too hung over, because I surely didn’t understand any of Vickie’s nonsense.

  I don’t know if Vickie’s false testimony came across as credible, but Dunn was suddenly not in such a hurry to have her escorted out of the Buckley Center.

  After receiving a vacant, “I don’t know what to do next” look from Matthews, Dunn leaned forward in his chair. “Did you see Father O’Connor last night?”

  “Yes,” I responded truthfully.

  “And you have no idea where he is?” Dunn asked.

  “I don’t.”

  “So what she’s saying is true?” he asked, nodding up at Vickie, who was still standing beside me.

  “Yes,” I said. I hadn’t actually been to a party but the part about me being at The Village and passing out was at least accurate.

  “If you need any more proof you can take a look at this,” Vickie said, handing her phone over to Dunn. I had no clue what Dunn was looking at but he glanced at the phone for a moment before passing it off to Captain Matthews who had walked over to join the party. He scanned the message or image or whatever it was leisurely before handing the phone back to Vickie.

  “Well?” Dunn asked, looking up decisively at Captain Matthews.

  Matthews turned to face me and as if in slow motion, he gradually reached into the inner lining of his suit jacket. He was reaching for something. It had to be handcuffs. Whatever Vickie had shown them proofed I was guilty, and now the cuffs were coming out again. I knew it! This was my defining life moment, I was going to jail never to be heard from or seen again.

  As my brow began pouring out sweat, Matthews removed his hand from his jacket. Instead of a pair of handcuffs, he held a business card.

  “I appreciate your help, if you have anything else you’d like to tell us, here’s my card.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Vickie said speaking for me, as if she could tell I was frozen in disbelief. I took the card and murmured a similar, “Thank you,” as Vickie gently tugged my arm, guiding me to the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Pulling me through the tiny hallway, pass the countless troops standing at attention, Vickie led me straight to the elevator and pressed the down button to the basement as my mind continued to comprehend the event that just took place.

  Once the doors closed, I turned to face Vickie, arms at her side with a Pulitzer Prize winning smile on her face.

  “Vic, I don’t know what just—”

  “I stashed a few Red Bulls in my desk in the photography room, and I’d say we need one,” she said, cutting me off. “Let’s wait until we get there.”

  Once the doors opened, I followed her down the hallway into a small room I had never visited before. There was an old school chalkboard in the back of the room with a medium sized desk in front. Two classic Polaroid cameras, the kind where the photo pops out when you take a snapshot, were placed on the desk.

  In the middle of the room sat ten desks that reminded me of the ones I had during my early elementary years. The top looked wooden but I’m sure it was stain and scratch resistant, and there was an open front area used for storage. It appeared as though film was the only item in most of the desks but as we walked closer to the chalkboa
rd, I noticed one contained no film, two cans of Red Bull, a pack of Orbit gum and one tube of cherry lip gloss.

  Vickie pulled out the two cans of Red Bulls and handed one over to me as she placed the gum and lip gloss in her cardigan pocket.

  “Vic, I don’t know what to say, but thank you,” I said, after taking a long drink.

  Taking a seat at her desk the makeup-less Vickie looked earnestly up at me.

  “You know Wayne, I’ve had a lot of moronic guys plead with me, and say ‘Vic, I need you.’ Blah, blah, blah and all that shit, but when I heard you on the phone with that tone, and the urgency in your voice, I said to myself, ‘Fuck Vickie, he really needs your help.’”